“You look young. How long have you waited on the court?” Ariel, eyes following Eje as she flits through the crowd of overdressed nobles, starts to attention.

“I, erm. Not so long. A few months, sir.” Tal's last bit of advice echoes in her mind: whatever you tell them, make sure it's not the truth.

The Duke of Muritaginus, dressed in a splendid white robe embroidered with gold thread gives her a smile. Just a small one as befitting a man of his stature. “Not to fear. We'll get you plenty to observe tonight. Why don't you start by bringing me a glass of wine? Pikis Valley, not the dismal blend from Eastmarsh.”

“I could use a glass of wine myself.”

“And a glass for Pirapet.”

“Right away, sir.” Ariel hurries to the nearest table to fill the order. When she straightens up with her glasses half full, the Duke and his entourage of a half dozen or so are nowhere to be seen. Why can't they just allow servants? Ariel slips through the crowd, her head darting in every direction. Octave sits at a far table in deep conversation. Is that her target? Impossible to know, and Octave would never tell no matter how pressed. So deep is Ariel in thought over what could have led to Octave's reticence that she nearly walks into the duke, wine first.

“Easy there.” he tells her with just a flicker of annoyance. “Your job was to pour the wine into the glasses, not onto my robe.” He takes the wine over her apologies. “Now, what was your name again? Ariel? Tell me, Ariel, what is your opinion on hats?”

“I find them nice but...overrated.” She eyes his short hair and bare head.

“Hah. You know your audience. But I've decided for tonight to follow protocol for change.” He guides her to a rack of hats. Soft ones, stiff ones, big ones, small ones. Too many. “Which one do you think suits me?”

The duke folds his arms. The entire entourage is watching, as are several other partygoers. Never has Ariel been so tested, and never has she so yearned to run and hide under a table. She surveys her task and takes a slow breath. Five rows of hats, arranged from large to small. Acorn hats are too simple, too humble. Caps are too casual; he isn't going for a jaunt in the park. The broad brimmed ones at the bottom are for women and field workers. Strange how those two overlap, though it's unlikely field workers could afford the silk and skysilver coverings on offer. She's never liked the tall ones, but for a man as imposing as the duke, they might work. She glances back to his stern face and tapping foot. This might be easier if she knew the names of the hats instead relying solely on fashion sense. A blue feathered one catches her eye, just the right amount of height and width. No, feathers aren't his thing. A smooth skull cap with a high crest in the back? Absurd. There are no jesters here. With time wasting, she fixates on two. One is a simple black hat, tall but not too tall, broad but with a modest brim. Simple, elegant A perfect compliment to a white robe. The other is a white affair with a brim only on the front. Red filigree. A standout. She holds the black one out with a small incline of her head. He takes it and strokes it with long fingers.

“Good choice.” The retinue nods with approval. He gestures with his newly hatted head, and they follow him to a table. Ariel hesitates for a moment before joining. She did it. “Krevix, what do you make of the turnout?”

A thin man with a heavy moustache and hat like a wolf answers. “A fine thing, m'lord. Highrock turned out, as did Arrow City. No surprise either, seeing how many court nobles deigned to set their sights on so humble a town as this.”

“Court nobles and those with their ear.” The duke's eyes fix for a moment on Tal, now sporting a pink dome of a hat.

“Has she given you permission, m'lord?”

“Not yet, but I'll get it from her. Never fear.” The duke breaks away. “Nevermind that. I wouldn't want to make her cousin, however distant, feel out of place.” He quaffs his wine like a tonic while Ariel wonders if she can sink any deeper into her seat.

“Here's a question.” Krevix turns to the man on his right. They're all men. Most old enough to be Ariel's father. “What punishment should be meted out to the one who will not fight for his king?”

“Death.”

“Ah, but by what means?”

“It matters not.” Others are joining in while the duke watches at the head of the table like an arbiter stroking his beard. “Death is death. We put too much stock in how people die: beheading, drowning, flensing, starvation. All roads lead to the same pit.”

“It's not about the outcome. It's about the message it sends. Beheading is pedestrian. Flensing, now that's remarkable. A fresh skin displayed over a city gate will earn remarks from all.”

“Outcomes have no place in justice. That would lead to punishment for its own sake.” The men raise their voices, speak out of turn. Someone has gotten a bottle of wine over, and they spill it over the edges of their glasses in their haste to pour one another a drink. “Can a common murderer receive the same end as a traitor? A purse-snatcher the same flogging as an abductor of children? Crimes are separated by their severity, and so naturally must punishments. Here's a tale you may not have heard. Some two weeks ago, the Royal Museum was broken into. Its top-line security nullified. How? That's a secret.” The speaker pauses to stain his lips purple with wine. “Now. Did the thieves go for the finest artifacts? The Gold Aegis held by King Salabar? The countless crests of old with their priceless diamonds and rubies? No. All ignored.” He lowers his voice, as though someone may be leaning out of the crowd of gabbing nobles to listen in. “The thieves broke in and stole stone life. Not the good ones either. Not the great shells the size of pigs or the stone skull of a distant leviathan. They stole backroom stones, shells the size of acorns, bones that wouldn't fit a rabbit. Thefts so insignificant they went undiscovered for days.” Ariel shifts in her seat as though trying to dislodge a pebble. “Breaking in alone could warrant years as a convict digging roads. Considering where they broke into, the risk to cultural heritage they posed, the indignity they caused the museum curators, then the punishment's severity must increase accordingly.”

