“Sig-ny,” Sigmund protested (but not too hard). “I never told you that my contact was Ash.”

Smiling pleasantly, I patted his cheek this time. “Of course you didn’t.” (What was it about my brother, anyway, that just begged for my inner Faith?) “Now will you tell me how you met him – or will he?”

Despite his indignation over a second condescending pat, a smile quirked Sigmund’s lips. He paraphrased my words right back at me: “Signy dear, I’d hate to waste your time interrogating an innocent man when there are much more important things I need you to do.”

It took the rest of the night, but in the end I tortured the full story out of him.

Just as I’d feared, Ash had developed an unhealthy obsession with “Finnley Tyrconnell” and “his” sword after I asked my crew to help search for one part-Iruvian Skovlander resident of Brightstone. Like the sneaky Slide that he was (Ash, I meant – although come to think of it, my brother too), my crewmate tracked down Sigmund at a dinner party and bribed a servant to slip him a note.

“What did it even say?” I asked, nonplussed. “‘Hi, my name is Ash, I’m railcar-mates with your sister, wanna be friends?’”

Sigmund rolled his eyes. “He didn’t know we were related, remember? Because someone never mentioned it.”

“Oh, right.”

“The note expressed his desire to ally with the Iruvian Consulate against the Church – ” of course it did – “but mostly it sent the message that he knew I existed. As an operative, I mean.” Here the operative glared at me, not entirely pleased that I’d blown his cover. “He called himself Rolan.”

“When did he do this?”

“Just after you killed the Hadrakin.” Sigmund glared even more ferociously, reminding me of all the headaches I’d created for him and our House.

Ash had taken the deaths of two fellow cultic zealots hard, but until this moment, I hadn’t realized just how hard. And this was his revenge? It seemed…disproportionately harsh. “What did you do?”

“I made him wait a week, and then I sent back a note asking what he was proposing.”

“And he was proposing – what? That the two of you team up against me? That he spy on me in exchange for you helping him to overthrow the Church?” My voice grew shriller and shriller, until Sigmund clapped a hand over my mouth.

“Signy,” he hissed, his eyes darting around the bedroom as if he expected his valet to burst in, sword drawn and pistol blazing. “How many times do I need to tell you? We can’t be seen together.”

“Mmmmmrgh,” I said against his fingers and wriggled out from under his hand. “Fine. So what happened?”

“Stop interrupting so I can tell you.”

In a coincidence so cruel that Grandfather must have meddled, Ash rendezvoused with Finnley Tyrconnell in Silkshore on the very day I went there to meet Odrienne Keel. I’d even glimpsed Ash entering a restaurant – where waiting in a private room that I couldn’t see from the canal was my brother. And that was what I got for trusting my crewmates.

“He was sooo confused when he walked in,” Sigmund recalled. “For a moment, I thought he was going to ask, ‘Isha, why are you here, dressed as a man?’”

“Why would he ask that?” I snickered. “I dress as a man all the time.”

“Mmmm. Fine. Right,” Sigmund admitted. “But not tonight.”

“No, not tonight.”

Elegant in a well-tailored suit, like a nobleman relaxing away from the social strictures of Brightstone, Sigmund had risen at Ash’s entrance and extended a hand. “Mr. Rolan, I presume.”

My crewmate was so utterly flabbergasted that he almost forgot to shake it. “Yes. Although…of course, it is a name for correspondence,” he gabbled absently, trying to figure out if I were playing a protracted prank. “My name is Ash.”

By then, my brother already knew Ash’s full name and everything of note about him. (And his family. And his finances.) However, Sigmund replied politely, “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“Same,” answered Ash, still scrutinizing my brother’s features for traces of makeup. “So – ” Giving up on subtlety, he burst out, “You look so much like my partner that if you weren’t the opposite gender, I’d say you’re identical twins!”

Gesturing for him to sit, Sigmund agreed, “We get that a lot.”

“I suppose you do.” Ash sat in a bit of a daze, processing the discovery and collecting his thoughts. “While we can start by chatting about any number of things, I was honest when I wrote that I hoped for a longer conversation about how we can help each other. But…I must say that I’m also interested in learning more about how I can help Isha. She seems to have gotten herself into a lot of trouble.” Showing no signs of either interest or disinterest, Sigmund passed him a menu, which Ash accepted automatically while blabbing, “And a lot of it seems to center around things that you know about. And – speaking as one of her friends – she doesn’t ask for help very often, but she does seem to need it.”

Sigmund flicked through his menu and inquired calmly, “Are you referring to the situation in U’Duasha?”

In a very dry tone, Ash replied, “I am referring to the many situations that Isha has gotten herself into. It would be hard to enumerate them all.”

(“Hey!” I complained when Sigmund mimicked Ash’s delivery. “I was handling things just fine!”

