If the device, which Safi had made in Marstok, was indeed within the folds of her pocket, then she would need to be very careful over the next quarter hour. The Hell-Bards could not see it, for they would know right away what it was—what magic it could do. Her attendants could not find it, for they would certainly tell the spymasters they reported to. And Safi could not openly examine the device in her bedroom, for she was under constant surveillance.

Not the magical kind—her Hell-Bard powers would have sensed that—but rather the human kind with peepholes and listening horns.

Fortunately, although she also loathed him for it, Leopold fon Cartorra was one step ahead. When the Hell-Bards reached Safi’s door, one of her attendants (named Svenja) rushed to open it while another (Nika) hurried forward to greet her. Clasped in Nika’s hands was fine courtly paper with a red ribbon twined around it.

“For you,” Nika said. She spoke with the slightest northern accent, her family hailing from some wealthy estate on the North Sea coast. “It is from His Imperial Highness,” she added, and there was no missing the bright spots of color rising on her pale cheeks. They made her lovely face even lovelier.

Well, Safi thought, she obviously read the message. After accepting the letter while her Hell-Bards fell into their usual positions in the hall, Safi followed Svenja into the bedroom. Svenja was also an attractive woman, though with a more regal bearing. No smiles or blushes from her. Only business.

“I have chosen the blue nightgown,” Svenja began.

But Safi snapped up a staying hand. “I will undress myself.” She flashed the letter at both women. “And I would like to read my letter in privacy. I will see you in the morning, yes?”

“Oh, of course, Your Imperial Majesty.” Nika curtsied buoyantly, her cheeks still aglow. Svenja curtsied more stiffly, with a murmured “Your Imperial Majesty,” before hooking Nika’s arm in hers and practically tugging the younger woman from the room.

Safi hurried to her desk. She’d had no occasion before to use it—who would she have written to? But the desk itself possessed a privacy screen. For writing lover’s letters, Svenja had explained, which had made Nika giggle behind her hand, blushing all the while.

A blush not so different from the one Nika had just made, Safi realized as she unfolded the four-panel screen from its slots within the desk. She was surprised to find it didn’t match the rest of the room. Even to her gray-shrouded eye, the silver silk clashed with the room’s gold, and the elaborately printed flowers seemed too delicate next to all the Hasstrel bats.

It would protect Safi’s privacy, though, and that was all that mattered. In moments, she had the ribbon off the letter and the paper smoothed across her desk.

My dearest Safiya,