you're pressed to it."

Magiere took the stairs two at a time, and Leesil heard a door slam. He looked at Chap.

"Oh, yes, I should trust her because she responds with such kind understanding," he said sarcastically.

Chap rumbled at him. Before Leesil could guess at the hound's complaint, Chap got up and gingerly trotted up the stairs as well.

Leesil stared up the stairs in bewilderment. He should have told her, but she would have shouted at him no matter when he'd chosen to speak up. Well, let her pass on the wonders of Bela's nightlife. Now more than before, he deserved a respite.

The innkeeper came back with their tea.

"The stew is coming," he said, and looked around. "Where's your woman and dog?"

Leesil grunted, refraining from any unpleasant explanation.

"Have supper sent to her room. I won't be eating here tonight. Can you recommend someplace in the city that shouldn't be missed?"

The innkeeper frowned. "I suppose maybe the Rowan-wood. They've one of the largest gaming rooms in Bela."

"Perfect," Leesil said.

Chane waited upon the steps, his satchel bulging with acquisitions, as Toret unlocked the front door of their house. It had been a tedious evening, with his master's constant complaints still ringing in his ears.

They had wandered the lower markets and shops after dusk, as Chane judiciously acquired what he would need. All the while, Toret continued with the same irritable questions. Why had Chane left all of this to the last possible moment? Why hadn't he gone by himself and left his master at home in comfort? Why hadn't Chane ordered the materials ahead of time to be delivered or picked up as needed?

Each time, Chane patiently—or less so—explained it again. Some of the acquisitions needed to be fresh, while others required that he gauge appropriateness by feel, hence the necessity of Toret's presence.

The first reason was true enough. In addition, it was best to acquire supplies in short order from diverse sources, leaving no obvious trail to find or connection to make. Some apothecaries might become suspicious if asked for certain combinations of goods. Conjury was not outlawed like sorcery, but it was not as welcome as thaumaturgy or as revered as theurgy.

The second reason was, of course, a lie. In truth, Chane did not need Toret's presence, but the subterfuge served a purpose. Still uncertain as to precisely how, Chane intended to find his way free of his maker's control. It was worthwhile to stretch Toret's nerves and keep him off balance, and feed the puzzling disquiet growing in him ever since that night the mysterious note had arrived. Chane was still exasperated that he had not eavesdropped on Toret that evening. Something happened after he'd left to escort Sapphire. Upon Chane's return before dawn, Toret was waiting for him in a frenzied state, though he would not speak directly of the cause. Instead, he gave Chane two tasks: to plan for this evening's work, and to use his resources to hunt for two people—a woman of black hair and pallid skin, and her half-blood companion.

Additionally, this evening's outing, however stressful and tiresome, served Chane's future options. A later mention of another such venture would be enough for Toret to quickly give him leave to go alone.

Chane followed Toret into the foyer of their home. As they removed their cloaks, a piercing squeal of delight scraped across Chane's nerves. He looked up and choked.

Descending the stairs was Sapphire, a vicious spark in her overadorned eyes above an unrestrained smile of white teeth between wine-colored lips. But it was not her face that held attention for long.

"Am I not delicious!" she exclaimed.

The gown she "wore"—for Chane did not care to speculate how it stayed on—was charcoal velvet trimmed in scarlet lace, the whole of it fitted smoothly to her ample form. The skirt dropped from her hips to the floor in wrapped layers hanging loosely around her legs. Strapless, the bodice rose in two points to just below her collarbone on either side of her throat, and its center split down to her sternum, passing between her breasts. As she descended the last step with an extended leg, the skirt's folds rolled apart like an ebbing black tide to expose a slender death-white ankle and calf.

With an obvious undulation of her torso, she stepped up to Toret, draping her arms across his shoulders.

"Well, tell me how much you love my new dress," she said.

"You…" Toret answered with a swallow, "are not going out in that."

For a moment, Chane was stunned. Could it