The page carried the food into the room on an intricate golden serving platter, which he set between them on the table, bowed, and left. Vespasien saw the boy give the Auldin’s exposed body a quick appraisal before he ducked through the door.

Laelia did not seem to notice. “So,” Laelia said, returning to her seat across from Vespasien, “I suppose I don’t need to tell you how much personal suffering will be in store for you if you decide to return to Etro prematurely.” She casually broke her bread in half and took a bite, watching him.

Vespasien swallowed, shook his head. Laelia could die, he reasoned. The Unmade would investigate, but with the proper planning…

“Good.” She smiled and took a sip of juice. “So tell me what you want to know.”

Vespasien blinked. “What?”

“About me. Since you have just officially become my bedmate, it would do well for you to have tidbits to feed Rhydderch during those nice long talks you’ll be having by the fire, drinking his wine, convincing him he needs to take the crown from the fools who have it now. Cyriaca is bad, but her nephew is worse. Roch would throw the family into ruin, and he would happily make his aunt disappear to do it. I give Cyriaca another year, at most, before she has a mysterious fall at an abandoned end of the Spyre.”

Vespasien knew there were four other Vethyles in line to inherit the throne, two of whom were Cyriaca’s own children. “Forgive me,” he began, “But why Roch? What about her two sons?”

“Josue, Daegraf, and Alain are dead,” Laelia said, counting them off on her fingers. “Josue and Daegraf due to an accident up north, and Alain because like hell was I going to see a drooling idiot whose favorite pastime is chasing chickens around an enclosed pen take the Vethyle crown the moment his mother expires. He tragically fell from his horse a few days ago. So sad.” She took a sip of tea, smiling at him over it. “As for me, if anything happens to Cyriaca, I will abdicate. Rhydderch will take the crown, if I have to drop it on his head myself.”

Vespasien’s head was beginning to spin. The balancing act had become a treacherous, frayed, obstacle-laden tightrope suspended above the gleaming iron stakes of a miles-deep pitfall.

“Calm down,” Laelia laughed. “Rhydderch won’t suspect a thing. He will actually be delighted that I offered you the hounds. To him, it will mean that his half-baked plan is working, and that you’ve worked your way into my confidence. Sleeping with me will also help.”

Vespasien tugged at the tight embroidered collar that suddenly seemed to be cutting off the circulation to his brain. “Again?” he managed.

“Oh yes,” Laelia said. Her eyes twinkled. “That was just a test, Vespasien, and I liked what I saw. I figure we could mix work and pleasure, don’t you?”

“Oh absolutely,” Vespasien blurted again, much more enthusiastically than he would have liked. Then he swallowed. “What work?”

“Getting Rhydderch to take the crown. Even the best maidservants have loose tongues when it comes to who shares whose sheets, and as soon as Rhydderch hears I actually let you swive me, he’ll stop suspecting I know of his plans to spy on me, and will relax around you once more. Making him susceptible to suggestion.”

Vespasien stared at her. He doesn’t want to spy on you. He wants to kill you.

She winked. “Besides, my maids were right. You are fantastic in bed.” She gave him a genuine smile and said, “What do you want to know, my dear Ves?”

“Why you want Rhydderch to take the crown,” Vespasien blurted.

Laelia’s face tightened, as if he had insulted her. “Because, unlike him, I want to see the Vethyle name to survive the ages, written in glory across the volumes of history. I hope the man lives for another two hundred years and gives us a dozen auldlings like him—with his brains and his veoh. But, more than anything, I hope he’ll stop pussyfooting around and wrest control of the family from his stupid, babbling half-sister and lead us back into our prime. I’m willing to force the issue, though, if he doesn’t do it on his own. It is his by rights.”

“Why don’t you take it for yourself?” Vespasien asked, sipping his wine. “You obviously could.”

Laelia smiled. “While I may have the will, I do not have the veoh. Rhydderch does. People follow that man. They love him for reasons I still can’t quite figure out. And I know what is said about me at the Spyre. People hate me—they think I’m a conniver, and fair enough. Same with Taebin. He’s too quiet, not friendly enough with the common folk. The riverlanders and winemakers would no more stand behind me or my brother as they would follow a Ganlin. The very act of taking the crown would defeat my purpose—I want to make the Vethyles stronger, not weaker. The crown has always been his by rights. I only want to make sure he assumes his rightful place at the head of this family before it implodes.”

Her words stunned him. Vespasien had always considered the Vethyles to be backstabbing and cutthroat in their affairs. Laelia, however, genuinely seemed to care about the uncle who wanted to kill her.

Interesting.

Laelia made a disgusted sound and glanced out the window, continuing in a low, irritated voice. “If Rhydderch would only say he wanted the crown, the family would give it to him with every blessing. Instead, he sulks in his room at all hours of the day and pines for Agathe.”

“He was her paramour, wasn’t he?”

Her eyes darkened. “Or close enough. I can only imagine what would have happened had we not killed Agathe when we did. Ganlin veoh overpowers Vethyle, every time. If the fat pig had managed to conceive, it would have been given to the Ganlins, strengthening them even more.”

Vespasien licked his lips. “You killed Agathe?”

She cocked her head at him. “He didn’t tell you that?”

“He did, but I…”

“Didn’t believe him.”

“Well, no. It seems far-fetched.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “That’s exactly why we got away with it.”

Vespasien glanced at the door. “Then that’s why you brought me here? To make sure he takes the Vethyle crown?”

