«Qassan, really. My interview—and Rinko’s, if she’ll do it—that’s just Kostos getting what he wants from me, because he knows how much I want this.»

«Why do you?» asked Jinadh. «Want it? Just revenge? Or has Saeger promised you something?»

«No promises. Her consideration, at most.»

Jinadh’s smile finally made an appearance, only slightly tinged with rue. «Don’t tell me my wife has suddenly developed a conscience.»

“If Saeger is elected,” said Lillian, “maybe it will come in handy. A conscience, I mean.”

Fondly, Jinadh tucked a bit of hair behind her ear. “You had some mail today.”

“Magnusson didn’t mention it.”

“I said I would give it to you. From the look of the envelope … I thought it would be something we should discuss together.”

Apprehension crept up the back of her neck. “The look of the envelope?”

“It looks … financial.” He reached into the inner pocket of his dressing gown and produced a creamy envelope with an elegant gold stamp over the seal. “Or possibly legal.”

She looked at it, then looked at him, and considered that it had been in his pocket all this time. “I didn’t wake you. You were waiting up for me.”

He shrugged. «It’s hard for me to fall asleep when you aren’t here. Especially when I know you’re up to mischief. Open it.»

There had been a pearl-handled letter opener in this office once, but that was long gone, so she tore the envelope open with one finger and withdrew a folded sheaf of paper.

The letterhead gave her no clue—no bank or lawyer she had ever worked with. And the packet of papers was thicker than a simple invoice or angry letter would have been. She barely skimmed the body, turning instead to the next page: a table of figures.

“Securities,” she said. “Apparently we now own significant shares in Lisoan real estate.”

“I assume you have not been playing the markets without telling me.”

“I didn’t do this,” she said, staring at the ledger of quarterly interest statements. The numbers wouldn’t stay steady on the page. “I didn’t.”

“Then who?”

She knew before he finished the question. “Makricosta. Who else?” Blood money, reparations, some strange kind of dowry? What was this supposed to be?

“Your expression worries me. May I see it?”

She handed it over, feeling dizzy. “He’s done this out of guilt.”

Jinadh stared at the balance, face blank. “And perhaps it made him feel better. I really do not care. This money will send Stephen to school. It will make us … hm.”

“Solvent?”

“At the least.”

“Well, I suppose he is a sort of uncle to Stephen now. Though Queen save us if he decides to act … avuncular, in any way.” Her hands were shaking.

Jinadh took them in his own. «Moon-eyes, I’m not sure we’ll be hearing from either of them very soon.»