“What kind of celebration?”

“The kind for which Sipani is famous.” Eider coughed again, turned her head and spat, a few wet specks settling across the shoulder of her beautiful coat.

“Where?”

“At Cardotti’s House of Leisure. He’s hired the whole place for the night. For him, and for Foscar, and for their gentlemen. He sent me here to make the arrangements.”

“He sent his mistress to hire whores?”

Monza snorted. “Sounds like Ario. What arrangements?”

“To find entertainers. To make the place ready. To make sure it’s safe. He… trusts me.”

“More fool him.” Vitari chuckled. “I wonder what he’d do if he knew who you really worked for, eh? Who you really spy for? Our mutual friend at the House of Questions? Our crippled friend from his Majesty’s Inquisition? Keeping an eye on Styrian business for the Union, eh? You must have trouble remembering who you’re supposed to betray from week to week.”

Eider glowered back at her, arms still folded around her battered ribs. “It’s a living.”

“A dying, if Ario learns the truth. One little note is all it would take.”

“What do you want?”

Monza stepped from the shadows. “I want you to help us get close to Ario, and to Foscar. I want you to let us into Cardotti’s House of Leisure on the night of this celebration of yours. When it comes to arranging the entertainments, I want you to hire who we say, when we say, how we say. Do you understand?”

Eider’s face was very pale. “You mean to kill them?” No one spoke, but the silence said plenty. “Orso will guess I betrayed him! The Cripple will know I betrayed him! There aren’t two worse enemies in the Circle of the World! You might as well kill me now!”

“Alright.” The blade of the Calvez rang gently as she drew it. Eider’s eyes went wide.

“Wait—”

Monza reached out, resting the glinting point of the sword in the hollow between Eider’s collarbones, and gently pushed. Ario’s mistress arched back over the chair, hands opening and closing helplessly.

“Ah! Ah!” Monza twisted her wrist, steel flashing as the slender blade tilted one way and the other, the point grinding, digging, screwing ever so slowly into Eider’s neck. A line of dark blood trickled from the wound it made and crept down her breastbone. Her squealing grew more shrill, more urgent, more terrified. “No! Ah! Please! No!”

“No?” Monza held her there, pinned over the back of the chair. “Not quite ready to die after all? Not many of us are, when it comes to the moment.” She slid the Calvez free and Eider rocked forwards, touching one trembling fingertip to her bloody neck, breath coming in ragged gasps.

“You don’t understand. It isn’t just Orso! It isn’t just the Union! They’re both backed by the bank. By Valint and Balk. Owned by the bank. The Years of Blood are no more than a sideshow to them. A skirmish. You’ve no idea whose garden you’re pissing in—”