Damocles sipped his wine. “Maximus is loyal. The Oracle saw to it after that spy was found.”

Her brother sounded casual, but Eris noted how tense he was. Yes, Damocles was alarmed by the knowledge of spies in his midst; he would have the Oracle tighten One’s influence, run One’s programming more vigilantly. He might have already done that before Ariadne left, during those commands she’d forgotten under stress. Eris would have to be careful, because he would not trust her easily.

She saw one opening: greed gleamed in his eyes. She had promised Damocles an answer to a problem even the Oracle couldn’t solve.

“Maximus can vouch for me,” Eris said lightly. “Let me desist with the coyness: I specialize in the design and sale of advanced weaponry, which puts me in contact with your testing facility from time to time. Quietly.” Her lips curved into a smile. “Disloyalty to my clients, General, would be bad for business. I deal with it as efficiently as you.”

He leaned closer. “You’re one step away from a pirate.”

“A little step.” She tilted her head back to drink. Damocles’s eyes caught on the column of her throat.

<You’re pretending to be a pirate again?>, Clo said through the Pathos. <And ugh, I can’t believe you’re flirting with your—> She broke off. <Ari, would you hurry up and copy that fluming pass? What are you doing?>

<I’m hurrying,> came Ariadne’s voice. <I’d go faster if you’d stop glaring at me.> After another beat: <It’s done. I’m going to go slip it back in the commander’s pocket. Eris, we’ll meet you at the ship.>

Thank the gods. Clo had come close to slipping, and their squabbling was distracting. She couldn’t afford even the tiniest mistake.

“Hypothetically,” the prince said smoothly, “if your clients included the Evoli or the Novantae, that would be treason. The punishment is execution.”

“I believe what I just designed proves I want no affiliation with sorcerers or traitors. Alas, that means I’d lose such a charming descriptor just when I was considering an eye patch. But if I was a pirate”—she lowered her voice conspiratorially—“well, I should think it would be fitting I go out in a blaze of glory.”

Prince Damocles’s smile was small, and her hatred burned all the brighter. Eris wanted to rip off her Zoe disguise and smash her fist into his face. Wipe that smile off.

Breathe. Bury your feelings deep, just like Father taught you.

He shook his head. “I ought to be insulted at your informality.”

She half-lowered her eyelids. “Well, are you?”

“I’m not certain yet.”

With another rueful smile, he set his half-empty glass down on the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to greet my other guests. You understand.”

“Of course.”