After we resolved that crisis, my life finally settled down into a new norm, one that didn’t involve spying on each of my friends for the other. Although Mylera didn’t bother to change her lifestyle, Bazso, as he’d promised, soon moved into a much nicer townhouse where the shutters hung straight and the wallpaper adhered firmly to the walls. He even invited me along to Nightmarket to select new furnishings, which was surprisingly fun, even if it did leave me with a nagging sense of unease. It wasn’t until we’d finished decorating that I finally pinpointed the cause: Unlike his old townhouse, every single room of Bazso’s new home confronted me with a tangible tie to Doskvol. That night in the restaurant, I’d heavily implied that I was planning to stay, hadn’t I? When I hadn’t even decided what to do about my family. About Grandfather. Sigmund.

But all of that could wait, I told myself virtuously. For now, there was fencing to be taught and orphans to be tutored and healing to be done. While my injuries were all internal, Ash still looked somewhat charred around the edges. Faith’s skin tone, at least, was slowly returning to normal.

Nevertheless, our lovely lady patron couldn’t let such useful assassins lie idle for long, and she soon invited us to another business tea. This time, we found Irimina draped across her usual divan in her usual languid posture – but the rest of her parlor looked disturbingly different. While before it had conveyed an impression of refined, if slightly shabby, elegance, now the room just felt cluttered. China figures and lace doilies lay just the slightest bit crooked. Books piled up at awkward angles on available (and unavailable) flat surfaces. Even some of the tassels on the Iruvian rug had been kicked askew, as if the maids were far too busy cleaning elsewhere to have noticed yet. As I sank into a sofa cushion, I scanned the book spines and noted that they all appeared to be secondary school-level texts on the usual array of academic subjects.

Leafing through one of them, Faith arched a quizzical eyebrow. “Boden’s Primer on the Arcane?” she inquired delicately.

Irimina smiled around the parlor a little helplessly, as if noticing its disarray for the first time. “Well, I know, but one has to start somewhere.”

Curious, Ash began, “You’re interested in personally mastering – ”

“Oh, no.” She hastened to disabuse him of this notion. “They’re not for me.”

“Whose are they, then?” I asked.

“Andy’s, of course,” she replied, taken aback that anyone would not have guessed.

“Andy?” Last time I checked, Irimina’s brother was named Roethe. And had absolutely no interest in the Whispery arts or, indeed, anything besides murdering people in duels and commissioning white-and-silver clothing.

“Her son,” Faith reproached me.

Her son? It took me a moment to process that Andrel Helker, son of the Butcher of Lockport, had a nickname. A cute, innocent nickname, at that. (Then again, maybe Ronia herself had grown up being called Rony or Ron-Ron or something equally innocuous.)

“They keep leaving their things all over the place,” the proud adoptive mother was complaining, somewhat perfunctorily. She shook her head fondly at the mess. “It’s okay, though.”

Serious for once, Faith leaned forward, meeting and holding Irimina’s eyes. “Does that mean they’re staying here?”

For the life of me, I couldn’t understand this display of interest. After all, she’d already fulfilled her last promise to Tocker Helker. Why do you care? I hand-signed at her, but she either didn’t notice or didn’t want to notice.

“I thought that would be a lot safer,” Irimina was explaining earnestly.

“Yes,” agreed Faith, “it probably is.” Breaking their gaze at last, she paged through Boden’s Primer on the Arcane without seeming to see it. “How are they?”

“They’re well. Moody, but that’s not exactly a surprise.”

“I was pretty moody when I was their age as well,” Faith remarked. She rolled her eyes at some of the exposition in the Primer, shut it with a thump, and set it on the nearest end table. Then she reached for another textbook.

In my opinion – not that Faith ever cared – this display of maternal instincts from two of the most vicious people I knew was deeply unsettling. “I think we all were,” I put in, mostly for something to say. “Moody at that age, I mean.” Although I, for one, had known better than to show it in public.

Faith’s hand dropped away from the textbook. “What? Isha! Even you?” she exclaimed. “I didn’t think you had it in you to be moody!”

“I grew out of it,” I snapped. To Irimina, I asked as if expressing polite disinterest, “So have the children completely moved in with you? Are you selling the Helker estate?”

