“I know everyone.” She took a steaming pot off the fire. “Soup?”

“Not me,” said Shivers, leaning against the wall and folding his arms over his chest. He’d been a lot more careful about hospitality since he met Morveer.

“Nor me,” said Monza.

“Suit yourselves.” Vitari poured a mug out for herself and sat, folding one long leg over the other, pointed toe of her black boot rocking backwards and forwards.

Monza took the only other chair, wincing a touch as she lowered herself into it. “Sajaam says you can get things done.”

“And just what is it that the two of you need doing?”

Monza glanced across at Shivers, and he shrugged back at her. “I hear the King of the Union is coming to Sipani.”

“So he is. Seems he’s got it in mind that he’s the great statesman of the age.” Vitari smiled wide, showing two rows of clean, sharp teeth. “He’s going to bring peace to Styria.”

“Is he now?”

“That’s the rumour. He’s brought together a conference to negotiate terms, between Grand Duke Orso and the League of Eight. He’s got all their leaders coming—those who are still alive, at least, Rogont and Salier at the front. He’s got old Sotorius to play host—neutral ground here in Sipani, is the thinking. And he’s got his brothers-in-law on their way, to speak for their father.”

Monza craned forwards, eager as a buzzard at a carcass. “Ario and Foscar both?”

“Ario and Foscar both.”

“They’re going to make peace?” asked Shivers, and soon regretted saying anything. The two women each gave him their own special kind of sneer.

“This is Sipani,” said Vitari. “All we make here is fog.”

“And that’s all anyone will be making at this conference, you can depend on that.” Monza eased herself back into her chair, scowling. “Fogs and whispers.”

“The League of Eight is splitting at the seams. Borletta fallen. Cantain dead. Visserine will be under siege when the weather breaks. No talk’s going to change that.”

“Ario will sit, and smirk, and listen, and nod. Scatter a little trail of hopes that his father will make peace. Right up until Orso’s troops appear outside the walls of Visserine.”

Vitari lifted her cup again, narrow eyes on Monza. “And the Thousand Swords alongside them.”

“Salier and Rogont and all the rest will know that well enough. They’re no fools. Misers and cowards, maybe, but no fools. They’re only playing for time to manoeuvre.”

“Manoeuvre?” asked Shivers, chewing on the strange word.

“Wriggle,” said Vitari, showing him her teeth again. “Orso won’t make peace, and the League of Eight aren’t looking for it. The only man who’s come here hoping for anything but fog is his August Majesty, but they say he’s got a talent for self-deception.”

“Comes with the crown,” said Monza, “but he’s nothing to me. Ario and Foscar are my business. What will they be about, other than feeding lies to their brother-in-law?”

“There’s going to be a masked ball in honour of the king and queen at Sotorius’ palace on the first night of the conference. Ario and Foscar will be there.”