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must be Sarah Ralsean.”
    “I thought…” Landos said. “I visited Ralsean, just recently. Sarah is his youngest, right?”
    “Yes,” Vye said.
    “She was twelve years old when I was there.”
    “Landos, you haven’t been to Ralsean since you were twelve yourself. You went with my father.”
    “Hmm,” Landos said, as though learning math during that very sentence. “It’s just… I just remember Sarah as this awkward twelve year-old. She’s really grown up well.”
    That was when Vye first suspected there might be trouble. Her fears were heightened by the events of dinner.
    After formal introductions, Michael asked Vye to step aside for a moment. Usually, this would be to confer with Vye on some military matter. It wasn’t.
    “Vye,” Michael said in a whisper, “Is that really Sarah Ralsean?”
    “No, it’s Flopson the Jester in a dress,” Vye said, mocking him.
    “I just mean that I thought she was his youngest. I thought she was twelve.”
    “She was, a decade ago.”
    “Oh,” Michael said. “She’s really grown up well.”
    The wedding went off fine . It was at the banquet hall that Vye felt that creeping sense of dread. That knot on her shoulder that told her something was wrong. That tension. She had never imagined that laughter could make her feel this way. Sarah had this cute, girlish chuckle. Vye knew that it was the sort of laugh that made men victims. She suspected that Sarah knew this too.
    They might as well have been jousting. Fencing. Competing in an archery competition. Michael makes a joke that gets Sarah to laugh. A strike for Michael. Landos switches to the main gauche. He turns on his heel and tells a counter to Michael’s joke. Sarah laughs again. Mark one for Landos. Vye sighs in her mind about the arrogant competitiveness of men.
    Finally, the pastries were finished and the port emptied. It was time for all parties to retire.
    “Well,” Landos said, standing and offering a hand to Sarah. “May I escort you to your room?”
    “I’d be delighted,” Sarah said.
    “Wait,” Michael said, “Landos, why don’t I take her up?”
    As the High Lieutenant, it was customary for Landos to do the escorting. Certainly it was thought to be below the Count to bring guests to their bedchambers.
    “I thought,” Landos said, without hesitation, “That you were going to speak to Lord Rutherford.”
    Michael and Landos, earlier in the day, before either of them had laid eyes on Sarah Ralsean, had agreed that one of them must talk to Rutherford. It seemed they must point out to him that he will be married, that he must behave himself, and that it will be a great embarrassment to everybody if he continues to lust after other women . Michael, at the time convinced that he would want to get away from the dinner, had pulled rank and chosen himself to drive these points into Rutherford’s mind.
    But Vye could feel the tension in the room when Landos reminded Michael of this fact. It was how they had arranged it. Landos would escort Sarah to her room and Michael would have a man-to-immature-man chat about marriage with Harold.
    “Yes,” Michael said, as though just remembering, “You’re right. A good night to you, Lady Sarah.”
    Landos waved Sarah out into the main hall. Vye lingered at the Count’s table.
    “Do you need anything?” She asked Michael.
    “No,” Michael said, staring out the door from which the dinner company had left. “I’m just going to speak to Harold here for a minute.”
    “You sure you’re alright?” Vye asked. “You look…distracted.” It was the closest she could come without asking the question she couldn’t ask.
    “I’ll be fine,” Michael said, snapping himself back to task. “Thank you.”
    “Good night, Your Grace,” Vye said.
    As Vye headed to her room, her mind swimming with the early thoughts of trouble, she was vaguely aware of laughter coming down the stairwell.
     
     

Chapter 8: Triangles
     
    Vye found it difficult to relax in