She smiled into her ootai. “I was never just the Mistress of Pleasures, Jarl. I’ve been the Shinga for nineteen years.” She had some satisfaction in the way her unflappable protégé’s eyes widened. He sank back in his chair.

“Gods,” he said. “That explains a few things.”

She laughed, and for what felt like the first time in years, she really felt like laughing. If exposing your throat always felt like this, she thought she understood for the first time why Durzo had loved the danger in his work. It made you appreciate being alive, standing this close to death.

“Tell me how it works,” he said.

It was what she would have said in his place. She would have accepted what the Shinga had said about her death and immediately started looking for how it would affect her, rather than expressing any sorrow that the Shinga would be dead. Or perhaps, in Jarl’s place, she would have given some moue of sorrow that her mistress would die, but it would have been a lie. Jarl gave no such pretense, and maybe she could respect him for that. He’d learned her lessons well. But it still hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He sounded like he really meant it. Maybe he did. Or maybe he was just sorry that she was sinking into such softness that at the approach of her death she who had taught him how to manipulate his own pities and loves should want him to do that toward her. She couldn’t tell. Jarl was what she had made him to be. It was worse than looking in a mirror.

“Everyone in the Sa’kagé knows who their boss is. The smarter ones know who their representative on the Nine is. Of course, the Shinga’s identity is an open secret, which means not a secret at all. Put that together, and if you pool a few thieves and whores, you can figure out the entire power structure of the Sa’kagé. That’s been fine for the last fourteen years, because things have been so stable.”

“Was that stability because of your leadership, or just luck?” Jarl asked.

“My leadership,” she said honestly. “I had the last king killed and put Aleine on the throne, so we haven’t had pressure from above, and I’ve handled all the pressures from within. But the normal state of any Sa’kagé is upheaval, Jarl. Thieves and murderers and cutpurses and whores don’t tend to stay united. Assassinations are common. During your life it’s been far more peaceful than ever before.

“The first five years I was Shinga, we lost eight ‘Shingas.’ Six were assassinations from outside. Two I had to have killed myself because they tried to take my power. Only two seats on the Nine remained unchanged. For the last fourteen years, Pon Dradin has been able to indulge his vices freely so long as he attended the meetings and kept his mouth shut and didn’t step out of line. I never expected him to last so long.”

“So only the Nine know who’s really the Shinga?”

“And the wetboys, but they take a magically binding oath of service. The system does have its drawbacks. Pon is nearly as rich as I am just from kickbacks and bribes, and every new member of the Nine finds out that he’s been sucking the wrong toes for however long it took to climb the ranks. It irritates some of them mightily, but it also keeps some people off the Nine who don’t belong there. Best of all, it’s kept me alive and in power.”

“What does Roth mean to this?”

“Roth has just joined the Nine. He isn’t in on the secret. That’s why Pon will die sometime today or tomorrow. Roth thinks killing him will make him Shinga. But that actually exposes the greatest flaw in all my secrecy: if only eight people know who the real Shinga is, Roth only has to convince those eight that he is the Shinga now.”

“If the rest of the Nine are so afraid of him, how do I take his power?” Jarl asked.

Momma K smiled. “Exactly that. You take it. I won’t leave you defenseless, of course.” She reached into her desk and pulled out a small book. “My spies. I hope I don’t need to tell you that the longer it is before you burn this book, the less your life is worth.”

He took the book. “I’ll memorize it immediately.”

She leaned back in her chair. “He’s in a strong position, Jarl. People are terrified of him.”

“So that’s everything?” Jarl asked.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t tell you where all my riches are stored. An old woman has to protect herself, just in case I live through this. Besides, if I die, you’ll have plenty of time to find it all.”

“Can I ask your advice?” he asked. She nodded. “I followed the men you asked about,” Jarl said.

Momma K nodded. She didn’t prod Jarl with questions. They’d worked together for long enough that she knew he would tell her everything.

“They were definitely wytches. They attempted an ambush on Regnus Gyre with a small retinue north of the city. Most of his men were wiped out, and all of them would have been except that he had a mage with him.”

Momma K raised an eyebrow.

“I was viewing them from a distance, but Regnus and the mage quarreled afterward and rode separate directions. My guess was that Lord Gyre didn’t know his man was a mage.”

“This mage defeated three wytches?”

“Everything spectacular came from the wytches, but when the smoke cleared—and I mean that literally—he was the only one standing. The man fought with his wits. He stalled two of the wytches until Lord Gyre’s soldiers could cut them down. He made a horse trample the third. I don’t understand magic, so maybe there was more I didn’t see, but that was what it looked like.”

“Go on.”

“Lord Gyre had only one man left after he and the mage quarreled. They took a circuitous route through the city and arrived at his manse after midnight. You’ve heard what was there?”

“Twenty-eight dead. Hu Gibbet was given free rein.”

“Roth’s orders?” Jarl asked.

She nodded. “Unfortunately, the wetboys’ oath does have a number of loop holes.”

“It was horrific. Anyway, Lord Gyre persuaded the men who came to arrest him to join him instead, and they are now hiding at a cousin’s house, trying to quietly gather as much support as they can. The mage is Sethi, first name Solon. I couldn’t find anything else yet. As of half an hour ago, he was staying at the White Crane.”

“You never disappoint, Jarl.”

He was about to ask a question when there was a knock on the door. A maid came in and handed a slip of paper to Momma K. She handed it to Jarl. “The cipher’s in the front of your book.”

In a minute, he had it decoded. “Pon Dradin’s dead.” Jarl looked up at her. “What do I do now?”

“That, my apprentice,” she said. “Is your problem.”

“Kylar, I want to talk about your future.”

This should be brief.

Count Drake pulled his pince nez from his vest pocket and didn’t put them on. He just waved them as he spoke. “I’ve got a proposal for you, Kylar. I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and Kylar, you’re not cut out to be a wetboy. No, listen to me, I want to give you a way out, son. Kylar, I want you to marry Ilena.”

“Sir?”

“I know it seems abrupt, but I want you to think about it.”