“I selected my officers myself,” Isabelle said in a tone that ought to have suggested this was dangerous ground. It had not been easy to find officers who would submit to a woman capitaine, even at double pay and a promise of promotion.

“Not all of them,” Belda said. “From what I understand the Imperial Marines have their own chain of command.”

“Yes, but I trust their commander implicitly,” Isabelle said. Having Bitterlich serve as the marine commander was one of her chief reassurances against any possible mutiny.

The duchesse made a tsking noise. “Oh, but you shouldn’t, my dear, I’ve heard the most horrible beastly things about him.”

Anger flared in Isabelle’s heart. The Sanguinaire generally looked down on Seelenjägers and thought of them as animals, but she’d never met a kinder or more considerate man than Bitterlich, and she would not have him slandered.

“Madame Duchesse,” she said coldly. “I regret to inform you that you have been listening to the wrong people.”

Belda’s eyes narrowed and she lifted her fan as if to hide her words from lip readers in the audience. “Don’t be so quick to dismiss. All men are beastly, but that Seelenjäger once tried to rape Comtesse Eulalie.”

Isabelle felt like she’d been punched in the gut. What Belda suggested was impossible. Bitterlich had never shown anything but polite discretion around Isabelle and her ladies.

Careful of her tone, Isabelle said, “What evidence do you have to support this accusation?”

“Oh, it never got to an accusation,” Belda said. “The beast-man—”

Isabelle cut her off. “Madame Duchesse, I will not hear unfounded accusations. Good evening to you.” She stepped away smartly, bowed ever so slightly, and tipped the hat she wasn’t wearing. “Builder keep you.”

She did not wait to hear if the duchesse gave the proper reply, but strode off at a pace the old woman would not be able to match. Yet no speed could shake off the sheen of slime the duchesse had drenched her with. Yes, seemingly decent men could turn out to be fiends, but it was also true that rapists tended to be recurrent in their crimes. Bitterlich went out of his way to be inoffensive. He’d sought no power over her, protected her secrets, and had given her his own. Neither did he seem to have any interest whatsoever in sex, be it for power, procreation, or pleasure. More’s the pity.

All men lie, but their secrets are your leverage, muttered the ancestral chorus, surging up like a shadow from the deep sky and then submerging again.