She tilted her head.
"My daughter Revathi is here tonight. Third table. The one in ivory and gold."
This was not a subtle woman.
"She's lovely," Jolthar said.
"She is. She also speaks four languages, rides war-bred destriers, and manages three of my estates without supervision."
"Impressive."
"She is unmoved by reputation and unimpressed by power."
"Then we'd have that in common."
The Duchess laughed — a real laugh, surprised out of her, and half the hall turned at the sound of it. She looked at Sarojina with something approaching respect.
"He's wasted on the battlefield," she said and swept away.
Silence at the table.
"Well," Andrion said. "That was terrifying."
"That," Sarojina said, watching the Duchess's retreating form with the expression of a chess player studying an opponent's opening, "was the first offer. There will be more."
She looked at Jolthar. Her gaze was shrewd, maternal, and — beneath it all — quietly fierce.
