Thar Shaddin

The summons to dinner came while Costanca was getting ready. Punctuality was one of the things Sarita was effortless at, and Costanca had no problem letting her sister shine there. Diego, meanwhile, was as irritating as a tomcat, and Costanca had no interest in predicting his movements. In this game, he had clearly chosen to act in Eluira's benefit. She supposed it was to be expected; the two had worked together long before Sarita had come along, and there was a natural quality to their interactions that was missing between him and Sarita. Eluira was right in the regard that Sarita took things so seriously, but Costanca did not blame her sister for acting thus. The Riestra family was rather stiff-necked, traditionally, and their mother had the greatest hand in raising them. Sarita felt she had to make up for Costanca's daredevil behavior. In that sense they had become for the other what was missing. They were stuck there.

Miata completed Costanca's hairstyle, giving it a final, resolute pat as she turned away to replace the pins she hadn't used. Costanca eyed herself in the mirror without Miata there to watch, and made a face at herself. Purple ribbons were not her favorite thing in the world, but they highlighted her youth. Strands of hair were left to float free around her face, giving her the sort of look one might expect from a particularly chubby fairy. The dress, a flowing creation of silk chiffon, shartung and lace, was a daring piece of fashion. It ran the edge of style between beautiful and tasteless, but certainly drew attention away from her to the garment she was wearing. Clothing was interesting like that. It drew the eye and attention, but tailored just right it was the clothing itself that caused conversation and not so much Costanca herself (except as the owner of the dress in question). Social camoflage was an art Costanca was used to playing with. In that instance, she hoped to continue to do what was most likely to help Sarita. It was what any sister would do.

She tarried with her jewelry, with the veil that went over her hair, and enjoyed the feel of the dress' movement as she practiced walking in it. By that point Miata was starting to fret, poor girl. Costanca gave her leave to have her own night to herself, but still found herself having to talk Miata into it all the while the girl fretted over Costanca being late. A sign of a good servant, that. One of the many reasons she was Costanca's favorite, the others being tied into her being a designer's dream doll, from the shape of her face down to the cut of her body.

Her arrival flirted with impropriety. She'd left her lady's maid behind, and timed the opening of the doors with the mark of inexcuseable tardiness. She knew her cheeks were flushed pink as she stepped into the dining room, her eyes finding Sarita first before Eluira. She dropped them after that, and curtsied. It was a deep curtsey, as those things went. Unnecessary social grace that it was, Costanca knew how it affected the lace paneling and hemline. There were silver threads in the lace, and they would be winking as the curtsey set them aflutter.

"I apologize for my delay," she said with utmost sincerity.

Diego, having simply changed into a black doublet with silver embroidery around the edges, had the leisure to be as punctual as Sarita. Which, it turned out, was a recipe for tedium. The Marquesa, rather than seating herself upon the arrival of her most influential guest, had extended the 'courtesy' of remaining standing until all her guests arrived. For a woman who spent so many hours on her feet, an extra handful of minutes was irrelevant, but it made for a strong social impression when others had to remain standing by their chairs as they awaited the final arrivals. In this case, Costanca. Not a surprise, really. Everything the girl did seemed designed to throw social situations out of balance. A dangerous hobby, but a valuable skill.

Marquesa Eluira greeted Costanca warmly "Apology accepted, dear. Now, let us all be seated." Sabastia drifted into position to position the Marquesa's chair for her, whilst housemaids offered the same service to Sarita and Costanca. A sometimes-necessary courtesy to allow those wearing more elaborate dresses to seat themselves with a semblance of dignity. "I believe we have yet a few minutes before the kitchen staff bring in the first remove. As you missed lunch, I have instructed them to make dinner a little more satisfying than the usual light repast. I trust you all had an enjoyable afternoon?"

Costanca rather hoped Eluira earned herself a leg cramp with all of her airs. At the end of the day, it didn't matter what she thought she wanted or what her goals were -- when it came time to such tiring little mindgames, Costanca inevitably found herself restless, bored or even a titch frustrated. She yearned for the company of her fellow ladies, for their sharp wit and enjoyable distractions. Instead, she was back to courting the attentions of dried up husks and posturing for her sister's benefit. Even if it meant she could fence with words, it certainly wasn't what she enjoyed.

"Your gardens remain one of the family treasures, Dona. A most pleasant reprise from the archives I typically haunt," Sarita said. "Your staff is most formidable, as ever."

