A young Blackguard with a shaven head, Asif, stood at the front door with the Guile guards. He perked up at the sight of his compatriots. Standing guard all day with house guards who don’t welcome your oversight of them was not a favorite posting for a Blackguard, especially when one had to do it alone.

Then Teia got lucky. Andross Guile went inside and his slave Grinwoody stepped outside, blocking the door. “The High Lord bids you to head to the back barracks, there to await his pleasure.”

“The back?” Asif said. “But from there we can’t even see who comes through the gates, much less who’s in the house.”

“The Lightguards will cover the front. You will remain in the back barracks until you are called, or you will be dismissed,” Grinwoody said.

“We might as well be dismissed if you aren’t going to let us do our job,” Essel said. “I can rest at home better than—”

“Dismissed from the Blackguard,” Grinwoody said. “The promachos has spoken.” A smug smile lit his wizened features. No wonder people hated him.

The Blackguards couldn’t believe it, but in that moment of grumbling and curses under their breath, Teia saw a gap open, and she slipped behind Grinwoody and into the house.

For some reason, it wasn’t until Teia was in Andross Guile’s very rooms, following the sound of his voice and the footsteps of his chamber slaves, that she realized just how frightening her new power was. She’d been scared by Murder Sharp—but for all sorts of reasons. Teia now, Teia herself, had infiltrated the home of the richest, most powerful man in the Seven Satrapies. She had walked into the house of the promachos himself without so much as an advance plan.

She could now kill him, unseen, even if other people were in the very room, and without any more than a suspicion of foul play. A man his age, under the stresses of war, dying suddenly? It would elicit comment, but no more. There wouldn’t even be marks on his body.

Which, she hadn’t realized until this moment, made her scary. It made her a predator.

The thought more startled her than filled her with awe or even gratification. I’m scary. I’m scary? I am scary.

Somehow, before, the notion of being invisible had meant to her that she could hide really well.

It didn’t mean that. It meant that she could strike from shadows—no, not even the shadows—she could strike from anywhere, and simply disappear. She could kill, and be at almost no risk of being killed.

Murder Sharp hadn’t precisely shown her how to kill with paryl yet, but she had seen him do it once, and she wasn’t stupid. He’d taught her how to pinch nerves, how to move paryl through solid flesh. All you had to do was make as many little crystals of paryl as you could and let them go to the brain or the heart or the lungs. It might take Teia five crystals or ten rather than a practiced assassin’s single try—but what did it matter if you were invisible and no one would notice your failures?

Andross was being attended by three attractive female room slaves of about thirty years of age. They took his tunic and gave him a sponge bath, with quick, practiced motions, wasting no effort and not getting his trousers wet. He was flabby over a powerful frame, sweaty from a mere brisk walk: a fact he obviously noticed with displeasure. Teia guessed that was why he had walked tonight. He was trying to recapture the vigor of his younger years.

And vigor it must have been, for he had the scars of a warrior-drafter on his torso and arms. With her eyes downcast, the edge of the hood just high enough to let her see the women’s legs—and to therefore guess when they would move—Teia slipped past them and took a place in a nook on the far side of his bed, well out of the way of any traffic she could imagine.

In a couple minutes, the room slaves had him dressed again in a dinner jacket, his hair anointed with aromatic oils.

“You have something to say, Deleah?” Andross said, bored.

A pause, and then a rush of words. Clearly Andross wasn’t patient at drawing forth reports from his slaves. “It’s the young Lord Zymun, sir. He’s terrible free with his hands. One of the younger girls slipped away from him. He fell while chasing her. He shouted that he’d broke a rib and she’d pay with her life. She’s been weeping since. She almost tried to run away—”

“Not interested.” He hesitated. “The girl’s name?”

“Leelee.”

“The blonde? Kitchen girl?”

“The same, my lord.”

“Seventeen years old now?”

“Thereabouts. Slave girl, so no telling, my lord.”

“The others he bothered. All blonde? All pretty? Short? What does he prefer?”

The slave Deleah chewed her lip, thinking. “Pretty, yes, my lord. Though Overseer Grinwoody makes sure all the girls who serve upstairs are. Not much preference otherwise, far as I can see, my lord.”

Grinwoody came in the room. Andross motioned for his room slaves, who’d been waiting silently, to leave. But as Deleah got to the door, he said, “Deleah. Right side, or left?”

She turned, blinking, then understood. “The ribs on his right side, my lord. A bruise, not a break.” She clearly wished it had been worse.

Andross said, “Tell Leelee and the others it won’t happen again.” For one moment, Teia thought perhaps this man wasn’t so bad. Surely the treatment of those in his care is a good test of a man. Then he said, “I’ll not have weeping slaves in this house.”

The room slave bobbed and disappeared.

Grinwoody extended a tray with a crystal glass full of amber liquid to Andross Guile. “The vile one awaits in the red parlor, my lord.”

Andross grinned. “Never liked our toothy guest, have you, Grinwoody?” He sipped the liquor. His mouth twisted. “This is that Barrenmoor?”

“My lord.”

“You’re certain it’s coming into vogue?”

“My lord,” Grinwoody said. It was, again, affirmation.

“Hmm, that which is powerful and distasteful does have its place, doesn’t it?”

Grinwoody said, “Let us hope that hiring Sharp does not come into similar vogue.”

Andross laughed aloud, and Grinwoody grinned. It was more disconcerting than seeing Andross Guile half naked. These men were friends. There was no falsity in that laugh or that grin. They might have vastly different stations, but both liked and respected the other. Grinwoody had clearly been an instrumental part in Andross Guile’s rise. “Any new updates about Eirene Malargos?” Andross asked.

“None.”

“I still worry about that.”

“Withholding reinforcements has always carried the risk of driving her to the enemy rather than making her need us more. But sending them too early would allow her to turn on us later. Your way, she’ll be allied to us forever. It’s worth the gamble, my lord. We’ll know by tomorrow, regardless.”

“You’ve got all in order to send her the news immediately? Good. To matters closer at hand, then. Have that whore Mistress Aurellea make sure the girl she sends tonight is blonde. Sixteen, seventeen. Slender.”

“You still wish to reward Zymun?” Grinwoody asked, a tiny quiver of doubt in his voice.

“I don’t wish to, but time is short. And knowing what he likes in the bedchamber will be one more tool in hand. If he’s as charming as he thinks, once he settles in at the Chromeria such information will be more difficult to acquire. Might as well do it now. Actually, take Zymun up to my solar. Dinner can wait. Make sure he doesn’t see Sharp. And wait there with him. He can cool his heels. Take some of the Barrenmoor. For yourself. Don’t give him any. I want him off balance. You may lay hands on him if necessary.”