But the Northern female was a new variable, a weakness in the heir’s armor. Her mind was unprotected, and she knew much about the heir and the one its brother tracked in the North.

When she broke off from the others, the mind demon followed.

Back in the palace, Leesha practically flew up the steps to her chambers.

“What’s got into you?” Wonda asked.

“Nothing that hasn’t gotten into you, it seems.” Wonda looked at her blankly, and Leesha laughed. “Find your bed. Drillmaster Kaval will be here shouting at you before you know it.”

“Kaval ent so bad,” Wonda said, but did as she was bade.

Leesha walked on tiptoe past the door to her mother’s chambers, praying the woman would at least have the decency to wait until morning before interrogating her. She thanked the Creator when she managed to slip past and lock herself in the suite where she and Jardir had made love.

Alone at last, the wide smile she had been resisting all night broke out on Leesha’s face.

And a hood was thrown over her head.

Leesha tried to scream, but a cord at the base of the hood pulled tight, cutting off her breath and turning her scream into a muffled gasp. A strong hand yanked her arms behind her, and that same cord was used to bind her wrists. Her assailant kicked her knees out from behind and tied her ankles with the end of the cord. Leesha thrashed about at first, but every movement tightened the cord about her throat, and she quickly calmed lest she strangle herself.

She was hefted over a strong shoulder and carried to the window, shivering in the cool night air as she was taken out and veritably run down a ladder. They made no sound, but Leesha could tell by the way the ladder bounced that she had at least two captors.

If her weight hindered the man who held her, he gave no sign, running swiftly through the night streets with even breath and steady heart. Leesha tried to stay oriented, but it proved impossible. She was taken up a set of steps and into a building, down a series of hallways, and then through a door. The men stopped, and she was unceremoniously dropped to the floor.

The landing knocked the breath from her, but a thick carpet kept her from real harm. The cord at her ankles and wrists was cut, and the hood was yanked from her head. The room was not brightly lit, but after being hooded, the oil lamps stung. Leesha raised a shaking hand to shield her eyes while they adjusted. When they did, she found herself strewn on her belly on the floor before Inevera, lying on a bed of pillows and regarding her as a cat might a cornered mouse.

The Damajah looked to the two warriors behind her. They were clad head-to-toe in black as all dal’Sharum, and their night veils were up, but they carried neither spear nor shield, each with a ladder held in perfect balance on one of his shoulders.

“You were never here,” Inevera said, and the men bowed and vanished.

She looked down at Leesha and smiled. “Men have their uses. Please, come join me.” She gestured to another pile of pillows across from her.

Leesha wobbled slightly as the blood returned to her numb feet, but she stood as quickly as she was able, resisting the urge to rub her throat as she looked around the large room. It was a pillowed love-chamber, dimly lit and scented, every surface coated with velvet or silk. The door was right behind her.

“No one guards the other side,” Inevera said with a laugh, waving her hand as if to give Leesha permission to check. She did, reaching for the brass pull-ring, but there was a flash of magic and she was thrown backward, landing with a thump on the soft carpet. She saw wards flare around the lintel, jamb, and sill of the door, but they faded in an instant, gone except for ghostly afterimages that danced before her still-adjusting eyes.

More curious than fearful, Leesha got back to her feet walked up to the door, studying the wards masterfully painted in silver and gold around the frame. Many were new to her, but she noticed wards of silence worked in with the rest. No one outside would hear what went on within.

She flicked a finger against the net, watching the wards around the contact point flare for a moment, illuminating the tightly woven net.

What’s powering it? she wondered. There were no corelings about to provide the necessary magic, and without magic, wards were just writing.

Given time, Leesha knew she could disable the wards and escape, but that was time she would have to take her attention away from Inevera, and there was no telling what the woman might do. She turned back to the Damajah, still lounging on her pillows.

“All right,” Leesha said, walking over and taking a seat opposite Inevera. “What is it you’d like to discuss?”

“Do you mean to play the fool?” Inevera asked. “Did you think I would not know, the moment you touched him?”

“So what if you do?” Leesha asked. “There was no crime. By your own laws, a man may bed whom he pleases, so long as she is not the wife of another man.”

“Perhaps behaving like a harlot is the way a woman gains a husband in the North,” Inevera said, “but among my people, such women are kept in line by the wives of their victims.”

“Ahmann asked for my hand long before I bedded him,” Leesha said, intentionally goading the woman while she worked out her escape. “And I doubt he considers himself a victim.” She smiled. “His willingness was quite apparent in his vigor.” Inevera hissed and sat upright, and Leesha knew she had gotten to her.

“Renounce my husband’s proposal and flee Everam’s Bounty tonight,” Inevera said. “I give you this one chance to live.”

“Your last two attempts on my life failed, Damajah,” Leesha said. “What makes you think another would have success?”

“Because I won’t leave it up to a fifteen-year-old girl this time,” Inevera said, “and because my husband won’t find us here in time to save you. I shall tell everyone that you came to murder me the night you seduced my husband. No one will question my right to end you.”

Leesha smiled. “I question whether you can manage it.”

Inevera produced a small object from beneath her pillows, and there was a gout of fire that brightened the room, striking Leesha with an intense flash of heat before it vanished.

“I can incinerate you where you sit,” Inevera promised.

It was an impressive trick, but Leesha, who had been brewing flamework for over a decade, found the effect less profound than the means by which it was created. Inevera had struck no spark, mixed no chemics, made no impact. She looked more closely at the object in Inevera’s hand, and it all became clear.

It was a flame demon skull.

That’s how she’s powering the wards, Leesha realized, wondering why she hadn’t thought of it herself months ago. Alagai hora. Demon bones.

The realization brought endless possibilities, but none that mattered if she could not live through the night. She couldn’t draw wards to counter the fire before Inevera incinerated her.

“Is that how you power the doorframe?” Leesha asked, turning to glance at the door. “Are there alagai hora hidden in the wood?”

Inevera glanced toward the door, and in that instant Leesha’s hand darted to a pocket of her apron, coming out with a handful of toss bangs she threw Inevera’s way.

The little twists of paper exploded with cracks and flashes, perfectly harmless, but Inevera shrieked and threw her arms in front of her face. Leesha wasted no time, crossing the space between them in an instant and grabbing the wrist that held the demon skull. She pressed her thumb hard into a nerve cluster, and the skull fell to the floor. Leesha’s other hand was not idle, curling into a fist. The weak cartilage of the Damajah’s nose crumpled most satisfyingly.

Leesha drew back for a second blow, but Inevera rolled onto the floor and twisted, grabbing Leesha’s shoulders and driving a knee between her legs with force that would have done a camel proud.