Hekatah waved that away. “Considering what we have achieved, that’s a minor inconvenience.”

Dorothea dropped the fruit back into the bowl. “We’ve achieved nothing!”

“You’re becoming inflexible, Dorothea,” Hekatah said with venomous sweetness. “You’re starting to act as old as you look.”

Dorothea’s blood pounded in her temples, and she wanted—oh, how she wanted—to unleash just a little of the feelings that had been growing more virulent. She hated Hekatah, but she also needed the bitch. So she sat back and inflicted a wound that would hurt much deeper than any physical blow. “At least I still have all my hair. That bald patch is starting to ooze, dearest.”

Hekatah automatically lifted a hand to cover the spot. With effort, she lowered it before it reached her head.

The impotent hatred in Hekatah’s dull gold eyes scared Dorothea a little but also produced a sense of vicious satisfaction.

“We can make do with sneaking through the other Gates,” Hekatah said. “We have something better now.”

“And what is that?” Dorothea asked politely.

“The excuse we needed to start the war.” Hekatah’s smile was pure malevolence.

“I see,” Dorothea said, returning the smile.

“The immigrants we had picked to replace the villagers will go to Glacia—just as they would have if Hobart had given us that village as payment for our assistance. We’ll also add a few immigrants from other Terreillean Territories. The escorts will be males who don’t know where the original village was located. Only the Coach drivers will be told where to drop off the happy families—and that won’t be anywhere near a settled area, so there won’t be any chance of detection. The escorts will, of course, be dismayed to see no sign of a village waiting for inhabitants.” A dreamy look filled Hekatah’s eyes. “The company of Eyrien warriors who will be waiting for them will take care of things. The slaughter will be…horrible. But there will be a couple of survivors who will manage to escape. They’ll live long enough to get back to Little Terreille and tell a few people about how Terreilleans are being butchered in Kaeleer. And they’ll live long enough to say that two men had been giving the orders—a Hayllian and an Eyrien.”

“No one in Terreille will think it’s anyone but Sadi and Yaslana,” Dorothea said gleefully. “They’ll think the High Lord ordered the attack and sent his sons to oversee it.”

“Exactly.”

“Which will prove that all my warnings were justified. And once people start wondering why there has been no word from friends or loved ones…” Dorothea sank back in her chair with a sigh of pleasure. Then she straightened up reluctantly. “We still have to find a way to contain Jaenelle Angelline.”

“Oh, with the proper incentive, she’ll willingly place herself in our hands.”