“And becomes Auldheim,” she said. Then she cocked her head as if in thought. “That, and to satiate my appetites. Very few can.” The twist to her lips gave him goosebumps.

Seeing the open interest of a huntress, Vespasien was caught between pride and alarm. “I don’t remember. Did we do…any of those things?”

She scoffed. “No. I put you under a truth-geas. The rest comes later.”

Vespasien balked. Took a breath. Felt his foundation crumbling beneath him. He had studied geases before coming to Bryda, as well as how to avoid them. There was no way she could have put him under a geas without his knowledge. He told her so.

“My, aren’t you a little scholar,” she said, smiling. Then, “It’s a new spell for the Spyre. Courtesy of Aneirin Ganlin.”

Vespasien had heard of that one. He had also heard of the uproar it had caused when the Aulds had realized it was irreversible. Vespasien lunged up and started throwing on his clothes.

Settling into the window-seat, Laelia Vethyle laughed. “Where do you think you’re going, pet?”

“As far away from you as I can get,” Vespasien said immediately. He felt a pang of panic and rushed for the door, only half dressed.

“You’re barren,” Laelia reminded him, tisking.

Vespasien paused with his fingers centimeters from the enchanted door handle, then backed up quickly, in a cold sweat.

Laelia got up and slunk around him, obviously savoring the moment. “So. What to ask first. The choices are all so delicious. And that comment about my sister was delightful…it makes me wonder what other tidbits you have stashed away in there.” She tapped his skull with a manicured finger.

Then, to his surprise, she sighed and went to the door. “Unfortunately, your fool head doesn’t contain anything worth scavenging, at the moment, but it will.” She laughed at him, then, and the sound was cold and derisive. “A truth geas… You must have the brain of a toad.” With that, she lifted the latch and motioned at the open door. “You may leave, Vespasien. I’ll expect to see you again tonight.”

Vespasien, in his undergarments, stared at her. That was it? Did she not realize…

“Unless you feel there’s something else I should be asking you…” she said, quirking an eyebrow.

Vespasien dodged for the door, but she slammed it shut before he could reach it. “What is it I should be asking you?”

“Whether Rhydderch wants to kill you,” Vespasien said immediately.

She stared at him for some time, then burst into bubbly laughter. “Please. I knew that the moment I killed his bloated love interest.” She opened the door again. “I’ll expect you to return tonight. We can dig deeper then. Right now, you need to go find Rhydderch and give him those hounds.”

Vespasien cleared his throat and ducked through the doorway. Behind him, he heard the door shut with the sound of laughter.

In the antechamber outside, Vespasien yanked on his clothes, enduring the blond auldling’s smirk as he set himself to rights. Then he gave the boy a cheery smile, reached out, and grasped the tendril that always dangled at the edge of his consciousness. Shoving it into the boy, he said, “Your mistress is quite a lay. You should try it sometime.”

The boy gasped and reeled backwards from the tip, but Vespasien was already moving out of the hall, toward the other end of the Vethyle wing.

He went directly to Rhydderch’s chambers, then pushed himself inside when the Auld opened the door. “We’re in danger,” Vespasien said. As he strode into the room, he noticed how the manservant’s chamber door was closed, when before it had always been open. Under the rim, he saw shadows moving. “Get rid of your whore so we can talk.”

Rhydderch glanced at the closed door, then back to him. “I’ll spell our words. No one will hear.” His eyes grew distant a moment. Then, “Speak.”

“Laelia wrapped me in a truth geas,” Vespasien said, in a rush.

Immediately, Rhydderch’s face coalesced into a frown. “You stupid sot. How much did she learn?”

“Nothing, yet,” Vespasien said, taking the insult in stride. “She doesn’t think I had any knowledge beyond her own.”

Rhydderch stared at him. “She let you go? She had to know that the first thing I’d do is take it off.”

“It’s not the normal geas. It’s the one that boy Aneirin used. She learned it from him somehow.”

Rhydderch’s face darkened. “That geas has no cure.”

“I know,” Vespasien said. “Which is why I want you to help me kill her.”

Rhydderch straightened, crossing his arms. “I thought you weren’t an assassin, Vespasien.”

“I lied. All I need is to get into her room.”

“And you are telling me this because…?”

“She’s got a spell on the door that prevents barren men from entering.”

Rhydderch touched his gray-speckled blonde beard. “No. When they find her body, the Unmade would be able to track my hand in helping you.”

Vespasien’s breath caught. He fought his rage as he said, “Then we need to get me as far from the Spyre as we can or she will destroy us both.”

Rhydderch looked unperturbed. “I don’t think so. I’m going to remove the geas and you’re going to go back to her tonight and feed that conniving creature so many lies she chokes on them.”

Vespasien glared at him. “You just told me that spell had no cure. Agathe herself couldn’t cure that Rockfarmer brat, back when Aneirin Ganlin created the damn thing. Which is it, Vethyle?”

Rhydderch’s blue eyes darkened. “I’ll find a cure.”

“While I do what?” Vespasien demanded. “Hide in my room while you discuss it with your friends?”

“No. Sleep,” Rhydderch said.

At that, Vespasien grew dizzy with exhaustion. He slumped, and Rhydderch caught him. The last thing he recognized was the smell of leather as the Auld leaned down, to check if he was unconscious.

Why does he want me asleep?

Then, oblivion.