Huh. That was an understatement, if ever there was one. Costanca kept herself from scowling only by an outpouring of effort. There went Sarita, angling after Diego's remove to the south. She must have been truly worried, to start with such a bold, if indirect, inquiry.

Settling herself in her seat, Eluira responded simply "Very kind. I'll be sure to pass on the praise to the head gardener and grounds staff." There was, in the Marquesa's appraisal, no real need for further games with relation to the matter of Sarita's visit. The only question of interest left to Eluira was how she would find some benefit from Sarita's current gambit with relation to Solana and the Guiate. Most of her afternoon had been spent pondering the situation.

It was a shame, really, that Sarita had been so uncharacteristically forceful in her latest enterprise. Eluira knew the stolen documents would not remain undiscovered for long, and soon enough the Guiate would realise what was afoot. Honestly, the likelihood of the Guiate leaving enough of a trace to allow for formal indictment if Solana was retrieved seemed highly unlikely. Perhaps Costanca had not been too far from the truth earlier. Behind the adequate logic of Sarita's argument there seemed to be a strong undercurrent of sentiment providing momentum to her scheming.

Still, all that mattered now was that the deck had been reshuffled, and the players at the table had changed somewhat. If the Guiate were planning their trumps with Belleza, then it would not hurt to have both parties focusing their attentions on Sarita and Diego. It might leave openings she could exploit to play a more subtle hand. "In the name of brevity, Sarita, you can proceed with the Semerkhet operation without worrying about my meddling." The air was thick with the many things Eluira did not say, but could have.

The Marquesa planned to let Sarita sink or swim on her own merits with this endeavour. But she would be watching carefully, especially if the girl was determined to support the Morcillo intrigues against cousin Julia. It was a shame Pascual had done the sensible thing and wiped his hands of the entire mess. The man's last word on the subject had been 'Let the smarter family reap the benefits' which, whilst admirable for the head of the Duchy, was hardly a warm sentiment from a filial point of view. But such was to be expected.

"Your promptness on the matter is appreciated, Aunt Eluira."

Costanca did not roll her eyes at Sarita's all-too-easy grace. Such an offhand thing to say, it was rather as if it had not been a topic of contention at all. Now they were all back to the silly back and forth that punctuated all family gatherings with such seriousness.

That was how the night passed. Costanca had grown bored of the social graces they plied between themselves, and the news shared was nothing that stirred her attention. Sarita was dull enough even when they had no chance of being overheard, so to have her in a situation with her, for lack of a better word, mentor and rival was to make her nigh impossible. There was a certain strain to it, and Costanca could only guess their time closeted with Guiomar the following evening was going to be worse. How that was possible was thanks only to Sarita's cautious nature. Their mother had speculated that perhaps a husband would lighten Sarita's demeanor, but Costanca had a sneaking suspicion the dolt of a man was subtly encouraging her behavior. Though considering how often they avoided each other. . .well, there was a reason rumors spun so quickly over Sarita's lack of a child.

Costanca's own thoughts on the matter, among others, was the only thing that kept her conscious through the meal and, on the following morning, through the carriage ride. It was such a pain to be stuck in an enclosed space with a man like Diego, much less her sister when she was in one of her moods. Their arrival back at Morveres was met with much relief, and Costanca wasted no time climbing from the carriage.

Miro, Sarita's majordomo, was there waiting for them. As Costanca was drifting towards her favorite maid, she overheard him say, "Dona, there is word from Senora Aregund."

Oh?

"Thank you, Senor Miro. Please, bring it to my chambers. I must freshen up for dinner." Sarita's reply was quite wooden, even for her. "Senor, Dona, I will see you both in the drawing room before dinner."

Diego adopted a relaxed demeanour for the return trip, remaining mostly silent, only speaking if spoken to. Silence and stillness were as much a part of his life as bloodshed and blandishments, and he was happy to spend time walking among his own thoughts. The assassin's night had been enjoyable in a way one did not speak of in polite company. Though hidden by Diego's clothing, the light welts on his back, chest, and shoulders provided a pleasurable souvenir from the previous evening's appointment.

