“You need only invite me,” Silvy had said. “And you also know where The Lamb is.”

But they hadn’t seen each other since returning to Orane. It was all right. Interludes were what they were, Silvy thought. Sometimes you just needed to understand that.

—

On a night in summer, Jolis de Charette came into the tavern with a small cluster of people. Two other women, one man, the women wide-eyed; they’d never been here before, clearly. A different world for them.

Silvy, seeing her enter, bristled like a cat, knowing what had happened to her friend because of this woman.

Anni hated Jolis, too. Same reaction visible from her by the table she was just then dealing with. They’d have gladly thrown her out, in her showy burgundy gown. A burgundy gown and gold jewellery in a tavern? It was absurd.

Eudes, being Eudes, kept calm. This was a well-off woman bringing her patronage and friends, and—who knew?—perhaps sharing word of The Lamb with other well-off people looking to spend time among the so-amusing common folk of Orane. It was business, wasn’t it?

Silvy was behind the bar just then. Busy, but not busy enough, unfortunately. There was no poetry or singing yet, though the usual aspirants were clearly waiting for the right moment.

“Hello, Sylvia,” Jolis said, walking over.

Silvy didn’t bother correcting her. Or replying. She kept pouring flasks of wine that had been ordered by a table near the door.

After a pause, Jolis added, casually, “Has Thierry been in?” She had a high-pitched, irritating voice. Or, more likely, Silvy hated her enough to find her voice annoying.

But asking after Thierry? That was too much.

“Really?” Silvy said, staring hard at the other woman now. “Really?”

A wince, which was a reward of sorts.

“I just wanted to tell him something,” Jolis de Charette said, all gold and burgundy and scent and silk. She’d had her companions find a table; they hadn’t followed her to the bar.

Silvy said nothing. Waited.

And Jolis, as beautiful as ever, perhaps even more so, in truth, said, “I’m getting married! I wanted him to know.”

Silvy blinked. Said, coldly, “Why?”

Jolis de Charette shrugged. There were diamonds at her ears, they glittered with the movement. “Just did.”

“I see. If I remember, I’ll tell him. If he can ever come back to Orane, after two attempts to kill him. One was yours, wasn’t it?”

She hadn’t had to say that last, but she’d wanted to.

“It wasn’t!” Jolis said. “I knew nothing—”

“I wish you a dozen children in as many years,” Silvy said crisply. And walked away with wine flasks for the table that wanted them. Proper patrons. Regularly here. Not vicious people. Not excited by murder. She’d let Eudes take care of Jolis’s party.

She’d have happily poisoned them all, she told Anni later.

“Should have!” Anni said loyally.