“I’d sooner have some warm water, soap and the privacy in which to wash,” she said. “I’m filthy, and I stink. Give me that, and you’ll have your kind words.”

“I confess that I hadn’t noticed,” he rumbled. “But I will see what can be done.”

“Where is Calenne?”

Josiri broached the question with more force than he’d intended, but it had been a long night, full of worry and suspicion. Even the orange-gold of the early sun and the summerhouse’s warmth couldn’t dispel the peculiar chill born of sleeplessness.

The pencil ceased its dance across the paper. Anastacia glanced up from the desk, her black eyes empty of interest. “How should I know? Is this why you’ve been wandering the grounds?”

Josiri’s temper quickened. It wasn’t what she said, but the way she’d spoken. Calenne always invited an edge to Anastacia’s voice. Irritation tinged with disappointment. But not this time. Something had changed. And he’d a sinking feeling he knew what.

“She wasn’t at Ascension.”

“I know. I was there, remember? Her mistake. The cooks outdid themselves, and the wine . . .”

“Her bed’s not been slept in. She’s not in Grandfather’s tower, and none of the servants have seen her since yesterday.”

He paused, alert for a guilty twitch. He saw only polite interest. Her face could have been a mask, watchful and unblinking. Almost innocent, or as close as she ever came to such. More and more, this felt like a game. Was that why he was spinning it out? To give her a chance to prove his suspicions wrong?

Anastacia returned to her sketch. “I’ve not seen her this morning either.”

“But you met with her yesterday. In the grounds.” Josiri strove to match her calm, collected manner. “A servant saw you.”

The pencil scritched to a halt, the delicate arc of a tower’s onion dome incomplete on the page. Anastacia tapped the point twice on the paper and set it aside. “Ah.”

He found no satisfaction in the confession that was no confession. “You opened the hallowgate.”

A hesitation. “Yes.” She still didn’t look up from the desk.

“How did she learn of it? What did she threaten?” He shouldn’t have underestimated her. For all her faults, Calenne was as bright as the pinnacle star. It wouldn’t have taken much sloppiness on his part for her to work things out. “A promise to throw herself from the tower, I suppose.”

For a heartbeat, Josiri mistook the low, throaty ripple for a sob – an utterance as alien to Anastacia as tears. Then he recognised it as a chuckle.

“Threaten me? All these years, and you think a threat could move me? It was my idea.”

“Your . . . ?” He took a deep breath to smother a flash of anger. It didn’t work. “Do you know what you’ve done?”

“What she wanted. What you needed.”