The end of the journey brought its own amusement in the form of Costanca's evident relief at being out of his proximity. Diego made a brief note of the name Miro referred to, then bowed slightly to acknowledge his own instructions. "Of course, Dona. I shall await you there." In the lead up to the assignment of a new task, Diego typically returned to the pretence of polite servitude, if only to make it easier for Sarita to give him his orders efficiently. As he had no pressing tasks to complete before dinner, Morua's remover of obstacles attended the drawing room and simply waited for Sarita.

Costanca retired to her own chambers to change into clothing more suitable for an evening with an old bat from the darkest depths of the planes. Eye-searing yellow was her choice of dress, and that was a color she typically wore to harmless tea parties and salons. Ones where she was expected to chatter and be a babbling idiot. This particular dress was striped with orchid and a dove grey shawl that shifted between different shades depending on her surroundings. The idea was for her to contrast with the brightness or darkness of colors around her. It was a ridiculously pricy piece of cloth that had no place in such a close family dinner.

Miata was the one who brought it out for her.

"Senora Aregund should not have received the message so soon, my Dona."

"Does it then have something to do with me?"

Miata's lovely face wrinkled up with her version of disapproval. "Dona. . ."

Costanca sighed and rubbed at her temples, shawl in hand. She had to sit in the presence of Guiomar, again. She'd have to put up with Sarita acting like a hen with the fox in the coop until Diego and Guiomar both left, which in all likelihood would see her coping with indigestion until she had to go back to Uncle Aluar. Shudder. She turned her eyes away from Miata, grumpy at the prospect of staring into her underling's disapproval. She heaved a second sigh, and gestured for Miata to continue. "Why do we care about Aregund?"

"Senora Aregund is one of the mages kept on staff at Morveres. She was further south."

Costanca smoothed away her irritation. She could never show such a face towards Miata. "Why do we care?"

"What happened in Dona Sarita's rooms --"

"Bollocks, that has nothing to do with me."

Miata's stare was exactly the sort that would have looked condescending on another face. Costanca knew what the expression meant, but she couldn't help but think it looked charming on Miata. Almost everything did. She missed the first few words of Miata's retort, but she heard enough to understand the general gist. Yes, of course the cursed vaults behind Sarita's bedchambers held information pertaining to Costanca and Burgos. Of course there was information that could harm her. That didn't change the fact that Costanca trusted her sister. Implicitly. Sure, spending time with her made Costanca wish her eyes would bleed if only to get her away from the horrid drudgery that was Morveres, but that didn't mean much. She felt similarly for Uncle Aluar.

"This is exactly why we need to find out why Senora Aregund has sent the message. We need to rule out the matter's involvement with you so we know what to prepare for in addition to what happened."

"This is Morua, Mia -- even if it doesn't now, it will eventually."

________

They finished their back and forth in time for Miata to suggest several pieces of jewelry that would exclude Guiomar from Costanca's fuzzy-hearted dress by means of using Guiomar's crest colors. As insults went, it was on the tame and tasteful side, though the setting it was being trotted out for was inappropriate. The dress was more an excuse to irritate the eyes of those present, considering how searingly bright it was, than for the statement it might otherwise present. The jewelry was a distraction, and no matter what else she had worn, she would have ensured the same. Costanca did not very much like Guiomar. That Sarita felt compelled to entertain the situation that had arisen over heirs did nothing to change those feelings. Maybe for once her antics would actually drive the harpy off. Costanca wouldn't be holding her breath, at any rate.

She arrived later than was her standard fare, lacy shawl carefully arranged around her shoulders and her hair done much too extravagantly.

"Good graces, girl," Guiomar said, jolted from her conversation with Sarita. It wasn't going well, judging by postures.

Costanca smiled.

Diego found that he was as happy pretending to be invisible as Guiomar was in pretending he didn't exist. The assassin sat in perfect posture and didn't say a word while Sarita courted the old woman's favour. He listened though, with close attention to detail.

Nor did Diego bat an eyelid when Costanca succeeded in searing Guiomar's eyes with her fabric homage to the midday sun. He'd added his own poison to the waters of Morcillo scheming at the Pazo de Palancia. Instead, Diego remained a portrait of idle indifference, letting his eyes wander over artworks he could almost describe down to the brushstrokes.

