The ceremonial keys tinkled gently at Delia’s silver chain belt, the mark of her status as Châtelaine across from the equally ceremonial dagger that marked her as an Associate. She was in noblewoman’s at home dress, what could be worn when dining en famille, a short over-tunic of cream silk, elaborately tucked and embroidered with a royal blue ankle-length under-tunic. It suited her, which it should, since she’d invented and spread the fashion.

Most things did suit her; she had a curling mane of night-black hair that torrented down from her light wimple, huge eyes of a blue like the sky on a spring morning, and a tip-tilted nose, and a scent that was like flowers. Just now her figure was a little riper from the birth of her daughter.

And I still haven’t talked to Delia about Bend and BD. It’s time and past time, even if I’d rather pull out my toenails with my teeth. What a tangled web I’ve found; tangling up my life.

“Odd thing, that,” she said to Delia as they came into their sitting room.

“What?” asked Delia, turning away from Heuradys’ crib and putting a finger to her lips.

Tiphaine grinned. “It’d take a bell ringing over her head to wake her up. You know that. This love seat is big enough for two, if they’re friendly.”

Musing, she went on: “The odd thing was learning that Jason Mortimer was betrothed to the older Reddings girl. Things got very rough for her, being pregnant and her prospective groom subtracted.”

“Oh, yes. What brought that to your mind?”

“I’ve been thinking about the ramifications of things. I killed Jason, on orders from Sandra; that’s why the Reddings chit ended up in the family way with no family.”

“Why should that eat at you? You’ve killed enough men and even a few women. Every one of them probably had relatives and obligations. What’s special about Jason?”

Tiphaine winced slightly; Delia had come to terms with her profession, but never really liked it. Though to be fair she didn’t make any distinction between her black-ops beginnings and her current status. As she said, dead was dead.

“It’s mostly just how miserable the entire Mortimer family seems to have been. And then I learn something good about them . . . and something bad. Did you know Jason offered to marry me? If I got him out of that place in Corvallis the Dúnedain had him stashed. Practically begged.”

Delia turned in her arms and looked up at her from her shoulder. “Were you tempted?” she said, with a wicked grin. “You were a landless minor Associate then, after all, and he was a knight.”