“Sure you were,” my brother soothed. “Don’t worry, I even told him that.”)

Well, sort of. What he had told Ash was: “I’m not sure there’s anything you can do to assist Isha with her situation in U’Duasha. At some point, she is simply going to have to make a choice.”

(I was? What choice? But I knew better than to ask.)

As did Ash. “Fair enough. Fair enough.”

After the two of them ordered, Sigmund got down to business. “So, Mr. Rolan – or should I call you Ash? Which would you prefer?”

“Ash is fine. Rolan is good for correspondence though. Sometimes letters get intercepted.”

The master spy didn’t even bother to acknowledge the obvious. “What exactly are you offering to the cause of Iruvia?” In his first message, Ash had stressed that the Tycherosi were not opposed to working with demons, and my brother was curious to see where Ash planned to go with this.

A long, convoluted speech – as it turned out. Straightening, Ash declared, “Let me be clear about where my loyalties lie, but I believe they align strongly with Iruvian interests. The Imperium suppresses everything that is unlike itself. However, the forgotten gods live on in Tycheros, and when we come here, we carry them with us – and then the Imperium tries to strangle us. I think that Iruvia has suffered similarly. As long as it suits the needs of the oppressed, anything that we can offer – not the least of which is information about Imperial plans – we are offering freely.” Ash wouldn’t have been Ash if he hadn’t caught and corrected himself swiftly: “Well, I wouldn’t say freely – but with good intentions.”

Sigmund had long since taken the measure of my crewmate. “So you seek to undermine the Imperium by…feeding us intelligence?” he probed.

Ash looked him dead in the eye. “I seek to loosen the Imperium’s stranglehold on faiths that are not the Church of the Ecstasy of the Flesh.”

“Mmm,” Sigmund commented, using a noncommittal, monosyllabic response to draw out his target.

Falling for one of the first tricks Mother taught us, Ash hastened to elaborate, “That can happen in many ways, but intelligence is certainly something we’re happy to offer. You are aware of what Isha and I do, I assume.”

“Of course.” Here Sigmund slipped up a bit when he replied almost before Ash finished speaking.

(At my snicker and poke, he defended himself, “I’m not perfect, Signy. The occasional imperfection is crucial for highlighting my overall – ow!”

If anyone deserved that smack, it was my brother.)

“Well, what Isha and I do professionally is also on the table,” Ash informed him.

“And what are you asking in return?”

“I’ve made my agenda clear. I was not lying when I said that I will support anything that helps loosen the Church’s stranglehold. I don’t know if I have some great ambition beyond that.” (Of course he did. He’d herd us onto the next train to Imperial City to assassinate the Immortal Emperor if he thought we stood a chance.) “There are lots of specifics I have planned along those lines, things I could need help with in the future,” Ash hinted.

“Which god do you serve?” Sigmund inquired, curious and testing at the same time.

Ash chuckled as if at a private joke. “A very hungry one.”

“Aaah.”

(“Had you actually heard of That Which Hungers?” I asked skeptically. “Or were you faking it?”

He sighed. “Signy dear, you kept me waiting in the railcar for a very long time that night. It would have been irresponsible not to peruse your crewmates’ reading materials.”

Translation: He’d read the same section in the same book that I had.)

Unaware that his book collection was turning into a public library, Ash concluded with passion, “And my god chafes very much under the Empire’s yoke. But let me be clear that I will support any of the other gods – so long as the Church suffers.”

Sigmund nodded appeasingly. “No, understood. I simply like to know what manner of man I’m dealing with.”

But now Ash had worked himself into a proper religious fervor, and he gestured grandly. “I serve That Which Hungers,” he proclaimed, pronouncing the name with the same reverence that poor Kallysta had shown for the Church functionaries who Hollowed her. “And I am happy to assist him in any way that will undermine the Church. We are offering – I am offering – you either information or crew services. And we do have many connections with Tycheros. Even though we’re located on different sides of the Imperium, your fleet happens to be near our ports.”

Strictly speaking, that was inaccurate, since the Iruvian ships must have finished their hunting by now and were steaming for Skovlan and its leviathan blood refineries. However, with Doskvolian docks out of the question and the Imperial Navy occupying Bright Harbor, Tycheros might be our only option.

Drawing the same conclusion, Sigmund agreed, “I think you’re right. I think an alliance would be extremely fruitful for both of us. Can you send me regular reports?”

“Of course. It’s interesting though….” Ash hesitated, trying to phrase his question so he’d get an actual answer this time. “I am more than happy to offer them…. Do you not trust the ones that Isha sends you?”

(“Why would I send you reports?” I demanded, indignant at the very idea.

“Because I’m the master spy here, obviously, and even your crewmate can tell,” replied my infuriating brother.)

