“I think you’re right.”

Delia wiggled away, checked the cradle, and then propped the door to the bedchamber open so that a baby’s cry would carry through.

“Ah, I wouldn’t know,” she said from the doorway and put the back of her hand theatrically to her forehead. “I am but an innocent country maid . . .”

Then she turned and darted inside.

COUNTY OF THE EASTERMARK
CHARTERED CITY OF WALLA WALLA
CITY PALACE OF THE COUNTS PALANTINE
PORTLAND PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION
(FORMERLY SOUTHEASTERN WASHINGTON STATE)
HIGH KINGDOM OF MONTIVAL
(FORMERLY WESTERN NORTH AMERICA)
AUGUST 24, CHANGE YEAR 25/2023 AD

Rigobert gave her a slight ironic look and tilt of brow. She didn’t think Count Felipe caught it, but Ermentrude did; though she wouldn’t know exactly what to make of it.

Right, Rigobert, so I gave them a heavily edited version. They’re both good Christians; no need to shock them.

Felipe was frowning and looking at his bandaged hand. “Did finding a spiritual patron help you with . . . with this sort of thing?” Then he snorted and laughed. “It’s really like something in a romaunt. Except that I just saw a dead man get up and fight.”

“One of the nastier romaunts,” the Countess agreed. “And did it, my lady d’Ath? Help, that is?”

She was afraid, but completely in control of it. Tiphaine inclined her head in respect; she knew from Delia’s pregnancies that they made emotional control more difficult.

“Oh, yes, my lady Countess. Shortly thereafter, I was back at Fen House, on the Lady Regent’s orders, just at the end of Winter Court this year. Then—”

INTERLACHEN PRISON
THE NEW FOREST, CROWN DEMESNE
(FORMERLY NORTHERN OREGON)
PORTLAND PROTECTIVE ASSOCIATION
HIGH KINGDOM OF MONTIVAL
(FORMERLY WESTERN NORTH AMERICA)
JANUARY 8, CHANGE YEAR 25/2023 AD

Tiphaine shook herself violently, water splattering all over the plain concrete floor from her hooded cloak of greased wool. It stank of wet lanolin, and the peculiar smell of chilly mud. There was mud spattered up her legs as well, cold and gelid, and her suit of plate armor was performing its usual miracle of being as shivering-miserable in cold weather as it was sweatingmiserable in hot. At least she could afford stainless steel, not as likely to rust. All that was familiar enough; the Black Months were like this, except when they were honestly frigid and you got snow.

“Close behind me,” she said to her page.

It was as close to midnight as made no matter, but the prison was awake and humming. The guards milled around in the common areas and the prisoners called to one another from their cells overlooking the panopticon. The smells were fairly rank, much worse than the last time she’d been here, and the ordinary damp winter chill was even worse than in most places. Chill moisture seemed to be flowing up from the floor into her legs, as well as leaking down her collar.