“Tonight’s reception is postponed,” Olga read, “by virtue of the unusually foul weather. It shall in any event be held tomorrow, once arrangements have been made for additional shelter from the elements.” She glanced at the shuttered window. “Well, I can’t say I am surprised. This may be the season for storms, but this one appears to be setting in hard.” Wind howled around the shutters outside.

“Is this normal?” Miriam asked. “To postpone events?”

“By your leave, it’s not normal, my lady, but it’s not unheralded.” Brilliana looked unhappy. “They may need time to move the lifeguard cavalry to other stables, to accommodate the coaches of the visitors. Or a roof may have caved in unexpectedly. This being the first real storm of winter, they may be hoping it will blow itself out overnight.”

“Hmm.” Miriam drained her teacup. “So it’ll be tomorrow night instead?”

“Almost certainly,” Olga said confidently. “It’s a shame to postpone once, twice is an embarrassment. Especially when the occasion is the return to court of his majesty’s winter sessions. And his opening of the sessions and levy of taxes follows the next day, to be followed by a hanging-holiday.”

“Well, then.” Miriam nodded to herself. “Is anything at all of consequence due to happen then?”

“Oh, a lot of drinking, and not a little eating and making merry,” Olga assured her. “It’s not a greatly important event for the likes of us. Our great sessions fall in six months, near upon Beltaigne, when alliances are discussed and braids rededicated, and the court of families-in-Clan hear grievances and settle treaties.”

“Hmm. Well, I suppose I’d better make sure I’m around for that, too,” said Miriam, waiting for a servant to refill her cup.

Olga winked at her. “I expect you will be—if we find you some reliable bodyguards.”

Late in the afternoon, Miriam returned to her apartment—briefly.

Dismissing the servants, she called Brilliana and Kara into her bedroom. “I’m in trouble,” she said tersely.

“‘Trouble,’ my lady?” asked Kara, eyes glinting.

“Someone tried to force themselves upon Lady Olga last night. Someone with gold in their pocket and a commission bearing the seal of my braid. Which I have never seen, so I have to take Olga’s word for it.” She sat down on a chest and waited for Kara’s declarations of shock to die down. Brilliana just nodded thoughtfully.

“This room—and other parts of this suite—are not doppelgängered properly,” she continued. “On the other side, security is virtually nonexistent—until you go fifty feet that way.” She gestured at the wall. “I don’t think that’s an accident. Nor was that open door last night,” she added to Brilliana’s questioning look.

“What are we going to do?” asked Kara, looking frightened and younger than ever.