Virgila Bromer was a duchess. The seventh to hold the title after the untimely dead of her dear husband in a way so ridiculous it embarrassed her just to think about it, and in a rather unfortunate situation that she very much disagreed with.

  Here’s the thing, she was heirless and although still maintaining the look of a thirty-year-old, at most, menopause had already come and gone, so there was no one to pass it along and she wasn’t willing to just adopt a kid and have the patience to raise them properly, and of course, adopting older people merely led to them being less than adequate, so to speak. She had tried and the orphaned moron she took care of for a year got too deep in idiotic intrigues and it ended up with a lower noble being killed. Fortunately for her, of course, she hadn’t publicly announced the adoption and thus it was trivial to get her convicted somewhere far away and she was also socially savvy enough to keep everything under wraps. And she was absolutely not going to go through that again.

  So, instead, she was going to shop for some much younger lower nobles who nevertheless had brought enough attention to be invited to high society events. That was a good enough plan for her. There was always some marquis or some disgraced duke who had a handsome son who lacked enough gall for the girls of his generation to be anywhere near interested in him. Always a bit sappy, a bit of a coward, maybe even a bit effeminate. Although, of course, she didn’t care if her husband to be liked men as long as he was willing to do it with another woman when she passed away.

  It wasn’t a good situation, as said earlier, but that was how society worked and Lady Bromer knew it better than anyone. She had enough intrigue experience in the fifty years since she debuted to have decided to stay away from all of that nonsense, thank you very much.

  That said, and although her hunting territory had been in other very different places, her rather high standing made it so she was invited to a surprise closed list ball at the royal palace, only for the presence of a select few of the highest of high society. And she needed to go, because, honestly, she had missed the previous one two months earlier and ended up deeply regretting it, because she may have hated the intrigue, but she loved the drama.

  Shame about the night being so dark and wet.

  She stepped out of the carriage and handed her umbrella to a standing footman, all smiles and polite greetings to the servants. The hallways were mostly empty, nowhere near the multitudes that may be in other previous royal balls. Of course, she had heard that the one in which that disaster regarding the prince’s fiancee had happened also had an unusually low attendance, but she couldn’t keep out the feeling that the silence in those halls was downright creepy.

  A servant at the entrance of the wing in which the ballroom was located in checked her identity. Not entirely out of the norm, but it had already been checked at the entrance to the palatial complex. She had noticed guards in many corners and once she finally entered to the last lobby before the ballroom proper, she saw a delegation of the capital’s constabulary, including the commissioner, whom she had the honor to host at a party the previous year, just standing there, chatting idly and eating some of the various snacks that the waiters were bringing in to those waiting. A chill went down her spine. The security was high.

  “Lady Bromer!” A cheerful voice called to her from behind. She turned around to find Lady Terea Culum. A tall woman so bony that it seemed like her very skin was loose everywhere except for her ridiculously long nose, once the object of many jokes. “Fancy seeing you here. I thought you hated these political events.”

  “Well, is it not a surprise to meet the old ibis herself here!” She grinned, seeing the other woman give her a look that would make any lesser woman faint. She found it so deeply amusing. “Darling, of course I hate political events. But someone like you always finds them political.”

  Her first taste of fun for the night had worked. It was cruel, sure, but they knew each other nearly since they came out of their mothers wombs and had always had a friendly enough rivalry. Culum hated her because of how pretty she was, despite being the same age as her, and Bromer had grown to hate the fact that she went through rich husbands, and wives, like the dealer at one of their many bets at the cards. She had no idea of what they found attractive in a scarecrow with a sharpened carrot for a nose. And Culum indeed found things political, or at least that was what she claimed every time she made disgusted expressions whenever someone would make any speech at a party.

  Culum stared at her, her own face suddenly becoming much more amused, as if the insult hadn’t actually bothered her at all. “Oh, you have not heard the rumors then, dear?”

  “You old bird! You know very well that since my dear husband’s passing I hardly have the time to participate in society, much less to listen to the gossiping elderly. If you do have anything truly interesting to say, I will hear it, otherwise, I would rather not have you keeping prospective husbands away.” She said, and then sighed.

  “They say that Lady Wynthart not only is back, but that she may be innocent of all wrongdoing.” Culum stated, getting close to Bromer.

  “They say that Lady Wynthart not only is back, but that she may be innocent of all wrongdoing.” Culum stated, getting close to Bromer.

  Bromer in turn arched an eyebrow. That didn’t make any sense given what she had read in the various newspapers regarding the case, and was ready to shoo Culum away based on that until the other pointed a disturbingly thin finger to one of the corners of the lobby, up a flight of stairs, talking next to a column, was the Minister of Justice, and he had a mortified expression on his face.

  “Oh?” Bromer mouthed. “Lord Vivrul looks upset.”

  “And quite, the word out is that, apparently, he had been caught in a scheme to bring an Objection to the crown during the Enshrinement of the Sword. For the sake of his wife. What a fool.” Culum gossiped. “You know dear, if that rumor that Wynthart is innocent is true, it would not come as a surprise at all if that old vulture had been behind it all along. And now he is all terrified that his plans will come out.”

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  “And, the constabulary are here, curious, is it not?” