Behind Isobel, quiet laughter had her turning to see Sábria advancing on them. “And we’ve worked so hard to eradicate the sailor’s cant from your speech, Sonsa.”

  Sonsa immediately pulled herself to attention and brought her fist to her chest. “My Lady. These are for you.” She held out the flowers, “As I was telling Lady Isobel, Lady Grosvenor asked me to deliver these to you, and after getting permission from Commander Shirin, I was hoping to drop them off without disturbing your respite.”

  The arrangement was beautiful, and as Sábria accepted them, the fragrance of the winter honeysuckle filled the hallway. “These came from her winter garden. She’s so proud of the colorful flowers her backyard produces.” Her eyes narrowed, “How did she know I was here and would appreciate a lovely bouquet?”

  “I don’t know, My Lady. Lord Grosvenor’s duties take him to the castle quite often, and we all know Lord Dunham, as the Emperor’s seneschal, has his fingers on the pulse of the city. That would be my guess.”

  Pulling in a long breath. Sábria dismissed the Blade with a tired nod. “Thank you, Sonsa, and convey my thanks to Lady Grosvenor.” She turned and then remembered she wanted to get a message to Shirin. “And please tell Commander Shirin I intend to meet Terro and Ailith in the Codpiece tomorrow morning.”

  “Yes, My Lady.” Sonsa saluted Sábria, bowed to Isobel, and retreated down the path to the lane.

  Isobel closed the door, returning her dagger to the hall table as she followed Sábria back to the kitchen. “We’re going to the Codpiece? Why?”

  A vase was tucked into the back of the pantry, and Sábria’s voice was muffled as she stepped inside the small room. “You don’t have to come. Through one of her acts of outright stupidity, Ailith reminded me that I haven’t been doing my job very well where the poorer women and children are concerned. I ordered Shirin to remedy the situation in my absence and intend to see how she’s managed it.”

  “Stupidity?”

  “Perhaps imprudence or foolishness are better words, but, in the end, it was one of those big-hearted, hare-brained decisions Ailith makes that are turning my hair gray faster than normal.” She stepped out of the pantry holding the vase. “My hair wasn’t this gray when Duke Ravenkind dropped her off, you know.”

  Isobel chuckled, “Nor mine when he sent her off with me. But what exactly did she do this time?”

  Lady Grosvenor had already trimmed the stalks, so Sábria set the flowers on the counter and began carefully arranging them in the vase. “I don’t know if you’re aware of the Festival Aloric holds every turn, where nobles from every kingdom descend on Sarlogne to do nothing more than wreak havoc on the city. Anyway, it’s become something of a game among the younger noblemen to hunt down skellis and nints to do all manner of despicable things to them.”

  Isobel filled a silver pitcher with water and brought it to where Sábria had nearly finished setting the flowers in the vase. “Of course, I’ve heard of the Festival, but I had no idea of the debauchery. And Ailith factors into this how?”

  “During the four sevendays of Festival, the skellis and nints starve because they have to remain down in the sewers to keep away from the roving bands of nobles. I don’t let my senior Blades go into the Codpiece alone, let alone my shivs. One of my friends, who had no idea of the danger she was sending Ailith into, asked her to go into the Codpiece alone to deliver bags of bread and apples.”

  “What? Don’t tell me Ailith did it. No, wait,” Isobel held up her hand, “she not only did it but let me guess, she didn’t tell anyone she was doing it, right?”

  “You got it in one. So, one morning, as we were talking about the problem, Ailith, in her usual, inimitable way, asked if it wasn’t the job of the Blades to take care of all women in the Empire, not just the ones belonging to the merchant and noble classes.” Sábria set the flower arrangement in the middle of the kitchen table. “Are you hungry? The soup’s ready.”

  “Yes, please.” Isobel wouldn’t usually let the Arch Priestess of the Daughters of Elyon serve her, but she was following Sábria’s lead under the circumstances. If she wanted to serve someone of lower rank, then by the Goddess, Isobel wasn’t going to contradict her. She took a seat and continued with their conversation. “I doubt you were neglecting the poor.”

  “I’ve tried feeding them, and they run from us. I don’t have enough Blades to saturate the Codpiece with warriors who can protect them all. The lollies don’t want us down there because then they can’t get their drugs, and I guess I’d just by default given up and stopped doing my best where they’re concerned.” She ladled soup into the bowls and brought them to the table. “So, I had Shirin bring in another hundred Blades from the outlying Temples. That makes an additional two hundred just to oversee those blasted entitled nobles, foreign and domestic, Aloric sets free on Sarlogne every turn.”

  They ate in silence, thinking their own thoughts about the problems of drunken nobles and starving waifs. It was Isobel who finally broke the quiet of the meal. “I’ll go with you in the morning if you don’t mind. While I’m thoroughly enjoying spending quiet time with you, I could use a bit of sunshine and, if we’re lucky, a bit of swordplay, as well.”

  “Hopefully, Shirin will have the Codpiece locked down, at least while Ailith and Senior Guardian Terrowyn deliver the food to the skellis and nints in the sewers. They trust Ailith and at least don’t run from Terro because she’s practically raised one of them.” Sábria smiled as she glanced up from her soup bowl. “Ghost is a mini Ailith, I think, without the berserker qualities that give Ailith that extra…something…and I’m not just talking about her fighting abilities.”

  Isobel set down her spoon. “I’ve often wondered what Dreyutha would have been like if the berserkers hadn’t been wiped out. After knowing Ailith the way I do, I think that maybe we would have ruled the entire world, including your Empire.”

  Blue eyes glanced up and held Isobel’s gaze. “Never say that beyond these walls, Isobel. Aloric has many peccadillos, but chief among them is paranoia. He’d throw you in the dungeons in an instant and worry about King Prather’s rather deadly response afterward.”

  Grey eyes flashed dangerously. “And my King’s response would be deadly, My Lady. Of that, I can absolutely guarantee.”

  “I have no doubt, Isobel, but, and this, too, can go no further than these walls, Emperor Aloric is a fool who acts first and thinks much, much later. Although, I’m not worried. You’re a master of diplomacy and would never say anything derogatory that could be overheard by spies and those greedy souls who would pass along information on their own mothers if it meant putting a few copper riels in their pockets.”

  When they finished the soup, Sábria pulled the sweet cinnamon rolls out of the beehive oven bricked into the corner of the kitchen. The aroma of warm cinnamon, sweet dough, and buttery goodness wafted through the air. She set the tray on a hotplate she’d placed on the table for that purpose, picked up a spatula, and slid a roll onto one of two plates she’d placed next to the hotplate. A fork was already resting across the plate’s rim, so she carried the pastry to Isobel and raised her brow, waiting for the verdict.

  The fork slid through the warm, gooey dough, and as Isobel tasted the sweet spiciness of the cinnamon combined with the sugary richness of the dough, she couldn’t help the low moan that rose in her throat. “Oh, Goddess. Where did you learn to bake something like this? And when do you have time to practice?” More bites followed and Isobel closed her eyes to better savor the offering.

  “My mother loved to bake.” Sábria indicated the oven with her elbow as she slid the spatula beneath another roll. “Most townhomes don’t come with an oven as elaborate as that. My father did a lot of research beforehand and had those bricks brought in from Strego.”

  There were still about a dozen rolls left on the tray, and Isobel, who was known for her sweet tooth, forked her last bite into her mouth before raising her brows and her plate, begging for another.

  Sábria chuckled and did the honors. “I thought you’d like these.”

  “I’ve heard of Strego. It’s one of the Trenchian Isles, and I seem to remember they’re renowned for their clay mines.” Isobel eyed the oven. “He brought the bricks all that way so that he could build a special oven for your mother? He must have loved her very much.”

  As Sábria swallowed a bite of roll, her eyes took on a faraway look as she thought about her parents. “You know, when I first arrived at the townhouse, I would have been upset if you’d asked about them. I’ve never really gotten over what happened to them.” She glanced up to see whether Isobel knew what she was talking about.

  “The Magistrate, Lady Fiyori, was it, told us what happened.”

