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against wet grass. Lantern light picked out strands of grey in her dark hair, showed the pity in her lean and whittled face. “You could have people to do this for you. You should have them. You’d serve him better—”
    Savedra shook her head, the weight of her hair tugging sharp against pins. It was an old argument. “I’m no spymaster. And if I have to do this, better my hands be stained for it.” She pulled the hands in question out of icy water and scrubbed them on her skirt.
    “Nikos needs a spymaster more than he needs a mistress.”
    “Lord Orfion—”
    “Isn’t here.” Cold and implacable as a blade. “And likely won’t return.”
    “And whose fault is that?” Savedra folded her arms tight across her stomach, as if she could stop it churning so easily.
    The captain shrugged, mouth twisting eloquently, but didn’t speak. Not quite treason, to call the king a fool, but hardly politic either. “Fault or no, it’s true. Lord Orfion needs a successor as surely as any king.”
    “Then let him name one, Kat. I haven’t the stomach for it.”
    Denaris glared, but didn’t belabor what they both knew—Orfion had named a successor, and the king hadignored him and chosen his own replacement. And taken that replacement with him to Ashke Ros, leaving Nikos to get by as best he could with lesser agents.
    “May I go?” Savedra asked. “I’d like some sleep before sunrise.” Not a lie, but no matter how much she wanted rest, she knew none would come this morning.
    The captain shook her head, but let the matter drop. “Go. We’ll mop up here and search the corpse.”
    Savedra turned toward the narrow servants’ hall that led out of the garden. She had a key to Nikos’ rooms, but not the heart to go to him like this. She paused, sodden slippers squelching on the lawn. “What will you tell him?”
    “I always tell him when you give us warning. I don’t have to tell him you were here.”
    “Thank you.” The smell of blood and roses followed her as she left the garden.
    Her footsteps carried through the silent polished halls of the Gallery of Pearls—she was the only pearl in residence. Portraits of long-dead men and women watched disinterestedly from the walls, but the Gallery had stood nearly empty for most of recent history. Supposedly Naomi II had filled every room in the old palace’s gallery with her concubines, but since the Azure Palace was built the monarchs had been more restrained. Sometimes councilors brought their mistresses here in the summer, but the other women offered mainly awkward silences and ill-concealed stares around Savedra. At least the portraits didn’t whisper.
    She didn’t bother pulling back the covers, but fell limp across the bed, staring at the shadowed canopy as dawnlight brightened through the curtains, waiting for hernerves to settle and her shaking to still. When they finally did, she rose to bathe and dress and face the rest of the day.
    The lawns were still wet hours later and the sky hung dull and heavy, thwarting most morning pursuits or driving them indoors. And so Savedra found herself in the Queen’s Solar with Nikos’s wife.
    When Lychandra Alexios lived, the room had been filled with couches and tables and expensive carpets, a place for comfort and quiet conversation. After she died, the furniture had gone into storage and dust had dulled the tall windows and skylights. Only last year had the king given his son’s wife leave to refurnish it.
    If he expected her to turn it into anything other than a private practice yard, he never said so. Not that anyone who knew Ashlin would expect otherwise.
    Steel rang and echoed as the princess and her sparring partner drove each other back and forth. Breath rasped, and boots scuffed and thumped on stone. Today they used western longswords, straight functional blades without the Selafaïn fondness for curve and ornament. Still beautiful, Savedra supposed, though she preferred her weapons more subtle. Her hand