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“It is interesting, though,” Zaina muses. “I always assumed it was a tonic, but she’s refused to divulge any information about it, even to me. She won’t sell it. Dvain—” she grimaces when she mentions the dead man’s name “—was an alchemist and showed clear signs of age that didn’t stall until he was in Jokith more regularly.”
At the mention of one of Madame’s contacts, I raise my eyebrows. “What did happen to him?”
She hadn’t heard from him in weeks, the last she brought it up. Einar’s dark glare lends weight to my suspicion of why that is.
“We took care of that.” Zaina wears an equally sinister expression, and I nod my understanding.
At least that’s one less thing to worry about.
“As I was saying,” my sister continues, giving me a look for interrupting her. “What if we’ve been looking at that all wrong?”
“Would it change anything?” I ask.
“Between that, her strength, the way her skin is nearly impervious to damage. We could be missing something.” Her eyes widen with intrigue. “It might change everything. Maybe it’s not a matter of what shewants, but what sheis.”
“And if we can find that out, we can find a weakness,” Einar adds with a grim satisfaction.
“Either way, we need to take her network down.” With that, Zaina picks up a quill and a pot of ink, sliding a piece of parchment in front of her.
Carefully, she draws a diagram with Madame at the center. I list off names of her key players, explaining the best way to coerce them, whether that be threats, bribery, blackmail, or something else.
Einar chimes in with an insightful question occasionally, or instructs Zaina on a note to make on the person’s overall importance in the grand scheme of things. We discuss the order we’ll go about it all to not draw her attention before we’re ready.
“I don’t want to know the final plan,” I interrupt my sister as she’s adding another name to the list. “At least, not until the last minute. With her serum and all her very effective torture skills...”
I say the words as nonchalantly as I can manage, but we all know it’s a valid concern. Zaina’s assessing gaze narrows. She dips her head in agreement and goes back to writing.
All the while, I pretend that my stomach isn’t churning with each traitorous sentence. Whether I’ve made my choice, whether I understand it’s the only way forward, this is betrayal, any way you look at it.
When we’re finished with the grueling task of filling out the first parchment, Zaina starts a new diagram, this time writing ‘Lady Delmara’ in the middle.
“Now let’s talk about the courtiers,” she says.
I nod, though internally I’m beginning to wish I had stayed in my suites with the bottle of cinnamon sake I found. Before I can get out the first name, though, Einar’s voice cuts in.
“That’s probably enough to go on tonight.”
She shoots him an irritable glance. “Did you have something more important to attend to?”
He shrugs his gargantuan shoulders. “Your sister promised to teach me how to win at Kings and Queens.”
I scoff, though I am relieved for a break. “Against Zaina, maybe.”
She turns her glare on me. Part of being a good spy is knowing when to lose for the sake of your cover, but that aspect always rankled her. Not that she has to try to lose at cards.
My sister is as competitive as they come, and she despises being inherently bad at something.
“You can’t learn to win at Kings and Queens, because it’s not based on skill,” she insists. “It’s based entirely on luck. There’s no strategy to it.”
“Then why do you always lose?” I ask her airily.
Her frown deepens, and I laugh outright.
“Thestrategyis being able to think on your feet and take the right kind of risks, Zai,” I say.
Einar removes the deck of cards and starts to shuffle. “Which seems like a good skill to have, considering that might be the only way we beat Ulla at that point.”
On that cheerful note, I spend the rest of the evening trying to teach Einar—and my sister—how to be a little less bad at cards.