“So they broke in and instead of stealing significant artifacts, stole junk? Sounds like the museum should be thanking them for exposing their weak security.”

“You wouldn't execute them?”

“A quick flogging should suffice. Solemn penitence before the throne.”

“They made a mockery of the museum, and the royal family by extent. Their deaths must be public and excruciating.”

The men look to their leader for approval or disapproval. The duke, however, has something else in mind. “Why won't we go to Tal's young protegee? As a court aspirant, she should have an opinion on the matter. Tell us: what punishment should these museum thieves face?”

Sweat forms on Ariel's collar. She faces the storyteller and stalls for time. “How do you know there were multiple thieves? Why not just one?”

“Easy.” He waves her question off. “Two sets of footprints. Boots but not large ones. Could have even been women.” He gives her a droopy wink and empties his glass.

Ariel puts on her best critical frown. What would Octave say? Something about distancing herself from the problem. “Execute them both. How it matters not.”

“Excellent! A strict yet simple adherence to laws and customs.”

“What's more,” Ariel continues, “a link between the thieves and Gaskaback must be investigated.”

“Now there's an interesting thought. Was Gaskaback behind it all?” Ariel was hoping the duke would answer the question himself. He only bounces it to his followers.

“Checkmate.” Octave picks the nobleman's purse off the table and counts out her winnings. “Who's next?”

The nobles exchange frustrated looks, but nobody breaks etiquette by asking her to leave. And with Octave controlling the only chessboard in the room, they have no choice but to stay and watch as another sits opposite her, purse on the table. “Five silver. But if I lose, stand up and let someone else play.”

“Done.” Octave opens with her knight. The noble responds with the Ogridor gambit. Dangerous but unsound. A few minutes later, Octave stands up, pocketing five bright coins. A collective sigh goes up from the audience. They're safe now.

“This looks entertaining. Let me have a turn.” Tal must have slipped into the room while everyone was watching Octave toy with her opponent, baffle him with sacrifices, and chase his exposed king across the board. She sits in Octave's seat. “Any bet you want. Who's playing?” This is too much for the nobles to bear. Against an unknown upstart, they could at least hope to take her money, but at the sight of Tal they file out of the room and rejoin the party. “I don't recall gambling being a part of the mission.”

“I'm waiting for the right moment.” Octave sits opposite her and they set up their pieces. “How are the others doing?”

“The short one is drifting in the crowd like a dead leaf in a stream. The tall one we sent to the duke though? Excellent work. You could learn a thing or two from her.” Tal opens with a pawn.

“We need to have a talk about independence.” Octave answers with her knight. “First you followed me around like an obsessive dog. Now you're giving us missions so you can be near me. What's next? Are you going to take Ranim Harki's place so you can oversee us?” She trades ogres in an effort to stymie Octave's attack.

“Not a bad idea.” Tal moves her king to safety. “Oh, lighten up. I care about you. Hard as it may be to admit, I still want to make sure you're safe despite your best efforts. Check to your king.”

“Provocations will get you nowhere.” Octave forces Tal's sorcerer out of its favourable position and wins a pawn in the hubbub.

“You can bluster all you want.” Tal's pawns still advance on the centre. “I know you still care too. You've been visiting The Quiet Seat here and there, gossiping with old friends.”

“So what if I have? That's not an invitation to you.” Octave sacrifices her sorcerer for two of Tal's central pawns.

“Fine. Hold on to your feelings and see where it gets you.” Tal trades both knights off in rapid succession. “If you don't want me following you, just say so. I'll stop.”

“Stop following me.” Octave makes a last ditch counterattack on Tal's king.

“That's all you had to do.” Tal's next move answers Octave's attack and threatens her king. Out of options, she sacrifices another piece to force a queen trade and transition into an uncomfortable endgame. “I won't bother you again after this mission. Check.”

“Then we're finished here.” Octave looks at her last ogre about to fall and tips her king.

“How much money did we bet on that?”

“Nice try.” Octave pushes back her chair.

“Octave, I'm retiring soon.”

“What?”

“I'm finished.” Tal leans back in her seat and rubs her eyes. For the first time, Octave looks into her face, sees the lines around her lids, the fading makeup unable to hide dark rings under them. The mask slips ever so slightly. Octave half rises then sits back down. “I'm done, Octave. You were right. I do hate people. And the more I deal with them, the more my hatred grows. It's been germinating all these years. And finally it's sprouted. Flowered. I want to leave it all behind. Find somewhere quiet to enjoy the fruit.”

“And what will you do then? Drink wine and watch the sunset while hating people?”

“Sounds nice.”

“Sounds soul-crushing. Tal, your life needs meaning. You can't sit around counting days the off.”

Tal smiles and adjusts her mask. “Now who's concerned? Meaning is what you make of life. I'll find it one way. Or another. In the meantime, this is my final act. Prevent war with Gaskaback. Get the orcs out. Then I'm gone. No more yapping nobles asking for favours. No more listening to senility drone on in council meetings. Gods, the council meetings! If you could ever conceive of a reason to hate people, conceive no further than old powerful men unable to admit the world is passing them by. At least they don't disparage the women to our faces. I already have my letter of resignation written. If you know of anyone interested in a quick rise to power in the Mage Guild, well, it's not hard to arrange.” Octave says nothing so Tal stands. “Please do carry out my mission though, Octave. I won't order you. I'll only ask.” She hobbles out of the room leaving Octave alone in front of the chessboard and her overturned king.