again, and if we can’t make it useful, we need to make it liked. You see, I’m speaking very bluntly to you. If you were a courtier, you’d already know all of this, and the moment you saw me approaching you’d remember all the favors you owe me and all the favors I owe you and all the favors we owe each other’s friends, as well as any particularly nasty gossip you might have in your pocket about any of the above. But you’d also think, Oh-ho, Cerrington is on a downswing, perhaps I can leverage away a few of those favors I owe him, or Perhaps he might be amenable to that scheme I was thinking about last week that nobody else is desperate enough to touch. But you’re not a courtier, so I have to do all the work myself. In the meantime, just know that I’m here among the spiders, keeping track of the webs. Should any of those webs come uncomfortably close to you, I can give you warning. Better yet, I can give you advice.”
There was no urgency in his voice. There was hardly any emotion at all. Judah, on the other hand, found her head swimming. He was right: Gavin would become Lord of the City and Eleanor its Lady, and all the courtiers they’d spent their lives dodging and ignoring and feeling contempt for would suddenly become inescapable, even necessary. Which was bad enough, but to know that the courtiers watched from the wings, scuttling back and forth on their impractically-heeled shoes—that they were not just scorning her clothes and hair but waiting for an opportunity—
“You need me,” Firo said. “You’re not the only one with Lord Gavin’s ear, you know. He has a particular friend among the courtiers. He’s had several, of course; he’s his father’s son, after all, and although tradition may keep Elban from remarrying, the royal scepter hardly goes unpolished. Although I will say, his favorites always seem to lose their taste for court life. Inevitably, they move to the provinces as soon as his interest wanes.” Then, offhandedly, “Lord Gavin’s favorites haven’t shown any particular preference for the provinces. But he’s young yet. Give him time.”
She didn’t know what Firo meant, but she didn’t like it. “What Gavin does with his time is nobody’s business but his. He’s not Lord of the City yet.”
“But he will be. So, in fact, what he does with his time and who he does it with is of great interest to—oh, pretty much everybody. But we were speaking of Lady Amie. She’s a Porterfield; an old city family, although their money comes from the provinces. Mining, mostly. Metalfiber, iron ore, that kind of thing.”
“So what?”
“So, she’s clever, and not overwhelmed with scruples. And she’d be exceedingly difficult to drive off to the provinces.” They had come to the end of the Discreet Walk. Firo stopped, looking back the way they’d come. Judah followed his gaze and saw two figures at the other end: women, judging by their skirts. One wore pink, the other violet. They were fluffy and unreal and she couldn’t see their faces.
She thought of the Seneschal—Here, in this matter, you will obey—and found her stomach churning. “Gavin is in no danger from you, or any of your kind.”
“Not danger, no. Not explicitly.”
“I shouldn’t be here,” Judah said. More to herself than Firo.
Those eyebrows lifted in mocking curiosity. “Is that what you said to that common low-ranking Wilmerian guildsman after you agreed to go out into the corridor with him?”
Her anxiety became exasperation. “I did not—”
“It hardly matters. What matters is perception and opportunity.” He raised a finger. “This is exactly the kind of valuable guidance I’ll provide for you. Think of the rumors, Judah. Always think of the rumors.” He bowed his head again and turned away: back toward the Promenade and the two fluffy shapes still silhouetted there, waiting and watching.
She had to pass the kennels to reach the stables. The hounds were as unlike the floppy, friendly kitchen dogs as Judah was unlike the courtiers. Not even Darid liked them, and he could love the meanest stallion or the moodiest mare. When she came near, the animals hurled themselves against the wooden kennel fence. She had never seen an entire hound, just glimpses through the slats: a mad eye here, a slavering tongue there. And all the while, the furious barking. She wanted to grab the slats and bark back. She wanted to bite and claw with