  The way Sábria dropped her head and sighed indicated how she felt about Isobel being present when Jestína told Shirin where to look. “Anyway, my point was that when I first arrived at the townhouse, there was a black wall that circled my heart, one that I’d erected when the men—” She stopped and collected herself. “Anyway, when Ailith was bringing in the wood for the fire, she saw a flute I have on the wall.”

  “The keshai chaiwe. I saw that in your library and wondered how it came to be here, in Sarlogne, on my friend’s wall, no less.”

  “I’ll explain that in a moment. Ailith told me the holy ones use it to call the ghosts of whomever that holy person is thinking about. When she left, I immediately took the flute from its shadow box and blew several long notes, over and over and—” Sábria paused, narrowed her eyes, and shook her head.

  Isobel could guess what happened next. She’d seen the results when the holy ones brought out their pipes. “And?”

  “Well, you might think I’m crazy, but as I played, the smoke from the fireplace drifted into the room, and I saw my parents in the smoke. They looked me right in the eye, Isobel, and I knew they were all right and that they were with Elyon. The black wall crumbled, and they disappeared.” Tears were running down Sábria’s cheeks now, but she didn’t try to wipe them away. “I can’t explain it, but I know it was my parents standing there.”

  “Believe it, Sábria. In Dreyutha, those flutes are sacred because of the power they contain. That’s why I’m puzzled about how you came to own one.”

  More tears fell, and Sábria used her napkin to wipe them away. “That impossible shiv, Isobel.”

  Isobel’s spine straightened. “Ailith gave it to you?”

  Sábria held up both hands and smiled. “No, no. But she said something so profound I wonder sometimes if she’s not blessed by the Goddess, herself. She told me that the Dreyuthan peasants believe the holy men get glimpses of the future. Nothing clear, mind you, but fuzzy…impressions of what will happen in the future.” When Isobel nodded, Sábria continued, “You see, a holy man gave the flute to my father as a gift on one of his trips through Dreyutha.”

  Isobel shook her head. “Impossible. Those flutes are never given to anyone but a holy one.”

  “That’s what Ailith said. She also said that maybe the holy man gave my father the flute so that I, as a holy woman, would have it one day when I needed it.” What Ailith had said next had affected her so profoundly that emotions had her voice cracking on her next words. “She said, ‘I’m wondering if maybe the holy man gave this to your father because he saw you, a holy person, would need it one day. Like…maybe today?’” Sábria covered her face with her hands and let her tears flow freely.

  Isobel rose, pulled her chair close, and held Sábria in her arms. She barely spoke above a whisper as she held Sábria’s head against her own, “She astounds me at times with the wisdom she speaks in the most abominable peasant accent I’ve ever heard.”

  That had Sábria crying and laughing at the same time. She pulled in a deep breath and pushed back from Isobel’s embrace. “Anyway, that was a long-winded way of saying that for the first time, I can think about my parents without an aching, bitter, violent grief overtaking me.”

  “Then, will you tell me about them? What they were like? Things you remember best.”

  “They were the most loving parents anyone could ever hope to have. They laughed. A lot. They played games at night. Board games.”

  That caught Isobel’s attention. “Games of strategy?”

  “No, well, not with my mother and me, anyway. My father would have knights and ministers over, and they would play those games well into the night. No, we’d play different card games and eat sweets and nuts he’d bought in the market. My mother loved nuts of all kinds, and a particular special treat I haven’t eaten since. It’s called a tostee. It’s a⁠—”

  Excited to know they existed in Sarlogne, Isobel jumped in. “A pastry filled with candied ginger and made with spiced honey wine!”

  Sábria grinned at her friend’s enthusiasm. “That sweet tooth of yours. I don’t know how you stay so thin. Well, yes, I do. It’s the hours and hours you put in practicing your swordsmanship, equestrian skills, knife throwing, and myriad other activities that keep you busy and moving all day long.” She stared into Isobel’s eyes a moment before continuing. “My mother had blue eyes, similar to mine, as a matter of fact, and they were always amused about something. They sparkled with a joy of life I can’t fully describe.” She cringed. “Oh, but when she was mad, just like you, they burned a hole through you. That didn’t happen too often, but when it did, she could clear a room with her eyes alone.”

  “Sounds like my kind of woman.”

