“Ah, this should do,” Morlia said, as I presented the first batch of posing rabbits. The dinner guests were Morlia’s usual entourage, a faceless lot of acquaintances with names I never bothered to remember. “Is there any of that wine left? What was the name of that one? Not that sickly brand from Quinnari; those people truly have no taste for such things.”

“Yes, Mum, believe we ha—”

“I remember. That wine we had when—”

She continued her ramble as I thought out the night’s rummaging. There was a room in the East Wing whose lock was giving me some real trouble. If the opportunity presented itself, I’d get into her master bedroom. That meant keys. Keys meant vaults. Vaults meant—

Maybe the bitch would pass out from the Grest she was presently going on about. Better yet, one of those sycophants would bed her down in a corner for a few hours.

“Good butler, go find a bottle or two.”

“Yes, Mum.” I made my way to the wine cellar, chuckling as I heard the predictable foulness from Morlia to Werlyle, whom last I saw devouring his plate at the far end of the table.

When I returned with a bottle of Grest on a silver platter, both worth more than many denizens of Nilghorde made in a year, the fight was in full swing.

“—Leave me alone, you old bat.”

“Old bat! That’s what you call the woman gracious enough to allow you to stay in her home? You do nothing for us, unless you consider tugging your pecker a chore.”

Some of the newer guests smiled through their discomfort, while those who’d grown accustomed to the exchange—perhaps even came to the dinners because of it—laughed loud and chimed in louder.

“No really, cousin,” she insisted, “what do you do all day?” To her nearest cheering section, “You see what I have to deal with here? Wer-lie-all, such a prole name.”

“Same as you, sit on my ass and squander someone else’s fortune.”

“He really is a boorish type,” a man dressed like a poet said.

“You know what Rinlot said about you?” Morlia said.

“Leave me ’lone, bitch. You can entertain these opium heads and cocksuckers with a trip on your broom.”

“Is something funny, butler?”

“No, Mum.” I snapped to, like a soldier.

“I didn’t think so,” Morlia said. “I didn’t think so because I know you are aware of the stakes in the outer bailey…and their purpose.”

That damned Werlyle was going to get me killed. I had to find a reason to excuse myself, and quick. To my good fortune, Werlyle stunned us all.

“I doubt Rinlot had a chance to tell you much of anything,” shoveling in his meal, “seein’ as you killed him and all.”

An air of silence filled the room, palpable and thick. Guest’s forks clattered against the table as they excused themselves.

—