Laczlo stood outside the door to his room, tired in body and mind, feeling the very weight of the day pulling at his shoulders and stooping his back, the impact of the night’s wine making him sway slightly. It took no small effort to force his posture upright again. Each meeting had taken a little bit more from his internal spring of will that he felt almost empty coming into the final, more clandestine one of the three. It was dark in the fort at night, and with only a single wax candle between the three of them, they’d almost gotten lost reaching his room again. Yet another occurrence to pull more Spirit from his bones.

  Still, with Izak and Mikha ever-present and ready, he felt somewhat more stabilized. He took a deep breath and turned to the two men, one old, wise, prudent, the other a warrior, young, strong, and determined. They were good men to have at one’s side. If I am to continue down this road of intrigue, I need people I can trust, he thought, staring at the two of them. Can I trust them with this? With my family’s life and health? He did with Mikha, at least with his family, but intrigue was different, for he was but a servant. Izak was more of a die roll, he figured. But he had proven himself useful and loyal so far. And as one of the few druzhinas in his service who had joined after the succession conflict began, Laczlo was less tempted to question him, as counterintuitive as it seemed to an outside observer.

  “The matters before me are delicate,” he said in a lowered voice. “I have kept you at reach from the nature of this journey, but I will tell you now something important. Something which cannot leave the three of us. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, Voivode,” Izak replied.

  “I have served your family for my entire working life,” Mikha said, bowing. “My loyalty rests nowhere else.”

  Laczlo studied them for a moment longer, then sighed and nodded toward the room. “There is a spy inside. By Voivode Kostuveski’s direction, he should lead me to where I must go next… Also, it appears that the commander knew something of him. I don’t know what this means, but I will be wary, and I ask that the two of you be on alert. Spies rarely wish to divulge much.”

  Mikha frowned. “Commander Voiakh could be far closer to Voivode Kostuveski than previously thought. Do you suspect a plot beyond this they have you pursuing?”

  “Likely, but there is no way of determining it if there is one. Not yet, at least.”

  “Very well.”

  “Would you like me to be prepared to intervene with the spy?” Izak asked, hand falling to the pommel of the blade at his hip.

  Laczlo thought of his previous interactions with spies—mostly during the succession conflict—and refamiliarized himself with the lingering distaste. Spies were men bought with silver to betray their old allies. They lacked honor, and it was a given they lacked honesty, and so if allowed, they might try for a better deal. It made them slippery. He felt the small scar at his side from one such deal where the blade narrowly missed anything vital. Very slippery indeed. “Perhaps,” he said, turning back to face the door. “Be ready. I will shout your name if I need assistance.” Laczlo’s hand groped for his own sword, though he’d not worn it to dinner. Now, he’d wished he had. “Though with hope, I shall not need it. Stay here until I call for you. Mikha, you may retire for the night, though I might call on you as well, should it be necessary.”

  And with that, he strode inside and quickly closed the door behind.

  But there was no man pacing about, fretting, scheming, with an expression of secretive plotting upon his face, reeking of deception and lies. No, at first glance, his room seemed empty, untouched, dark except for the waning fire. But he was most certainly not alone. For stretched out upon his bed lay a woman. At first, he only saw the long, tanned, and soft legs splayed out, barely covered by a hiked-up skirt. His eyes lingered, then trailed up her form as she rose to her elbows, breasts scarcely contained within the confines of a low neckline. Her face, when his gaze finally reached it, was soft and seductive. And it was then he understood.

  “You’re the spy,” he said, standing motionless a few paces from the bed.

  “Such a dirty word.” Her voice was soft and lilting, tempting. Foreign, though her complexion was not far from Vasian. Rodezian, perhaps? “Come closer. Let me see your face.”

  Laczlo took two steps forward. She crossed her legs and stretched her feet, muscles going taught. Lithe, athletic, tempting. He looked up from them back to her face, her large, smoky eyes.

  “You wanted to meet,” he said.

  “I did. I wished for somewhere less dangerous, though this room fits me more, I think.” She pushed up to her hands, sitting upright in his bed now, staring at him with a small smile. “You were being followed.”

  “So it seemed.”

  “This is better anyway, though I usually avoid voivodes. I suppose I can make an exception for one so handsome.”

  “What did you wish to share with me?”

  Her smile faded. A construction? He doubted such beauty could lie. “So quick to business?”

  “You get your secrets through a loosened tongue. And I am not here to offer secrets.” He swallowed and raised his chin. “You were to report to me your findings. What are they?”

  “Sit,” she said, patting the bed beside her.

  “My wife would not like to find you here.”

  She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Oh, are you truly as cowardly as they claim?”