To his credit, Sigmund did disabuse Ash of the notion that I served him. “Isha doesn’t send me regular reports.”

“I – ” Startled by that revelation, Ash took a moment to regroup while Sigmund regarded him calmly and offered no further information. “Yes, well, I am more than happy to offer an analytical side to the situation.”

“I think that would be useful.” Flattering his new agent with a show of trust, Sigmund leaned forward, lowered his voice, and confided, “The Iruvian Consulate is interested in reaching out to the other isles. If you have contacts within the Tycherosian Consulate – discreet individuals – ”

It worked. “Tycheros is aware that everyone not on the side of the Imperium courts invasion, to some degree,” Ash assured him. “We would also be interested in hearing of anything equivalent to, say, battle plans targeting us?”

“Interesting you should mention those.” My brother kept his voice light and just a touch indifferent.

I’d spoiled his act, though, because Ash knew better. “I understand you’re interested in those. We’re looking into it.”

Sigmund maintained a detached air, as if obtaining Ronia Helker’s battle plans were just one of the countless avenues he was exploring. “That would be extremely useful,” he said, in a neutral tone.

Ash still wasn’t fooled. “We’re here to provide things of value. We’ll calculate the cost of the battle plans later, but rest assured that we’re looking for them.”

“If you do find them,” Sigmund cautioned, “I’d like to be the first to know.”

“Of course.”

And with that, they segued into some pleasant comparative civics. As the two of them tucked into their entrees, Ash explained that, unlike the other provinces, Tycheros consisted of a collection of city-states, each with its own distinct culture, history, and governmental structure. An overarching council of Doges met sporadically to handle isle-wide affairs but was forbidden to interfere in local issues.

(In Sigmund’s and my opinion, this decentralized structure, to which the Tycherosi clung so proudly and fiercely and inexplicably, was what caused their downfall in the first place. Centuries ago, when the Immortal Emperor turned his gaze on them, all he’d had to do was stoke their petty rivalries and let the city-states destroy one another. The Imperium had barely needed to invade. But neither of us was going to tell Ash that.)

My brother did use the analogy with Tycherosian city-states to transition to a discussion of Doskvolian gang turf wars. When Ash noticed Sigmund probing around the edges of my activities, he addressed them about as directly as you’d expect. “Certainly there’s been a lot of upheaval in the local gangs recently. We might have had something to do with it,” he disclosed. “Isha’s doing a good job. Regardless, we’re up and coming, and there are dangers, too, of growing. We have some new additions to the crew, and we’re working to bring them on board.”

“Trustworthy additions?” Sigmund asked at once.

“The most trustworthy,” Ash confirmed. “I wouldn’t say that ‘motherly’ is the right word to describe Isha under any circumstances – ”

(“Motherly?” I sputtered, outraged. “Motherly?”

With a snort, Sigmund observed, “That was precisely his point.”)

“– but she’s a good teacher,” Ash finished.

(“A good teacher?” Sigmund asked, eyeing me dubiously. “Are you?”

How was I supposed to know? It wasn’t like we solicited teaching evaluations from the orphans. “The best.”)

Over dessert, Ash asked Sigmund to help reduce lingering heat from our assassination of Lady Clave. As a goodwill gesture, my brother agreed to allay some suspicions for us, which went a long way towards explaining why our faces hadn’t featured on any Wanted posters yet.

So that explained how my brother met my crewmate – but not how regularly Ash tattled on me.

“When did he tell you about the battle plans and Djera Maha?” I asked.

Despite his own strictures, Sigmund burst into a peal of merry laughter that rang around his bedroom. As I’d suspected, his staff was too well-trained to barge in, no matter what they overheard.

“Yesterday,” he gasped when he could speak again. “I just got back from dinner with Elstera, actually. You’re slipping, sister dear, if I received the same intel from another agent first.”

There was, of course, only one possible answer to that.

“Ow! Sig-ny!”

Yesterday, apparently, Ash and Sigmund met again in the private room of a different but comparable Silkshore restaurant.

“Ah, Mr. Rolan,” Sigmund greeted my crewmate.

Exhilarated by his own intel, Ash babbled happily, “Yes, yes, I have very exciting updates. And a favor to ask. But where to start?”

Needless to say, Sigmund was less enthused by the latter. A slight edge to his voice, he suggested, “Perhaps you should start by explaining what this favor is.”

Ash released a gusty sigh. “Well, you’re aware of our connections to the Red Sashes and Bazso’s gang.” (Why did he have to phrase it that way? Why not “the Lampblacks”? It was as if he were trying to get me in trouble with Sigmund, who almost certainly knew about my relationship with Bazso by now.) “Due to recent, public events, they find themselves enemies of the Hive.”

“I see,” was my brother’s ambiguous response.

(I scooted my head back along the pillow to get a better look at his face, but it didn’t reveal any of his thoughts. If he weren’t going to mention Bazso, I wasn’t either.)