As expected, the proud new mother seized the excuse to blab on about her children. “Oh, no, we’re keeping the townhouse. But, like I said, I thought it would be much safer for them here, given that there are a lot of people in the city who blame them for their parents’ actions. Or, really, their mother’s actions.”

Some cautious circling later, I determined that before they shut up the Helker townhouse, Irimina – or rather, her servants – had moved anything of sentimental, legal, or strategic value to the Kinclaith mansion. That, crucially, included the safe containing all of Ronia’s papers, which Irimina cluelessly described as “assorted wills and deeds.”

Ash and I knew better. Casting a sidelong glance in my direction, he hand-signed under the coffee table, Battle plans?

I signed back, Yes.

Let’s see what she invited us here for, then decide on a buyer for the plans.

Assuming we could access the safe, of course.

“I have a job for you, if you’re free,” Irimina was saying. As evidence of her refined manners, she almost suppressed a doubtful glance at Ash’s burned face.

“We’re not that injured,” he assured her instantly. “We’re always available for you, of course. Most of the time.”

“Aww,” she teased. Then all traces of amusement drained from her features. “The leviathan hunter fleet is coming back to port soon.”

Starting in late spring, the leviathan hunters stalked demons in the Void Sea north of Akoros and Skovlan. Although, given the relative size and strength of the quarry, perhaps “stalked” wasn’t the appropriate descriptor. “Buzzed up to and stung like a mosquito” might be more accurate. Naturally, the leviathans slapped them away when they noticed, doing quite a bit of damage to the ships and sailors in the process. After half a year of this abuse, the leviathan hunters limped back to port, battered and torn, for repairs that might take all winter. As a result, Doskvol’s coldest, but also driest, season was a time of lavish spending. Nightmarket always got particularly lively in the fall, as Doskvolians prepared for a whirlwind of balls and banquets in honor of the returning heroes.

Irimina continued, “Given the income from the Orchid Salon, my financial situation has improved, so I thought it might be time to deal with some loose ends.” Drawing a deep breath, she savored her next words: “I want you to kill Captain Clave.”

“Impressive,” remarked Ash, his face revealing none of his thoughts.

It fell to me to ask, “Captain Clave?”

“She is the captain of the Lancer, and I want her dead.”

“That sounds reasonable,” Ash agreed mildly. “Difficult – but reasonable.”

I shot him an incredulous look. What aspect of that request qualified as reasonable? Leviathan hunters were basically floating fortified cities. Just look at Tangletown. Not even the Strangfords had dared attack it.

Ignoring me, Ash rambled on, “They seem most majestic. I’ve never been on one personally – I’ve never been one for the seas – but I assume that we can wait until after it docks and the captain gets into whatever debauchery the captain gets into.”

Irimina nodded grimly. “Of course.”

That certainly allowed us more freedom of maneuver. We could even continue our theme of attacking targets while they indulged their favorite vices. “What can you tell us about this Captain Clave?”

“She is…” Irimina cut off, as if censoring herself. When she spoke again, it was in a precise, remote voice. “She is a leviathan hunter captain, and therefore she is heartless. She’s fond of fine things,” spat the collector of Iruvian antiquities.

By now, Faith had gone too long without comment. She interrupted with an enthusiastic: “Oooh, and we’re fine things! Does that mean she’ll like us?”

Icily, Irimina regarded her for a long moment. “Please don’t desert me for Lady Clave.” Her steely tone said that she didn’t believe Faith would, but neither of them would like very much it if she did.

Meeting her eyes most forthrightly, Faith assured her, “I had not even considered it, until you just said that.”

When Irimina seemed uninclined to break off their staring match, Ash reminded her, “So Captain Clave is heartless and insufferable?”

Snapping back to attention, Irimina sniffed contemptuously. “Yes. She is fond of living in the lap of luxury. As far as I can tell, whenever she is not at sea, she is busy buying things in Nightmarket to decorate her Brightstone townhouse.”

And as far as I could tell, everyone who came into contact with Faith picked up her conversational habits. Was alliteration contagious?

“Does she do anything with her house while she’s away?” Ash asked.

“No, I think she largely shuts it up, like anyone else.” (Well, anyone with more than one home, anyway.)

“Even though we don’t need to know, I’m sure we’re all very curious how she’s displeased you,” Ash hinted. “If it’s a story you’re willing to tell.”