  “As who says?” When she didn’t reply, Laczlo walked over and sat beside her. He was not tall, but the spy was slim and small, looking up at him through long lashes and offering an unobstructed view of her cleavage. It was hard not to stare. “Who says these things about me?”

  “No one of import.” She trailed a finger up his arm, eliciting a shiver that ran down his spine. She smiled and leaned in to whisper, “Many also speak to your greatness. How you, so resolute, so mighty, crushed your uncle and took your rightful place. It is no small thing, they say. It demands a great man. So, who sits before me? A coward or a great man?”

  Laczlo could just imagine the feeling of her lips on his, hands pulling off his clothes, pulling him into her. He opened his eyes, blinking, realizing he’d been fantasizing right before her. A glance the woman’s way, and it seemed she knew too, given how her smile had widened and trailing finger grown more brazen, running down his chest. He swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. He tried to speak but had to clear his throat and swallow before saying, “I am a man who wants answers.” Laczlo stood and turned away from her, hiding his erection, hiding his shame. “Tell me what you know, or I will call my druzhina.”

  “A voivode takes what he wants. He does not cower at the thought of his wife.” When he did not respond to her proddings, she gave a big sigh and moved, rustling his bed as the sound of her feet touched the stone floor. He closed his eyes, awaiting the warm press of her body against his, her hands over him, but the feeling did not come. Instead, further away, likely near the fire, she muttered, “I was told that by telling you what I knew, I would be left alone. Can you promise me that?”

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  He looked over his shoulder and did not see the brazen seductress but the desperate fear of a woman in need. She had her arms crossed over her chest, eying him warily. Even her accent, once seductive and mysterious, was now cold and clipped. “I don’t know what deal was made in exchange for your information,” he replied, voice softening. “But I’ve no cause to hurt you.”

  “Can you promise me?”

  “Very well.”

  She nodded, seeming to think it over, then glanced around the room and said, “The money isn’t from Vasia. It’s from someone in Armagne.”

  Armagne? he thought, stunned into silence. Armagne was a distant nation famous for its trade—so it was rich, yes, but who was rich enough to afford multitudes of bribes for voivodes? And the to the level of wealth that Voiakh suggested? “Who in Armagne?”

  She looked at her feet. “I don’t know.”

  “You are a poor liar for a spy.” Laczlo crossed the room, stopping a few paces from her. “I know what it is like to live in fear, to be wary of who to trust, when to let your guard down. The world’s full of dangers—often those we cannot see, hiding, rearing to strike. But that’s no way to live. We have to press through the uncertainty, the anxiety. Only then… only then may we find the peace we’ve been searching for.”

  She studied him, wariness mixed with a tentative trust in her narrowed, searching eyes. “Is that why you are here? To find that peace?”

  “I am trying. So help me. And help yourself.” Laczlo licked his lips and took another careful step forward, cautious to avoid scaring her. “You said the money’s come from Armagne. Who is funding these bribes?”

  “If I tell you, I owe you people nothing more?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  “The Olverins.”

  “The merchant family?” he asked. They trade out of Delues. Powerful, connected, wealthy, and unapproachable. He’d tried establishing ties and offering promises in return for aid after his mother’s death, but they simply replied that they were not interested in Vasian matters. Why would they engage in something so risky, so exposed? More, do they even have the coin to afford something like this?

  The spy approached him and said, “I told you what I know. I could be killed for that much—you don’t know how deep this game goes with these people. I’m going to leave now.”

  “I don’t believe you. You know more.”

  Her face twisted in anger. “I gave you the name. That’s what you needed, wasn’t it? What else will you people demand from me?”

  Laczlo felt tempted to keep pushing, to scare her maybe, but he couldn’t bring himself to do it. She was already frightened, already put into a desperate position. This wasn’t for money or power, but out of necessity for her. “Fine. If that is all, then go.”

  She needed little more, striding past him to exit his chamber, hurriedly putting on a long skirt and cloak folded over one of his chairs he failed to notice. Without a glance back to him, the strange woman opened the door and left. He watched her go, eyes narrowed in thought, trying to remember her face as she swore to the extent of her knowledge. How her brow creased, her eyes darted, her hips shifted towards the exit. What was she hiding?

  “Deus forgive me,” Laczlo muttered, following.

  He left his room and found Mikha and Isak standing at attention looking after the woman as she turned a corner in the hall. When they noticed his presence, Isak looked to the floor, and Mikha pursed his lips, hands folded over each other.

  “Voivode,” his head servant said in rigid, formal greeting.

  “I want her followed.” Laczlo turned to Isak. “Get someone on it you trust. Have others ready in case. She’s hiding more yet.”

  “Voivode?”

