The watchman held his lantern high, looking this way and that but thankfully not up. Sweat ran into Alec’s eyes and slicked his palms as he struggled to keep still. At last they went inside again and chained the gate shut.

Alec’s arms were shaking with the strain, but he managed to pull himself up and balance precariously on top of the wall.

There was still no sign of a dog in the garden, so he carefully lowered himself and dropped into a bed of fragrant flowers. From here, it was a simple matter to scale a wooden drainpipe to the balcony. The first lighted window was the room with the ladies. The casement stood ajar to catch the breeze, and he could hear them laughing and talking over the game. There were five of them, including Lady Mallia. She must have been on her way here. He didn’t recognize the others, but a stately woman with silver-white hair seemed to be presiding, and she sent a servant for more wine as Alec watched from the shadows outside.

“Really, it’s too hard,” said Mallia. “I haven’t had a new piece made this year.”

“Pearls are the only reliable jewel these days,” their hostess replied, touching the long heavy strand she wore.

“Only because no one’s discovered a way to make them into a weapon, Marquise!” another woman exclaimed.

“At least silk is still available,” said Mallia. “But what are we to do this winter, if the wool route is still blocked?”

“I haven’t had a new cloak in two years, have I, Mother?” said the youngest of the group, a dark-haired young woman, to the hostess. Evidently Kyrin had a daughter.

“It’s the shortage of eligible young men I’d be worried about, in your place,” the fifth woman pointed out. “Let’s hope the queen doesn’t get them all killed. There’s not much to choose from in the city these days, except for cripples, old men, and wastrels.”

Alec waited until no one was looking his way and stole past the window. The next two rooms were too dark to make out anything inside, but the library was still brightly lit. Reltheus sat with three other men, drinking wine and smoking long clay pipes. An older man—presumably the marquis—rose as Alec watched and put a scroll of some sort into a large painted cabinet, then locked it and pocketed the key.

“Remember, Kyrin, there is madness in the family,” Reltheus was saying.

“I hardly think the queen mad,” a middle-aged red-haired man replied, facing the window where Alec lurked.

“Poor judgment needs no explanation,” said the fourth, the small man with a shock of blond hair Alec had seen with Mallia. “It’s pride on the queen’s part, plain and simple. Nothing short of total victory will suffice for her.”