She was. “The Lancer used to be our leviathan hunter. As the Kinclaiths at the time of – ” she broke off, composed herself, then continued resolutely, “at the time of my parents’ death did not have a person old enough or trained enough to captain the ship, it was given to our closest kin. Our cousins, the Claves.” Bitter sarcasm crept into her voice. “And then, somehow, it never quite found its way back to us.”

Later, after some research in the Charterhall public archives, Ash and I would uncover the full story: After the elder Kinclaiths died under somewhat suspicious circumstances, their distant cousins persuaded the Lord Governor that a leviathan hunter was too valuable a resource to float idly in port while the Imperium waited for the children to grow up, attend the College of Naval Command at Doskvol Academy, and take over their family legacy. Thus, in the interim, the ship was awarded to one of the Claves to steward until Irimina and Roethe came of age. This “interim,” however, had lasted well into the siblings’ adulthood, with no signs of ever ending.

“Are you planning to captain the Lancer yourself?” I demanded, not bothering to hide my disbelief. As far as I could tell, leviathan hunting and smuggling required two entirely different skill sets.

“I – no! Gods, no. Maybe Roethe. Not me. I’m far too busy.”

Ever focused on business, Ash inquired practically, “Is there someone we should maneuver into position to take over, then?”

“It would be good for Roethe.”

In deference to our hostess, I concealed my opinion of that assessment. Perhaps – and this was a leviathan-sized perhaps – being thrown into a position of responsibility for providing the lifeblood of the Imperium might cure Roethe of his penchant for duels and fine clothing, but somehow I doubted it. Honestly, even a child would make a better captain, especially if said child left actual command of the ship to an experienced executive officer. “How about Polonia?” I countered. “If she takes after her mother, she would make a formidable leviathan hunter captain.”

Half-forgotten off on the side, Faith piped up, “Oh, so you remember Polonia but not Andy. Does that mean she’s the one you plan to ensnare in your political machinations?”

“I have no plans of the sort,” I snapped.

Having either provoked the desired response – or failed to – Faith didn’t bother to react.

Proving that she knew Faith, neither did Irimina. She merely reminded me, “Polonia wouldn’t be a bad choice, but she’s too young.”

As Irimina and her brother had been at the time of their parents’ deaths. Did she dream of reclaiming the ship so she could transfer it to her adopted daughter, to redress the wrongs of her own childhood? In that case, I personally would wait until Polonia graduated from the Academy and could take over the ship immediately, at which point I could make a much more compelling case for ending the Claves’ “stewardship.”

Ash, who also knew Roethe’s reputation in the city, probed, “Do you think the courts would side with you, in terms of reinstating Roethe?”

In the face of logic, Irimina could only scowl. “It is our leviathan hunter.”

Lazily, Faith interjected, “I’m sure that if the Claves had no close relatives, that would be the most reasonable course of action. So – how many close family members do we need to kill?”

“Just Lady Clave will suffice,” Irimina allowed, in the tone of one granting an almost impossible concession.

At that, Faith’s lower lip jutted out further than I’d thought anatomically possible. “That sounds almost too easy!” she lamented. “I thought the boulevards of Brightstone would be lined with the Claves’ children’s corpses.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a twitch from Ash. “Alas, I suppose our assassination shall be precise. There shall be no spillover, simply the singular slaughter of a sailor on the stern cabin of this solitary leviathan hunter.”

Back in control of himself, Ash smirked across the coffee table at Irimina. “You know,” he remarked, “she’s like this with all of our patrons – but mostly with you.”

“Is she?” From her pleased simper, the lady didn’t mind this dubious honor one bit.

Faith glared at Ash, then winked at Irimina, who actually blushed.

Collecting her thoughts with visible effort, the lady recalled us to the business at hand. “I’m hopeful that with the death of Lady Clave, since none of her relatives has the requisite training and Roethe does, in fact – ” here even the loyal sister looked slightly uncertain about his qualifications – “I believe we can force the judge to reexamine the case. Therefore, I think that removing Lady Clave herself will be sufficient.”

Ash nodded sagely. “A leviathan hunter is worth quite a few deaths. Just one seems like quite a good bargain. The natural question here is: Ideally, who should be seen as having done this?”

