Malden could not share the card sharp’s vindictive glee. He wasn’t sure how this would play out, but he knew if Hazoth killed the watchmen, or even if he just refused them entry to his house, it would only mean more trouble. Vry couldn’t leave it at that—he would have to send more watchmen, and more after that, until every armed man in the city was standing outside Hazoth’s gate demanding to be let in. That could hardly end well for anyone involved, and it would make it impossible for him to get in and steal the crown back. He didn’t know what he should hope for now. He could only watch, and pray for the best.

The four watchmen reached the gate of the villa just before noontime—though only Cythera was aware of the correct time. Hazoth had a mechanical clock on the second floor landing of the villa. Its persistent ticking had always soothed her before, the way it cut the day up into tiny portions, making her hours of bondage easier to digest. Now each tick and each tock were blows against her senses, as all her hopes depended on this next hour.

The watchmen stopped just outside the gate. One of them hallooed the guards and demanded entry in the name of the Burgrave. Cythera alone could hear the response—and alone was astonished by it.

“Well met, fellows. The Magus bids you enter and be welcome,” the guard said. He turned and made a signal toward the rose window at the top of the house, and the magical barrier came down, the wet air itself seeming to sigh in relief.

The watchmen filed through the portico and into the great hall. Up on the gallery, Cythera was busy counting the silver—an important job in a sorcerer’s house, since any spoon Hazoth ate with could be used against him by a rival wizard. She bent over the cutlery in case anyone (human or invisible) was watching, but listened close to what was said below her.

“I have an official message from the bailiff, which I must present to you, milord,” one of the watchmen said. “Then we must ask to search your house.”

Hazoth did not sound particularly worried. “Very good, let me hear it.”

“It is as follows,” the watchman said. He had not been carrying a scroll—most likely he’d memorized the message so he could recite it now.