Once the initial disgust, quickly contained, towards Costanca's dress had died down, they were ushered into the dining room. Dinner proceeded rather mildly, the dishes prepared to suit Guiomar's allegedly delicate constitution. The older woman refused all offers of spirits, instead sticking to a tonic that she claimed her personal physician instructed her to take whenever she took ill (and these words were said while staring with draconic fervor around at her three dining partners). The fact that her physician had prepared the drink himself, and Guiomar's servant had poured it herself, were not lost on Costanca even as she drifted into boredom. From there, it was only the matter of a few excruciating topics on the merits of physical ore extraction versus magically aided extraction (initiated by Sarita, no doubt to put Guiomar into a better state of mind with Costanca's gold-and-olive-hued-gemstone jewelry staring Guiomar right in the face) before Costanca descended into the equivalent of a waking coma.

The great awakening happened not by any changing trivialities of conversation, but rather from a sudden and chilling silence. At table in any genteel home in Morua such a thing was considered rude. Rudeness, in this case, was exactly the sort of spark Costanca needed to boost herself from the sleepiness boredom inspired. What, or who, had they been talking about? She racked her mind for the answer, certain she could get a few good digs in before the tension was dispelled -- likely from Sarita. As host, that was more or less her job, even if she was part of the tension.

"That is a . . . bold thing to say, Dona," Sarita finally said. Her mien was a little too pleasant, all things considered.

A person, they'd been talking about a person. They'd been circling round and round the topic of Ignacio's estates, when finally --

"Truth can be quite bold. Lest you've forgotten?" Guiomar, by contrast, was a little too self assured.

Sarita had edged Beren de Morua de Morua into the conversation via means of trade interests. Why would that cause friction? Costanca studied her food as she tried to recall that part of the bloodline; it was from her mother's side, Beren being an uncle, so she'd paid it less heed than the branches from the main de Morua tree. She knew it wasn't his wife, as she was from pure de Morua blood, which left his parents. . .

"I forget very little, though I admit to surprise at your choice of words."

Ahh, Great Uncle Guter had married a woman with Lumbroso heritage. Though, all of Pascual's children had Camora blood in their veins, thanks to their mother's ancestors. Sarita wondered how that bit at Guiomar.

"One must question the supposed benefits of growing old, to be picked at so during dinner. If you must know, however, the techniques Don Beren has employed with the aid of his esteemed father are experimental, and subpar at best. I would hate to see them employed anywhere near land of value."

Costanca looked from Guiomar to Sarita. Had Sarita truly been trying to hint at Guiomar to take one of Beren's brats as heir to the estates? They were all yet children, not quite fit to do much more than train -- not unless Sarita was proposing a prospective marriage arrangement for dearest cousin Ignacio? She almost choked on her food at the thought. At least Sarita hadn't sold her off to Ignacio, though it bore a dubious benefit of maybe getting the lout killed.

It was a more tiresome dinner than most, Diego mused to himself. Even the intrigues at play were but foundation blocks for future, more interesting clashes. And Guiomar was fencing carefully, seeming to present openings which were not in actuality there. No wonder Sarita was responding with cautious feints. It was becoming evident that Diego could do little with this particular match, at least not while present. However, there was still the possibility for some mischief, a little twisting of the terrain beneath Guiomar's feet to something less comfortable.

Diego slipped into the silence caused by Guiomar's denigration of Beren's methods with a drawled "Speaking of which, I had best take my leave. It was kind of you to invite me to another dinner among these family outings, but my duties require that I delay preparations no longer." Diego carefully didn't clarify which aspect of their conversation he referred to. Smoothly rising from his position at the table, the assassin gave them all a warm smile and deep bow before saying to Guiomar "Condesa, do have Ignacio invite me over again some time, it has been far too long." Diego casually brushed the black velvet of his doublet, as if to flick off some dust. With a nod to Sarita, Diego added "If I am needed, Condesa, you know where to find me. I am certain you will forgive me putting my duties to Morua before one of Domingo's fine meals."

With another deep bow, Diego was ready to leave the room, short of an unsightly wielding of authority from Sarita. His egress would disrupt the flow of conversation quite neatly, and then it would come down to the better fencer to take advantage of it. He rather hoped Sarita would be of a mind to make use of such an opportunity, but in leaving he could wipe his hands of the whole sordid affair and start preparing in earnest for Semerkhet and finding Solana, as well as Salvador's little task on the side.

