In this moment, she knows how empowering that fury would be, but another thought stems it, the question of where it will lead her if she allows that tidal wave of emotion to crash freely.

“Would you really have let me die in there?” she asks evenly.

Edger leans even farther over the side of the rowboat. The glazed eyes of his expressionless face stare at nothing somewhere past her right shoulder, yet somehow Dyeawan imagines him smiling. The body of Ku the wind dragon convulses gently against the man’s throat like a small, beating heart, and through the bone flutes perforating the creature’s hide the voice made of wind that belongs to Edger whistles to her.

“What do you think?” he asks.

HEAVEN’S HOSTESS IS HELL’S HANDMAIDEN

LEXI CAN ONLY IMAGINE THAT the agents were paired by the Protectorate Ministry for their shocking contrast, which is either uproariously humorous or deeply disturbing, depending on the beholder.

She spotted the first one from the cooperative’s bazaar right away; it was impossible not to, as the man towers a full two heads above even Taru, is slender as a willow, and draped head to toe in midnight as all Ministry agents are. As if his height and frame weren’t striking enough, the man’s head is shaved completely bald and shines like a beacon. A storm-tossed ship could follow it all the way to shore.

It isn’t until she and Taru approach the archway to the bridge leading to Gen Stalbraid’s towers that they notice his companion. The second agent is a head shorter than Lexi, as round as a wheel of cheese and four times as pale. His ghostly complexion is made even more off-putting by the slick of hair atop his head that is even darker than his uniform and the equally black and oily beard that covers most of his bulbous face.

Lexi greets them each with a deep bow. “Agents.”

“Te-Gen,” the towering skeletal one says in a surprising baritone.

“Te-Gen,” his squat companion echoes, his voice alarmingly high-pitched.

Taru says nothing, and the Ministry men seem happy enough to ignore the Undeclared.

“The Ministry honors Gen Stalbraid with its protection,” Lexi assures them, her tone, expression, and posture all affecting the practiced benevolence of her hostess training.

The agents trade a silent glance, both of them unsure how to respond to that. They are not known for their imagination, thus neither of them can imagine a scenario under which they have been dispatched, not to spy on Lexi, but to “protect” her.

“It is the charter of the Ministry,” the tall one begins, staggering each word as if he has to think about the next one to follow, “to protect the machinery of the state. It is thus our mandate to preserve and monitor each part of that machine in equal measure.”