Ash hinted, “We have also learned that Elstera Avrathi happens to be a fairly strong enemy of the Hive.”

Sigmund simply stared at Ash, waiting for him to spell out the favor himself.

“And while we were hoping to leverage their strength, I am aware of the, shall we say, over-exuberant hatred that your Consul bears for Isha. Likely she has transferred that hatred onto the rest of us.”

(“That’s not fair,” I complained. “Framing her nephew was Ash’s idea, not mine.”

“Was it now,” stated Sigmund, who hadn’t known that until now.

“Oh, did I just say that? Oops.” I wasn’t feeling particularly repentant.)

Deploying the patience that he reserved for longwinded agents, Sigmund prodded, “So what exactly are you asking me to do?”

Ash finally got to the point: “We’re going to make the Hive pay for everything. Hence it would be unwise not to coordinate with the Consul, or at least to take advantage of the knowledge that her group – let us be blunt – that the Circle of Flame has accumulated on the Hive. She certainly has a lot to gain. I’m hoping that you can help smooth over some of our – well.” Ash caught himself before he could request the impossible. “I don’t care about smoothing over her relationship with Isha.”

“I see.”

Ash assured him, “I, for one, would like to mend my relationship with the Consul if possible.” (It probably wasn’t.) “I was not happy that Isha chose to kill Ruka. I did not want her to die.” (Gee, thanks, crewmate. Just force the hand of my executioner, why don’t you?)

“I’ll speak to the Consul,” replied my brother, promising nothing with either his words or his tone. Since Ash had sunk deep into a reverie about Circle of Flame allies, Sigmund nudged, “You said you have more information for me? You mentioned the battle plans in your status report?”

Ash jolted back to the present. “Yeeees, well, I, uh, don’t have their contents yet,” he confessed.

That did not impress my brother. As it happened, he, too, knew precisely where he could find Ronia Helker’s battle plans (in the Lord Governor’s strongbox in Whitecrown) but lacked their contents.

In an attempt to salvage the situation, Ash reassured him, “But we have them under our control.”

Sigmund’s patience was beginning to fray. “Then how do you not have their contents yet?”

“It’s…a tricky story. One of our members is…a prankster?”

At that, my brother’s temper snapped. “Well, tell my sister that she needs to stop engaging in her pranks and give me the battle plans!”

(That was so unfair. I’d never considered withholding the battle plans as a prank. Just as a gambit to extend his stay in Doskvol.

Something about my expression made my brother eye me very, very suspiciously.)

Even more unfairly, Ash didn’t bother to correct Sigmund’s erroneous and totally unjustified conclusions. “I will do what I can. But we may need to be patient for the moment,” he counseled.

“Where were they?” Sigmund demanded.

“Among the belongings passed on to Ronia Helker’s children,” replied Ash, who had apparently decided to help Faith protect two teenagers from assassin-burglars – but not to shield his own crewmate from the man with authority to dispatch assassin-burglars in the first place.

“I see,” repeated Sigmund, who believed he understood what was going on. “Well, I would very much like to have the battle plans. I think they will be vital to the defense of Iruvia. And as for Consul Avrathi, I will speak to her.”

“Yes, obviously it would be quite unwise for Isha – ” here some vestige of self-preservation stopped Ash from actually lying that I had the battle plans – “well, in any case, I at least am very sympathetic to the Iruvian cause.” He again stressed his appreciation for our religious toleration, praise that Sigmund accepted graciously before taking his leave so he could plot how to extract the battle plans from me.

The ones that I was plotting equally hard to extract from Faith.

Oh, the injustice of it all.

“Guess that’ll teach you to commit wanton murder, huh?” My brother poked me in the side, in the way that normally elicited a loud squeal. “Maybe you should reconsider your life choices.”

By then, we’d talked so far into the night that we were approaching dawn from the wrong direction. Squealing required too much energy. Instead, I flopped irritably on top of his arm and pinned it down, making him laugh, roll over, and drape his free arm over me.

“It wasn’t wanton,” I mumbled into his chest. “I was trying to silence Ruka. How was I supposed to know my crewmates speak Hadrathi?”

Sigmund tensed, his muscles going hard and un-pillow-like under my cheek. “Do they now?”

“Mmmhmmm.” I was too sleepy to object to his careful, leading, master-spy-y questions. “I’ll bet Faith reads – ” a loud yawn escaped me – “ancient Hadrathi too. Maybe better than you.”

“Mmmm. I see,” was the last thing I heard him say before I dozed off.

Both of us overslept so egregiously that Sigmund’s entire staff was up and about everywhere throughout the townhouse by the time we woke. We had to dress me in his clothing so I could bluff my way out.

I opted not to tell him that his footman already knew me.