Tōru was working his way through the day’s reports when Shō stepped in to announce, “Lord Hamilton.”

It was tempting to make Hamilton wait, but that was a petty sort of game. Too easy, too obvious. The sort of thing a Swan might do, thus giving away—as clear as a confession—the truth of their low opinion.

Not that Tōru believed Hamilton bore any illusion about Tōru’s opinion of him. They had never been friends. But the needs of the clan were what mattered, and thus, it was only proper Tōru offer Hamilton the respect he had earned. “Show him in.”

Shō bowed, their own demeanor perfectly expressionless. There would be no information for Hamilton to glean from Shō.

Hamilton entered and bowed, bending at one knee in the Griffon fashion. His bright-beaded mask was a bird taking flight, its wings tall and wide around his face—a new design, since Tōru had last seen him. Like most of Hamilton’s masks, it covered nothing below his eyes, leaving the sharp, handsome lines of his face clearly visible.

“Lord Miyōshi.”

“Hamilton. Sit.”

Hamilton did, sweeping the long tails of his coat to the side in a graceful motion. He was at ease. Hamilton was ever at ease. It was as much an affectation as the Griffon clothes and manners, but Tōru couldn’t deny Hamilton played it well.

“I was surprised to receive Lord Miyōshi’s summons this close to Shadow Court. I’m curious what couldn’t wait until he came to Maximus.”

As a child, Tōru had wished the nima had favored him more. Specifically, he wished to have been born with the empathy gift, even knowing how rare that adaptation was among the Serpent. But it had seemed like the greatest gift—a cheat, a weapon—to see people’s insides and the truths they tried so hard to hide.

Over time, he’d learned people revealed their secrets despite themselves, and that the truth was always there to be seen with enough practice and the ability to pay attention. He’d learned to read the smallest signs—the twitches, the eye-flicks, breathing, and even the tiny skin-ticks of a speeding pulse.

Tōru had never liked Hamilton, but the question he had to determine now was, could he trust him? “Tell me about this warfare within the Griffon.”

Hamilton tilted his head ever so slightly, as his eyes went sharp. He was, had always been, incredibly smart. He knew the game. He knew a question that wasn’t a question. “Does Lord Miyōshi have reason to believe my reports insufficient? I cannot believe he has not read them.”

“I’m looking for a more personal analysis. I know you are close to the Lords Suri. To their sons.”

There it was—the barest flare of a nostril. Hamilton’s weak point. The question was, would he admit to it?

“Lord Oshiro,” he said, meaning his mother, “believes there to be opportunity to be found in the current unrest of the Mathisen family.”

This was the truth. Tōru had heard it from Nariko herself. But still there was the barest edge of tightness to Hamilton’s jaw.

Tōru waited, patient. It meant nothing if he had to ask.

And Hamilton who was—Tōru could admit this to himself, even if he’d never say it to another living being—as good at this game as Tōru, smiled. “If Lord Miyōshi is looking for disloyalty, he will not hear it from me. If he is looking for honesty…” his smile turned, just a fraction, twisting into something bitter, “then he is having the wrong conversation with the wrong man.”

“What might I hear were I to have this conversation with a different man?”

Hamilton’s pose was relaxed, his only visible tension that muscle at the back of his jaw. But that tension was there, and Tōru saw it.

“A different man. A man, perhaps, who had been treated by the Lords Suri as family. Who had been welcomed as another son. That man might resent manipulations that put them in danger. Manipulations that threaten their future and the future of the clan they place above all else.”

Miyōshi Santiago, the man who had been consort to Tōru’s mother, had once made the claim to Tōru that in a perfect world, every agent would be a sociopath. That the greatest threat to clan interests was that embedded agents became attached, over time, to the people on whom they were supposed to spy. That eventually, they all became unreliable.

It was one of the numerous subjects on which he and Tōru had disagreed. Loyalty grew out of love. A person who would betray the people they had spent years being close to would also betray the clan. And yes, it could lead to a conflict of interest. That issue with Agent Satsu and the demon, for example. But as long as everyone was honest, as she had been, it could be worked around.

“If that man were to make a recommendation about how Serpent interests should move forward—in particular, if that man were to use his considerable insight and expertise to recommend a path forward that would benefit Serpent interests without sacrificing the position of the Lords Suri…”

Hamilton gave a bare nod, his eyes gone wary.

This was yet another sign of everything that had gone wrong with the clan. That Hamilton didn’t trust Tōru, that Tōru had to question whether he could trust Hamilton—it was difficult not to be overwhelmed with frustration. This wasn’t how it should be among the Serpent.

Hamilton had been nowhere near the last Shadow Court. Most of the agents there had not been his agents. If Nariko had betrayed the clan, it was easy to be suspicious of her son. But if Hamilton’s true affections were with the Griffons that Nariko was working to betray…

If. Too many ifs. There was nothing Tōru hated so much as unknowns. Of information that evaded his grasp.

“If Lord Miyōshi would excuse me,” Hamilton said with a slight bow of his head, “it seems I have just remembered work that will occupy my attention for the rest of the day.”

There would be insight in any recommendation Hamilton made. Both in the text and the subtext. “I will not keep you.”

A single breath was all it took for Hamilton to relax—at least on the surface—back to the charming, confident courtier that he played so well. “If my lord has any further need of me, I will, of course, be available. With the exception of one brief social engagement this afternoon.”

“With whom?” Tōru asked, because it was polite.

“Dahle Roderich.”

The words were spoken casually, but Tōru caught the spark in Hamilton’s eyes, the challenge. Hamilton knew how his friendship with Roderich antagonized Tōru.

And that, more than anything else that had passed between them in this meeting, reassured Tōru. The fact that Hamilton was taunting him made it a fraction less likely that Hamilton was conspiring against him. “Give him my warmest regards.”

Hamilton gave another Griffon bow. That, too, was a message. “You’ll have my report tonight.”

After he left, Shō came into the office. Stood quietly at the door, their question unspoken, but clear.

“I don’t know,” Tōru said. “Not yet.”

Shō nodded, and then they, too, withdrew. Leaving Tōru to think.