Diego was sent from the room like a boy shorn of his right to supper, though his bearing maintained the same sense of sly disobedience and latent ability that it always did. Costanca doubted anything Sarita might say, at least in a polite situation such as the one they currently entertained, would ever affect Diego's poise. In leaving, however, the slow build of clashing temperaments were neatly cut, and the conversation tilted slightly towards that of mundane subjects. Economics were discussed, little things were changed and greater things were shifted in ways that would not be likely seen for months, if not years. Business was so often like that; consideration was a priority, and anything that would visibly affect the current status quo would never take place in such a meeting as this. Still, the cards had been laid out, and Costanca had no doubt that Sarita would entertain her guest somewhere private where matters would be more explicitly taken up. There would be some entertainment to be had there, Costanca did not doubt, but that had never been her place to partake in. She was, therefore, soon left to her devices once dessert had been served, consumed, and taken away.

Like that, her purpose in Morveres was neatly severed, save for any lingering research Sarita saw fit to drag out of her like nails over slate. How strange that she would find some sort of relief at the thought of returning to Burgos, but there it was. Miata, dutiful as ever, met her in her room, though she was later than Costanca would have liked. Still, the maid had been up to her typical tricks of dallying with the rest of the staff, sousing out what she could about the goings on and piecing information together from the bits she'd collected. Miata wasn't, Costanca knew, anything near the more politically savvy members of her family, but she was a pretty girl with a smart head on her shoulders. If there was anything Costanca knew well, it was that most people responded easier to the beautiful then they did to the frumpy or ugly. Miata was likeable, even among the servants of Morveres (perhaps especially so there, given Sarita's near possessive protectiveness towards her little sister), and she used it to her advantage.

Costanca had never been very interested in the inner workings of the servant caste, or what passed for politics among them, but she knew that Miata was a strong enough player to be considered a valuable asset. Even not so specially trained as that of the Spymistress' various servants, Miata was still worth her pay. So Costanca suffered to pay attention to what Miata had to say about what she'd found out in so short a time. There was plenty that Costanca zoned out on, especially considering the roundabout way Miata dispensed with her information, but she got the gist of it. What was of special interest was that Aregund had been on her way back to the estate before Sarita had sent out her summons, though Miata had not been able to find out why. Such a thing, she was sure, was necessary to find out before Costanca returned to Burgos. Which meant, of course, that Costanca had to ask Sarita.

Tedious, tedious work. There had to be a party at the end of such a long tunnel, for surely Costanca was doomed to perish otherwise.


The morning saw preparations for Guiomar's leavetaking, with more or less the same amount of ice and venom she'd arrived with. None could easily say whether or not she'd gotten what she'd come for, though given the niceties carefully passed between them it couldn't be said the old bat had been completely stymied, either. The two of them had hitched purpose together in some manner, which was enough to put the staff on edge. Though, given Guiomar's personality and the haughty behavior of her accompanying attendants, Costanca suspected that would have been the case no matter the state of the woman's relationship with Sarita. Certainly, the entire estate seemed to breathe a sigh of relief once the woman had been properly escorted from the grounds and to her waiting carriage; there was a sense of a fresher, cleaner atmosphere after she'd gone. Guiomar's toxic presence. Costanca wore yellow and jade to celebrate; a subtle sense of good riddance pervaded her jewelry, though Sarita's meddling saw that jewelry mysteriously vanished until after Guiomar was truly gone. Such glares Costanca had endured during breakfast!

Sarita had requested Diego and Costanca to take tea with her in the library during the light afternoon repast. Costanca was there purely as a considerate afterthought; after the thorough dressing-down Sarita had cast upon her soon after Guiomar's retreat, she had lost the desire to poke at either her sister or her esteemed pawn, and so she sat in sullen silence as Sarita requested a readiness report from Diego.

Diego had been as good as his word. Many a page had been turned on the topic of Semerkhet's trade language, the assassin reminding his tongue how to handle the cadences and precise emphasis required to denote context. It had been a couple of years since his last venture in Semerkhet, and every little bit of study counted. It had turned into a busy night, and the day proved no different in that regards. He had been entirely absent from both morning and lunchtime meals, though Sarita's staff ensured he was never without a casual observer.

At lunch, to give himself a slight break from poring over parchment, he sent another coded missive to Salvador indicating that a social outing would be a pleasant diversion from matters of business. With the old man appraised of Diego's acceptance of his previous request, the assassin knew he'd have little to worry about with his initial preparations. Word of his success would reach Salvador and ensure Diego had a local agent ready for him when he landed.

