“I see.” Millie crossed the room to her jewellery box. “Hm. I would have thought it better serves the Sisterhood’s interests to blame an outsider.”

“Or at least to reserve judgement. I don’t know if any of the Councilwomen actually bought Celane’s idea, though. Aside from Verje and Morwin, but they’re clearly operating as a block.” I flopped over on the bed. Millie owned more scatter cushions than I would have deemed strictly necessary. “The only explanation I’ve come up with is that Celane wants to make the investigation itself impossible. Drag it out, pursue too many leads, drain resources. Anything that makes Commander Asan look incompetent.”

“Oh, so it’s political.”

“Probably personal too. I’m sure the Commander offends most members of the Council.”

Millie picked out a pair of red earrings to match the trim on her blouse. “Does this look okay?”

“Looks nice.”

“So Celane wants to unseat the Commander and replace her with a different Reverend.” She checked her reflection one last time. “But Rhyanon is clearly in with Enforcement, and thus with Commander Asan, who is probably in charge of your faction.”

“Probably,” I agreed.

“Meaning that your people are under attack.”

“Kind of.”

“And we’re going to Celane’s party anyway.”

“Accepting the invitation was the least suspicious thing to do under the circumstances.”

It was also my opportunity to figure out what Reverend Celane wanted from me. I might have entertained the possibility of her invitation being genuine, had she not tried to compulse me into accepting it. And in spite of what I had said to Millie, her presence in Lokon had been suspicious.

Better the enemy you know, I figured. At any rate, tonight I planned to be as bland as Food Management’s emergency gruel rations. After my outburst at the inquiry, I occupied a strangely powerful position. On the one hand, I was fairly certain Celane would love to shove me off the Edge. On the other, if I came to any harm, she would instantly become Commander Asan’s prime suspect. It wasn’t the most comfortable situation, but confronting the Chief Archivist had offered me a great deal of unexpected security.

Osan waited at the end of the road. He stood beside the horses of his cab, feeding them from a bag of withered apples.

“Hello, Kamillian,” he said.

Millie, pale at the best of times, went white. Her mouth opened, then closed.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. There was a hint of bitterness in his voice, a hard edge beneath his smile. “I know it’s been a while, but you seem surprised to see me.”

She struggled to speak. “I didn’t realise that you worked for a Herald now.”

“Hm. How the times have changed, hey?” He presented his last apples to the horses, then hoisted himself up onto the driver’s seat. “Let’s go. Don’t want to be late.”

Millie looked shaken. I let her climb inside the cab first.

“You know I disapprove, right?” Osan muttered to me.

“It sort of just … happened.”