Well, there it was, as much discretion and direction as Istariel could afford to give and still hope to retain her seat if any word of this came out. Istariel would have to keep her distance from Ariel and Vi, of course. Even Ariel would understand that . . .  if she noticed. Now, to smooth things, to maintain the illusion.

“You are to be commended for bringing such great Talents into our fold, Sister Ariel. I don’t believe two recruits with such potential have been brought to the Chantry for perhaps fifty years.” She smiled. It was fifty years since she and Ariel had arrived.

“Longer, surely.”

“You deserve to be rewarded,” Istariel said, her smile freezing. “Is there anything I can get for your studies?” Ariel, of course, would say service was enough.

“Absolutely,” Ariel said.

By the time she left, Ariel had muscled Istariel into consenting to every item. Ariel hadn’t even had the grace to offer something she didn’t really want so Istariel could say no and claim some small victory for her pride.

Istariel sat back and looked at her hair in her mirror, wanting it to be perfect for her meeting with the Alitaeran emissary. At least her blonde hair was still beautiful. She had the other Sisters swearing it was magic that she could have a mane so glossy and thick and perfect. It wasn’t, but it always pleased her to hear the allegation.

Her mind cast back to Ariel’s statement that she should be fascinated by ugly Trace Arvag-whatever-her-name-was. Istariel frowned, the face in the mirror showing any number of unattractive lines on a dignified but quite plain face. If Ariel had a sense of humor, Istariel would suspect she were the butt of a very subtle joke.

She snorted. Ariel, a sense of humor. Now there was a joke.

23

Kylar peered through the glass inset in the balcony door. In the darkness of the queen’s bedchamber, a couple was writhing on the queen’s bed. From their frenetic pace, they were either very close to completion or very energetic. From habit, Kylar looked at the hinges of the balcony door, then realized they could squeal like a herd of pigs and never be noticed. He looked back through the window, suddenly shy. Still going.

A gentleman would wait. A wetboy would use the distraction. Kylar slipped inside.

The young man grunted and froze. Hands smacked loudly as the woman grabbed his buttocks and urged him to keep going. He thrust twice more, then wilted.

“Fuck!” Terah Graesin said, pushing him off her. “I thought I was going to make it this time.”

“Sorry, Sis,” Luc Graesin said.

Kylar felt suddenly lightheaded. The ka’kari whistled softly. ~I haven’t seen royal incest for a couple centuries, and that was in Ymmur, where it’s expected.~