“Faithfully, I presume,” Sireen said, and gestured to the other woman. “Capitaine Isabelle, be known to my friend Comtesse Eulalie. We were just talking about you, and thought it might be more pleasant to talk with you.”

The comtesse was about Isabelle’s age, and spritely despite her prenatal passenger. She had wide eyes, straight teeth, and a scarlet bloodshadow in which darker forms seemed to flit, like fish in a crimson lake. It was an effect Isabelle had never seen before, a reminder that not all Sanguinaire were created equal.

She was precisely the last person in this room to whom Isabelle wanted to talk, which was irrational—Isabelle had heard no rumor about any wrongdoing on her part—but an imperial command was never to be ignored. Isabelle plastered on her best courtier’s smile and said, “Madame Comtesse, it is an honor to meet you. I am made to understand that we have you to thank for these renovations.” Isabelle waved her spark-hand at the bright building around them.

“It is a Sanguinaire’s duty to the Builder to make the world worthy to accept the Savior’s coming. We guide and mold the clayborn, we improve the land, and we untangle the riddles that were left behind, but if we are to remain worthy teachers we must improve ourselves as well.”

The notion that the clayborn were just things to be shaped offended every fiber of Isabelle’s being, and she had long since given up on leaving such statements unchallenged. “The clayborn have more of an effect on the saintborn than we have on them. The aetherkeel, the orrery, the printing press, and almost all of the medicine you are about to learn were all clayborn discoveries and inventions.”

Isabelle didn’t need Belda’s help to get into trouble with Sireen. She could do that on her own.

“After the saintborn primed them with proper moral guidance,” Eulalie replied. “Remember they were in a state of barbarism when our ancestors emerged from the Vault of Ages. Fighting with each other for scraps like hungry dogs. It was only the saints’ firm hands that saved them from devolving into beasts.”

“That is what Legend says,” Isabelle allowed, though her smile took on an edge. “But the bones of the elder cities were laid before the saints returned, and antiquarians have discovered aqueducts and monuments and great marketplaces that the clayborn built and grew during the Bleaktimes.”

Eulalie waved this away. “Bees make combs, but that does not make them wise, and they can be improved greatly by the apiarist who provides for and protects them.”

Sireen, clearly annoyed by this unexpected squabble, said, “Isabelle, Eulalie and I were discussing one of the structural problems with bloodshadow surgery, and I thought you might be able to turn your mechanical mind to it.” She made a go-ahead gesture to Eulalie, who beamed as if she lived in a world devoid of ire.