The true trials would begin in Semerkhet itself, with the task of locating and retrieving Solana. Diego had not mentioned it, as Sarita tended to worry overmuch, but there were certain men of less-than-savoury outlook still rather upset with his previous successes on that continent. He had no doubt that they'd know of his presence within a day or two of his arrival. His grey eyes were just too distinctive in that regards. It would add some spice to things. A notion which, Diego mused, was entirely apropos to the location.

When Diego was summoned for the afternoon meal he strolled into the library and sat himself down with immaculate posture as Sarita requested her report. "As you request, Condeza. I have begun the process of contracting the Sea Hawk to convey myself to Semerkhet. She's a fast and seaworthy clipper with an experienced crew. The captain has her rigged in the fashion of a barque. She can handle a headwind well, and with a good tailwind she's got an edge on most other seagoing vessels. If we need to leave Semerkhet in a hurry, she's the ship to do it. The paperwork is being prepared by our brokers in Qadis, and the request for your authorisation on them shall arrive within a day or two."

The assassin straightened his sleeves "I have made arrangements to be in contact with a local agent once I arrive in Semerkhet, under the guise of a trade negotiator. If you have to hand any information on who the original buyer for Solana is, and their current location, that will save me a day or two of effort." Salvador would likely know, but Salvador dealt in tasks for favours, and Diego didn't have the time to be running too many errands with this task. Each day counted. "I have the basic arrangements underway, and could potentially leave within a day or two. However, there are other considerations"

Diego could tell that Costanca, despite her adept social mask, would be about ready to expire of boredom. He decided to make his tone even closer to that of a fusty accountant to drive home the pain. "There are three additional options for you to consider Condeza, with regards to cost analysis, which are as follows." Diego ticked off the possibilities on his fingers "Item, a mage talented in weather control. Expensive, I know, but could save us in an ocean pursuit and greatly reduce travel times and the associated risks." A second finger was ticked as he continued "A skilled healer to be hired for the ship in the event Solana is not entirely ...intact from her ordeals. Also expensive, as you know." The third finger, ticked "Bribe money. Not essential, but could cut down on negative diplomatic and trade repercussions in the event that Solana's owner has any trade links to us yet remains recalcitrant on making a deal."

Diego smiled slightly and ran a finger over the scar on his face "We always have the choice of 'Gold or Garotte', as the saying goes. The latter tends to be considerably cheaper, of course, but could add a certain amount of tension for future trade negotiations in the area. On the other hand, bribes are expensive and can set an unfortunate precedent. Naturally the decision regarding the budget of this endeavour, and the nature of its disbursal, is entirely yours." Diego shrugged slightly and relaxed his posture somewhat "As always I shall approach the task with diligence, no matter the resources I am provided with, to achieve the desired end. In summary, Condeza, I am ready for you to deploy as you see fit, when you see fit." Diego steepled his fingers together "I could, in fact, leave on the morrow. Were I to travel by road, being the least expensive option, I should arrive as the contract paperwork is completed and the Sea Hawk has finished provisioning itself." Having given his report, Diego awaited Sarita's response.

Costanca neglected to pay attention. She had listened through Diego's opening words up until he started talking about winds and coming and going and paperwork, and then she had promptly decided it wasn't worth the effort. Besides, given the way Sarita's eyes had narrowed at him, the slight twitch of her fingers against her teacup, there was focus enough there for the both of them. Costanca watched their clothing instead, the micro-expressions Sarita either had not bothered to -- or was unaware of, however unlikely -- master, and thought about the things they weren't saying. Not that either of them had anything interesting to say, be it with their tongues or their clothing or their body language. They were utterly predictable in that regard: Diego for his stubbornness and Sarita for her determination to be carefully mute, or, horrifically modest. Sarita almost never made statements with her clothing. She preferred to go unnoticed, taking care to time the moments when she did make use of her social knowledge so that they only benefited her.

It was very diligent of her. Costanca could have gagged on all that responsible behavior. Such things were so boring. She allowed herself to sulk, though not in a way that would be crudely obvious. She had pushed Sarita, and pushed her, and as with dough it was best to let the matter rest. Or at least according to something Miata had said once. What was it again?

"What are your two backups to the Sea Hawk?"