Irimina heaved a regretful sigh. “I’ve been told that I need to stop framing people willy-nilly. If you could make it look like an accident, that might be nice. Otherwise, I don’t really care, as long as it’s not us.” She gestured around the parlor, indicating all the residents and guests of the Kinclaith mansion.

“Have you considered the solution of framing the person who’s complaining about you framing people willy-nilly?” Faith suggested slyly. “That does seem very appropriate.”

“No….”

“In fact, I was the one who told you that, right?”

“No….”

“Who was it?” I slid in the question, wondering if she’d slip up and name Salia.

But Irimina wasn’t fooled for one instant. “Oh, a friend.”

Feigning comprehension, Faith agreed soothingly, “Ah, that’s different then.”

“Yes,” said Irimina, “please don’t frame them. That would be…bad.”

“So,” summarized Faith, beaming at Ash and me, “it will be an accident. A terrible, tragic…house-decorating accident!”

“We can decide the details later,” Ash told her. A sudden thought struck him, and he mused, “It’s a good thing they don’t accept ghost testimony. Otherwise, we’d be in quite a bit of trouble.”

Immediately, our Whisper corrected him. “I don’t think that’s accurate. Usually we don’t leave much of the ghosts of our victims. Unless they’re in pretty little jars.” Coquettishly, she tipped her head to a side and twinkled at Irimina, “By the way, how is your friend doing?”

“Oh, her.” Irimina’s lips curled up in a satisfied grin, like that of a specter after a full meal. “Na’ava and I have spent many pleasant evenings together.”

In answer, Faith cast her a delighted smile. Then, as if the mention of pleasant evenings had reminded her of something, she glared at Ash and me very pointedly, waiting for the two of us to leave.

Ash, however, had more questions and was not to be deterred by mere death glares. Crossing his legs comfortably, he asked, “So, if Andy is interested in the arcane, what about Polonia?”

I shot him an inquiring look. Why have you been so interested in children lately?

They’re so valuable, he signed back. Raising people with loyalty is so much better than having to pay them later. We should cultivate loyalty early. I did note that he omitted his obvious soft spot for children.

Missing our exchange, Irimina answered his question, “Polonia is interested in politics, like her mother.”

If politics meant military massacres, sure. Putting her on a ship and sending her far from shore seemed like the safest option for Iruvia and Skovlan. And the rest of the Imperium. “She’d make a perfect captain then,” I hinted.

The doting mother agreed completely. “She would.”

“Or governor, perhaps,” added Ash, who was a lot more likely to entangle Polonia Helker in political machinations than I was. I tried to catch Faith’s eye to point this out, but she was actually hanging on Irimina’s response.

“Perhaps. I don’t want to put too much pressure on them. They did just lose both their parents.”

“Some direction could help them move on,” Ash suggested.

“Perhaps,” repeated Irimina flatly, ending that line of discussion.

Faith glowered at Ash. “Please,” she reproved him. “Giving personal advice to clients is the purview of the less dignified members of the crew.”

Her indignation only made him chuckle. “How about impersonal advice?” he retorted. She glared even harder. Still smirking, he rose to his feet and bowed politely to Irimina. “Nevertheless, we will leave you two to whatever personal advice you have. Isha?”

I didn’t even bother to linger outside the parlor to eavesdrop. I knew I’d get a full report later from Irimina’s staff.

This time, the housemaid showed up to our rendezvous point in Charhallow Market with a new recruit in tow: Irimina’s lady’s maid. As evidence of her higher rank within the Kinclaith household, if not my organization, the latter wore two of Faith’s ribbons in her hair instead of just one.

As my senior agent, the housemaid spoke first. “After you left, miss, her ladyship and Mistress Karstas stayed in the parlor for another hour. They was talking about raising kids.” She and the lady’s maid exchanged bewildered glances.

For the new recruit, I donned my best bored-spymaster expression. “Indeed?”

The housemaid nodded vigorously, then gestured for the lady’s maid to report. With trepidation, my newest agent mumbled, “Her ladyship and Mistress Karstas – they stayed up late talking about what they wanted.” Her voice was barely audible over the din of the marketplace.

The housemaid jabbed her with one pointy elbow and hissed, “Louder!”

Straightening, the lady’s maid cleared her throat and spoke more clearly. “Mistress Karstas said that she usually gets bored very quickly, so she doesn’t necessarily see this lasting long term.”

