“Jirvy? A rat? Never. I’d bet my life on it. I’m just done with him knowing my private thoughts. I confided way too much to him over the years.” Xilsi shook her head, hands clenched in her lap, then, with an effort, relaxed, tossed the used brush into a basket, and dumped a bucket of cold water over her head. “To be fair, he didn’t want to come on this mission when he found out I was assigned to it, but he’s the best archer in the order. When the all-seeing eye gives a command, we obey. This is the only time you’ll hear me say a single nice thing about that motherfucker.”

“The prince?”

Xilsi snorted, grinning. “Ha! No, Jirvy. Come on.”

In the next chamber, they dried off and dressed in clothing dyed with Pelis Manor’s distinctive gray and green. A menial led them into the central part of the Manor. This far north, autumn nights could get quite cold, but the interior was saturated in warmth, heated by multiple brick ovens, showcasing a measure of the Manor’s wealth. Elen was sweating by the time they were shown into a dining hall. Here the prince was already seated at the high table beside Lord Genia and what appeared to be several of her relatives, ranging in age from a palsy-ridden, elderly man to a boy of about ten who was too overawed by the prince to eat.

The food was delicious and plentiful. Elen sat with the wardens at a lower table while Simo attended the prince at the high table. Luviara had to be on duty, standing beside the prince’s chair. As Xilsi had said, the interlocutor would eat and bathe later, as would Simo. Fulmo wasn’t there, as it was now night, but Lord Genia employed a human food taster who sampled each dish before it was offered to the prince.

After the meal, they retired to a parlor where the prince sat in the imperial chair while Genia sat opposite, in the lord’s chair. The wardens were brought stools so they could sit as well. Genia dismissed all her people except her interlocutor, a retired general named Murli who was in charge of the Manor’s militia, her chief steward, her chief archivist, and a lively young woman who was Genia’s granddaughter, recently returned from the capital city and years of training in Pelis’s heartland Manor.

“You’re Xilsi Bakassar, aren’t you?” said the granddaughter, whose name was Worvua.

Jirvy made a soft noise.

Xilsi said, suspiciously, “I am. Why do you ask?”

“You’re still famous in the wineshops, if you wanted to know.”

“I know what I am,” said Xilsi with cool hauteur.

“You are beautiful, just as the songs say,” agreed the young woman. “Is it true, what they say about you refusing to enter the Flower Court as a consort?”