Costanca blinked from her nearly comatose state. Ah. Ah yes, there had been silence for a small spell there, giving her ample reason to doze. The room was not overly warm, but managed to balance on that perfectly cozy temperature. Meaning it was slightly cool; she wore so many layers that had the room been decidedly warm she would have been sweating. The price of looking fabulous.

"The information on Solana will be delivered to your room before supper. However, I must warn you that it is only the start of the trail; she was put into a numbered lot once she hit the coast of the southern continent, and my records end there. However, we have information on the group who sold her in Semerkhet; their local records should prove sufficient. I apologize for the trouble."

Somehow, Sarita's voice was even more grating than Diego's had been. "The money I will grant, as I will the weather mage. However, a healer is far too noticeable even when aquired by subtle means. You will have to make due with a local hedgewitch or the equivalent; I will ensure you receive the proper amount of money for such expenses. As for the weather mage, I will leave the person to your discretion. Take care to consider the reputation of this person; there are more mages in the south than mosquitoes, but they are generally well networked. They keep tabs on each other almost as carefully as the three families do."

Sarita must have been worried, to lecture Diego on things he already knew. Costanca gave up her pretense of not listening, reluctantly dragging herself back into paying proper attention. Sarita's voice was too hard to ignore, really.

"The rest I leave to your discretion. The matter is a delicate one, and I will not box you in to a set pattern of behavior when you may need to be fluid. Leave tomorrow. Take care that you do not seem harried in your purpose. One never knows who might be paying attention."

Diego nodded his understanding of the resources allowed him.That still left the question of alternatives. A clear suggestion that Sarita did not wish the expense of a combat capable clipper. Well, it was to be expected, he supposed. It had been worth the try. Diego tapped his fingers together thoughtfully. "If circumstances do not permit the Sea Hawk, there is a seaworthy fishing vessel whose captain and I maintain a working relationship. It would not outrun a military vessel, nor offer much in the way of creature comfort to Solana, but with the seamage on board I believe it could serve for a quiet escape if I arrive in Semerkhet separately as a passenger on a trading ship." The assassin pursed his lips "Least desirable, but still potentially workable, is passage both ways as paying travellers. The downside is that the return trip involves an ungainly element of luck in assuring a timely berth and unwisely presumes that local elements fail to pressure captains to refuse our fares. I would advise against this option, personally."

Diego took the advice regarding the selection of a weather mage with good grace. It didn't take a man of his insight to recognise the signs of stress caused by a burden of desperation. Sarita was potentially overextending her political capital with this endeavour, and likely fretted over not being able to handle every step of the process directly. "Naturally, Condeza, I shall be discrete in how I spread my misdirections. Let us hope that it is a living person I find at the end of this, yes? To have gambled all this over Solana's grave would have us feature in the worst kind of instructive bedtime fable for generations to come." Diego took the edge off the words, slightly, with a tight smile. "In any case, I shall leave on the morrow. I shall make my leisurely way down to meet with our factors in Qadis. After I establish my credentials for the visit to Semerkhet, and make arrangements with the ship of your preference, I shall commence the task at hand. Is this satisfactory to you, Condeza?"

"I am sure you will be able to use the Sea Hawk, Diego, but I wish to be kept apprised of other options should the undesirable happen." Sarita's expression was pleasant enough, but Diego's second line of conversation was met with a small pause. The offbeat in the conversation made Costanca focus in on the two of them. Rather than look at Sarita while she prepared her words, it was to Diego that the younger dona looked. The defenses erected by the two of them were terrifying, truly, but for that they were still . . . dull as rocks, really. They billed themselves as fortresses, like most of Corezan nobility. Scarcely made for entertainment, even when Costanca wasn't wary of Sarita snapping at her like some enraged turtle.

"I trust Senora Solana, Senor. She would not be sold into some harsh labor camp due to her skills, and she is canny enough to behave according to her new status. She is not stupid. Like as not she would have been sold as a house slave. If she has allowed herself to be put into a situation where her health is so deteriorated as to need saving, then I should rightly be called a fool for taking this risk."

Sarita tapped her fingers on her knees, drawing Costanca's attention away from Diego and towards the movement. Something else was going on for her to be so agitated. "Senor Diego, I wish you the Changers' fortunes in this task. You are dismissed."

Costanca rose.

"Dona Costanca, I was not talking to you."

Costanca sat, something much like dread creeping up her center. This was it. Sarita was trying to kill her.