That sounded like the Faith I knew. “Go on.”

Gulping and darting a nervous glance at the housemaid, the lady’s maid admitted, “I don’t really understand this next part, miss.”

Before I had to remonstrate with her, the housemaid did it for me. “Just tell her what you heard. She don’t need your com-men-ta-ry.”

Flinching, the lady’s maid continued, “Her ladyship put a hand on Mistress Karstas’s shoulder, like she was sad, and said, ‘No, I know it can’t, sooner or later you’re going to die.’ And then – and then Mistress Karstas said to her, ‘You have no idea how many decades I’ve spent wishing that were true.’”

“What?” I demanded, stunned.

Since the lady’s maid looked too overwhelmed to go on, the housemaid cast her a scathing look and took over. “That’s what her ladyship said too, miss. She asked Mistress Karstas how old she is, and Mistress Karstas said that’s an inappropriate question to ask a lady. Then she started giggling, and Lady Irimina said she was sorry, and Mistress Karstas said, ‘Way older than you.’” Here the housemaid also stopped briefly, perplexed by the words coming out of her own mouth. Irimina was in her early thirties, while Faith looked twenty-five.

Except my archivist had already alerted me that she hadn’t aged a day for at least ten years, maybe even longer.

And she’d once been an acolyte in the Church of Ecstasy.

Oh dear. I didn’t like where this was going.

Resuming her report, the lady’s maid said, “They were on a loveseat in her ladyship’s bedroom, miss. Mistress Karstas cuddled up and said that back when she was her ladyship’s age, she led the sermon that resulted in the Charhallow Conflagration. And then she said, ‘Pink is a very dignified color for someone in their sixties’!”

Good gods. I managed to force out, “Did she say…how?”

Both maids shook their heads. Drawing confidence from my shock, the lady’s maid told me, “Her ladyship asked that too. But all Mistress Karstas would say was, ‘Not like you.’ And her ladyship said, ‘I know. I asked Salia. And when I asked Salia about Roethe, she said she wouldn’t. But when I asked Salia about you, she said she couldn’t – and refused to explain what she meant.’”

Salia’s name seemed to come up over and over, at least where Irimina and Faith were concerned. At some point, I was going to have to track her down. “So if this Salia wouldn’t explain, did Mistress Karstas?”

“No, miss. She just said, ‘The Church has its ways.’”

Oh gods.

The Church has its ways. The Church indeed had its ways.

At least one of which involved binding purified demon essence into the human bodies of its highest-ranked clergy.

But no. I reined in my imagination before it could paint my crewmate as a part-human, part-demon hybrid monstrosity. Faith had only been an acolyte in the Church of Ecstasy. And the Ascension ritual was reserved for the top echelons. There was no way the Church would have conferred such a great honor on a mere acolyte – and especially not an acolyte as annoying as Faith. If you had to create an immortal colleague, why would you pick her?

Thus reassured, I returned my attention to the lady’s maid, who was saying, “Her ladyship asked, ‘So you’re immortal?’ Mistress Karstas told her, ‘If you poke me, I still bleed. If you leave me, my heart will still bleed.’ Her ladyship relaxed here, miss. She started flirting again. She said, ‘I thought you were the one who might leave.’ Mistress Karstas looked serious then and said that she does get bored easily.”

That warning sounded uncharacteristically sincere for Faith. “So,” I said slowly, frowning as I puzzled out my crewmate’s intentions. She’d started flirting with Irimina as a way to extract higher payments, hadn’t she? But full seduction seemed to be a little too far along that line of duty, as far as Faith was concerned. She, after all, was not a devotee of That Which Hungers. Not quite believing that I was even asking the question, I confirmed, “So…so they seem to be serious about each other?”

The lady’s maid nodded emphatically. “Oh, yes, miss. Very serious. Her ladyship said that it’s okay if this isn’t forever. Then Mistress Karstas leaned over and kissed her, and then…and then I thought it was a good time to leave.”

It took me a good half-minute to process those implications.

This entire time, I’d thought that Faith was toying with our patron for the benefit of crew coffers – when in fact she genuinely cared about Irimina as a person. As a lover, even. Ye gods. Who was Faith Karstas anyway?

On autopilot, I stuttered out some words of praise and paid my two informants. I made sure to give the housemaid a bonus for her initiative.