  Laczlo frowned at the two of them. “She’s the spy.”

  “Her? A woman?”

  “They spy as well as, if not better than, most men.” Laczlo nodded forward. “Now go. And stay unnoticed.”

  The druzhina nodded and departed in quick pursuit. When he left, Laczlo returned to his room and sat in one of the chairs, leaning back, letting out a heavy sigh. He only realized Mikha’s presence some minutes later when he said, “Did she not tell the truth?”

  “She did, but only part of it—and even that was a hard ask.” After a moment, Laczlo added, “I thought I told you to retire for the night.”

  He bowed low. “My apologies. I’ve always been too curious about matters of intrigue.”

  “At least one of us is.”

  “Voivode?”

  “I promised her I would leave her alone, keep her secrets safe…” he trailed off, dropping his head into his hands, fingers working at his scalp. He was not so inebriated anymore, but the effects of the wine were still very present, and they only added to the turbulence in his heart. “She was a whore. A well-off one, sure enough, but a frightened, isolated one in no small danger for what she knew. And this was her chance to get out of whatever situation Kostuveski put her in.”

  “You believe she was blackmailed?”

  “Something of that nature.” He gave a shrug of defeat. “It matters little now, I suppose. I have a duty to fulfill, and my debts will be rendered complete. She withheld information, so she jeopardized herself.”

  “It is as you say, Voivode.”

  Laczlo turned to Mikha, studying the thin, stern face of the older man. He’d been there for Laczlo since his youth, serving the family with all diligence, attentiveness, and subtlety. It was hard not to appreciate the professional demeanor and gravity with which he took on every task and duty. But for all his strengths, he forever appeared distant, a partial stranger in some ways. “Do you not pity her?” Laczlo asked after some time. “Any of them who find themselves stuck within the greater plots spun for little more than greed and self-protection of the powerful?”

  His face remained impassive, firm. “Why do you ask this, Voivode?”

  “I’m just curious, I suppose.”

  “I feel some pity, yes,” he admitted, scarcely showing it in his features as he smoothed out his long mustache. “But why curse the world for being as it is? The gods have their ways, their intentions. We are but pieces in their greater game.”

  “And such a thought brings you comfort?”

  “Should it bring me anxiety instead? We do what we can, what we must, and life goes on, Voivode. To spend time pitying another for playing their role poorly or being at the unfortunate mercy of the gods’ ire is to waste what has been given to us. Life is too cheap for such things.”

  “Hm.” Laczlo nodded and found the general idea not disagreeable and thought on it for a while. He often felt like a reed in the wind, blown in whichever direction the world willed it. Deus need not explain His reasonings to a lowly mortal, after all. And for all the power of a Voivode, many matters of the world were far beyond his understanding and control. Still, he was no pawn. He had free will, he had control, and it was up to him to demonstrate his faith sufficiently to enter the gates of the afterlife. “I can say little else besides that when others feel pain, I see it and feel some manner of it in my heart as well. When that woman asked me to hold her promise and I had her followed, I could feel her sense of betrayal, even if she didn’t know yet. If that makes me a weak man, then so be it.”

  “I do not believe so, Voivode. Some men are born with heightened senses to others. You may simply be one of them.”

  “But does that make me a weak voivode?”

  Mikha frowned down at him. “Why would you ask me this?”

  “I wish to know.”

  “Do you?”

  Laczlo held his gaze, then looked away. “I hate feeling weak. I hate fear and anxiety and the worries the world puts upon me. I want to be better. For Kapitelena, for the children, for myself. I say this again and again, yet the fear never fades.”

  Mikha knelt beside him, head cocked to hold Laczlo’s gaze evenly. His hard eyes, for a moment, seemed soft, watery, filled with all intent and sincerity. “And this is what makes you a good voivode. You are young. You put much expectation upon yourself. But you have time.”

  “I—”

  A hard knock on the door startled them both. Laczlo stood. “Yes?”

  “Voivode,” came Isak’s voice, “may I enter?”

  “Enter.”

  The druzhina opened the door and stepped inside in one hasty motion. His brow was creased and strong jaw tensed.

  Laczlo stood. “What is it?”

  “It would be best if you followed me, Voivode.”

  “Why?”

  “The spy’s abode revealed some…” he paused, searching for the words, hastiness clashing with precise speech, “complications. There was another there waiting to kill her.”

  Laczlo was already on the move, tossing on a finely woven, silver-trimmed cloak, grabbing his sword.“Take me there.” He turned to Mikha and said, “Rest, Mikha. If you cannot, then await me here.”

  His servant stood and bowed without complaint or argument which was good, for Laczlo had no time for either, already striding out the door.