Before Giddon could respond to this, a knock sounded on the door. Flustered, Perry called, “Come in,” then remembered himself and repeated the words in Keepish.

The man who entered had pale skin and reddish hair and was dressed in the plain style of home, no scarves, no bold colors. He was also familiar; Giddon thought he’d been at dinner last night, though at the other end of the table.

“Ah,” cried Perry, jumping up. “Come in, Cobal. You know Giddon from dinner, and this is Hava, also from the Monsean delegation. Hava, this is Cobal, the envoy from Estill.”

Giddon’s mind sharpened, a pleasant mask descending upon his own face. Cobal, the Estillan envoy, was small, cheerful, and flushed with pink, holding a brisk hand out to Hava, expressing his sorrow for their loss with what sounded like sincere regret.

Giddon noticed that Perry was still visibly upset. “Where are you from in Estill, Cobal?” he asked, to distract the man.

“The southern forests,” Cobal said, with a quick, conspiratorial grin. “I know who you work for, son, and what you’ve been up to. You don’t need to pretend.”

Alarmed by this openness—and annoyed at being called “son” by a man who seemed little older than he—Giddon rose, deciding it was time to put an end to this visit.

“I didn’t mean to chase you away,” said Cobal. “In fact, I hoped you would deliver a gift to your host on my behalf.”

“To Quona Varana?” said Giddon, growing more confused.

“Indeed,” said Cobal. “Quona and I share a passion.” Then, from inside his jacket, he pulled out a long stick that had a pom-pom dangling by a string from the end.

“That appears to be a cat toy,” said Giddon, who was beginning to wonder if the Estillan envoy was in his right mind.

“Yes,” said Cobal, his grin transforming into something apologetic. “I’d like to claim pure generosity as my motive, but the truth is, I got stuck inside an amble today without a pass and had to buy something. You don’t have to tell Quona that, though.”

Taking the toy, Giddon nodded, his pleasant mask still in place. Inside, however, he was struggling to understand a man who would intrude upon grieving people the day after their loss, cheerfully importuning them to carry a silly-looking cat toy across the city.

“Tell me,” said Cobal, an interesting glint in his eye. “Who’s leading Monsea now that this terrible tragedy has occurred?”

And now Giddon was beginning to understand. So was Hava; in his peripheral vision, Giddon saw her flicker, once, into a sculpture of a ferocious girl. Cobal let out a small noise of apprehension and stepped back.