Stragen raced up the staircase. It was early evening, his wife was still at home according to Terence. He needed to gather them, he needed to bring them all on board and make their plans for departure.

At the top of the stairs he moved quickly to turn right and grasp both handles to swing wide the double doors that accessed his wife’s personal suites. He was met with a warm and inviting glow of many candelabras, and the chaotic mess of an extensive wardrobe thrown all over the room. His eyes raked over the furniture, not finding her so he followed further into the suites and all the way to the back, to her dressing area. A large semi-circular area surrounded on three sides by mirrors and a sitting area with smaller mirrors on the vanity surface, it was covered in a mound of make-up and hair accessories. His wife sat at the heavily cushioned round stool, her mouth opened in an ‘o’ while she dotted a thick red paste to her lips.

“You cannot go out tonight, Moira,” he said and he was checking the room that they were alone. He found her maid, coming out of the walk-in closet with her arms full of dresses, but he snapped his fingers at the girl and sharply barked at her to leave, so she dumped them and fled.

Moira, not turning around, just eyed him over her shoulder in the reflection of her mirror.

“You cannot keep me, Stragen,” she said in a bored tone. Stragen stiffened and worked to control his rage.

“I can, in fact,” he said through a growl. He came up behind her, but worked especially to keep his hands from touching her. “I just got a very disturbing report tonight. An invasion is headed this way, the city will fall. We must pack and leave. We’ll head to the capital,” he told her, his voice low. He had not planned on bringing all the staff, he didn’t want it widely known they would be leaving just yet.

Moira, however, said nothing for a moment, but then her face began to lighten in a grin.

“Are you serious?” she said, clearly non-plussed and then she laughed. She remained sitting forward and returned to blotting paste on her lips. Stragen glared at her, his temper flaring.

Moira sensed his anger and she put her makeup down, tossing it in a corner of the pile. She turned to face him, swiveling on her chair, her silk dressing robe sliding up one thigh.

“Who told you this, Stragen,” she asked him plainly and folded her arms loosely across her chest. “Who would demand this of you, without proof, without warning? They expect you to what, run away? Leave your business, your family’s legacy behind overnight? Come now, that seems a wee bit rash, a bit naïve, don’t you think?”

“Sir Rabb told me,” he said to her, his eyes still fierce on hers. “He had proof.”

Moira’s smile fell a tiny bit, but not completely. She nodded and chewed a tiny bit of her lip while she now crossed her legs, one knee over the other, considering it.

“Who is to invade then? How will they get in? Droga doesn’t let just anyone in, even if they pay him, and Tatiana says Bane is especially strict that only those captains that belong to his syndicate freely move in our waters. Pontas has real-life brutes on his wagon trains, they’re near untouchable and see everything on the highways! Honestly Stragen, the barons have built a network, a corporation built on the smooth operation of a black market business over hundreds of years! Who could just, waltz in on it now and disturb that?”

Stragen heard what his wife was saying, and outlined like that, it made no real sense to him either, but what Rabb had shared, wasn’t an idle threat. Regardless of what Moira believed, and he was not questioning she was the more naïve of the two of them in the room, Rabb would not have bothered to talk to him if he hadn’t believed wholeheartedly it was coming.

“Where is Sophia?” he asked then. He was still head of this family and the fact his wife would not leave that night was not up to her. She was there, he could keep her there.

Moira’s eyes narrowed and her forced cordiality fell from her features.

“Gone already, she had a date,” she told him and now she swivelled back to face her mirrors. Her hand lazily swished through the compacts and random items, searching for something. They clattered aside and made more of a mess.

Stragen actually roared behind her in frustration. Moira jumped in surprise. Her eyes darted up to him but then she turned quickly to look at him directly, he moved close and took her strongly by the arm.

“Where? With who?” he seethed. Moira looked afraid, and she was. She’d never seen Stragen so angry at her. She tried to break from him, but his grip was a vice.

“I- I don’t know, exactly, she didn’t say much,” she stuttered. Stragen shook her, “The Silk Lounge,” she told him, “ow, Stragen, she’s at the Silk, she’s fine!”

“With… who?” he said slowly and angrily, a mere inch from her face.

Moira struggled again, her eyes darting away from his, like she didn’t want to answer him. “Who Moira!” he hollered at her.

“OK!” she replied, her voice small but annoyed and she continued to squirm. “OK, Stragen!”

He dropped his hold but stayed close to her face. She tried to move back from him but his face followed hers. His point crystal clear.

“She didn’t tell me, even when I asked,” she told him and Stragen’s eyes narrowed to barely open slits. “So I needled around at the club the other day, talked to the girl at the coat check and Gunther!” she went on, her words picking up speed. When he didn’t back off she huffed loudly and looked to the ceiling before her eyes darted to the floor. “Some guy named Krug, he’s a foreigner. He’s been her patron for the last few weeks, she hasn’t been seen with anyone else.”

“Patron?” Stragen growled in her face. “She’s one of wealthiest women in the city, she doesn’t need a pa-tron.”

Moira nodded, chewing on her cheek and she fiddled with her hands in her lap.

Stragen finally stood up, but he crossed his arms across his chest and considered her statement.

“Where?” he said sharply. His wife looked up at him. “Where is this Krug from?”

Moira shrugged. “Rogun, I think.”

Stragen stared at his wife so hard, his mind a hard blank, she shrank from him.

“Pack only the essentials, we’re taking a coach and we have to travel fast,” he told her. When she began to protest again, he returned to be close to her face, this time with an index so close to her eyes they crossed to look at him. “Take care of packing for Swan too. She will be with you and waiting for me when I get back.” He turned but stopped just short of the first mirror, she could see her full image beside him where he stood. “If you don’t Moira, I will leave you here. There will be no money and no assistance if I’m gone, you’ll be fending for yourself with whatever happens to this place,” he warned her. He turned and left her there.

Moira didn’t like the look of the frightened woman looking back at her, sitting on a plush, silken dressing chair in her gold coloured dressing robe.