  “In a way. But she never liked weapons of any kind. She allowed my father to pay a weapons master to teach me, though, because she knew I idolized the Blades. I wish—” Sábria swallowed hard. “I wish she had lived long enough to see I fulfilled my dreams.”

  Isobel’s voice became soft, and she covered Sábria’s hand. “She saw you when you played the flute and would have seen your Ring of Office.” She separated Sábria’s index finger from all the rest. “You know she saw this, Sábria, and was so proud.” It was unheard of for Isobel’s voice to crack, but crack, it did. Tears rose in her eyes, tears for Goddess sake, and as she pushed out of the chair, hoping Sábria hadn’t seen, Sábria grabbed her hand and pulled her back down.

  “Cry with me, Isobel. Don’t be ashamed of your tears. Friends like us can cry with one another, can’t we?”

  Isobel nodded and slowly lowered herself back down. The tears were far from welcome, however, no matter what Sábria said. She pushed them down and wiped away the few that had escaped to run down her cheeks. “They sound wonderful, Sábria, and I’m so glad the keshai chaiwe helped them to come to you. And, you know, the peasants also believe it’s Elyon who allows the holy ones to have glimpses into the future. Perhaps she was the one who knew you’d need it one day.”

  Sábria thought back to how angry she’d been with her Goddess and silently sent up a prayer asking forgiveness.

  Isobel jumped back, then fell to her knees when the three colors of providence swirled around Sábria.

  Sábria closed her eyes and allowed Elyon’s love to flow through her. The visitation didn’t last long, and when she opened her eyes again, she realized the proud, strong Lady Knight was prostrating herself before her. “You’d better not be prostrating yourself to me, Lady Knight, or I will be sorely vexed.” When Isobel didn’t move, Sábria jabbed her in the ribs with her bare toe.

  Isobel slowly raised her head. Her face had gone chalk white. The Gods were silent in Dreyutha, and as she stared into Sábria’s laughing blue eyes, she realized she’d never really believed the stories of the close, personal watch Elyon kept over her Blades and, more specifically, her Arch Priestess.

  Sábria’s eyes softened even more. “Don’t tell me I’m going to have to ravage you again to get that frightened look out of your eyes.”

  That was just the right tack to take for Isobel to realize nothing had changed. Nothing except a strengthening of her belief in the Goddess and the role she played in her people’s lives. She pushed to her knees and then sat back in her chair. “Well, you know, you just might have to remind me.”

  With laughter shining in her eyes, Sábria moved forward and straddled Isobel’s thighs again. She cupped her hands over Isobel’s cheeks and gave her a long, luxurious kiss full of promise and delight. With their lips still touching, she murmured, “If I must, I must.”

  A lustful moan was Isobel’s only reply.

  CHAPTER 19

  The next morning, Shirin was waiting for them in front of the townhouse with Prime Geller and ten Blades. Sábria and Isobel were both fully armed, something Shirin had been counting on.

  Sábria’s face lit with pleasure when she looked down the line and saw her old Prime, Rúsola, standing among the honor guard. Rúsola had retired to Frayham to work in the vineyards but judging by her muscular arms and sword calluses on her hands, she’d remained fighting fit even though she was well into her seventies. “Rúsola. Don’t tell me they pressed you back into service?” She strode over and pulled her old friend into an embrace.

  “Aye, Milady. Once a Prime, alwayst a Prime. When they asked fer volunteers to come help bash around some poxy nobles, I had to come, dontcha know?”

  That familiar rhythmic dialect of the Osaran lower quarter warmed Sábria to the bones. She motioned for Isobel to join them. “Lady Knight Isobel of Drethemere, may I introduce you to the Prime who trained me to be the fighter I am today. This is Prime Meisul Rúsola. The toughest, smartest, strongest woman you’ll ever meet.”

  Rúsola waved off her words. “Ach, Sábria, yer still goin’ over th’ top wit’ yer words. I thought I stopped that well and good when ya were still wet behind yer ears.” The whole time she spoke, her sharp eyes were sizing up Isobel. Apparently approving of what she saw, she bowed low and placed her hand over her heart. “Well met, Lady Knight.”