“Yes. I always figured it was her way. If you take my meaning.”

“I do, madam.”

“But you think it is something more?”

His shoulders tensed and Floote looked, if such a thing were to be conceived, uncomfortable. “I have made observations over the years.”

“Yes?” Having a conversation with Floote was about as easy as explaining the formulation of the counterbalance theorem to a bowl of macaroni pudding.

“On the nature of preternatural interactions, if you would, madam.”

“Yes, I would. Go on.”

Floote spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. “I have arrived at certain conclusions.”

“Concerning what, exactly?” Coaxing, coaxing, thought Alexia. Never her strong point in a conversation, letting others take their time getting to a point. Still, the company of Lord Akeldama had taught her much in the way of it.

“There may be attraction between those who have excess soul and those who have none at all, madam.”

“You mean preternatural and supernatural?”

“Or preternatural and natural folk with supernatural potential.”

“What kind of attraction?” asked Lady Maccon rather injudiciously.

Floote raised an eloquent eyebrow.

“Did my father—” Alexia stopped, trying to come up with the correct phrasing. This was a strange sensation for her, thinking before she spoke. Her husband was much the same way or they might never have tolerated each other. Floote was notoriously reluctant to talk about his former employer, citing classified protection of international relations and the safety of the empire. Lady Maccon tried again. “Did my father exercise this appeal on purpose?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Suddenly Floote switched topics, volunteering information in a most unexpected and un-Floote-like manner. “Do you know why the Templars gave up their preternatural breeding program, madam?”

Alexia’s brain tried to change gears, a steam engine caught on the wrong track. “Uh, no.”

“They never could entirely control preternaturals. It’s your pragmatism. Your kind cannot be persuaded by faith; pure logic must be applied.”

Alexia’s very pragmatic nature was confused as to why normally taciturn Floote was telling her this, and right now. “Is that what happened to my father? Did he lose faith?”

“Not exactly faith, madam.”

“What do you mean, precisely, Floote? Enough shilly-shallying.”

“He engaged in an exchange of loyalties.”

Alexia frowned. She was beginning to suspect there were far fewer coincidences in life than she had previously believed. “Let me guess. This occurred about twenty years ago?”

“Nearer to thirty, but if you are asking if the three events are linked, the answer is yes.”

“My father rejecting the Templars, his death, and the Kingair assassination attempt? But when the Kingair Pack tried to kill the queen, he was already dead.”

“My point exactly, madam.”

A loud crashing and banging came at the front door. Lady Maccon would have liked to query Floote further, but pressing noises seemed to be calling on his butler attentions.

Floote glided out, all calmness and dignity, to see what the fuss was about. Whoever it was, however, pushed past him and came rushing into the front parlor, crying, “Lady Maccon! Lady Maccon, you are needed most urgently!”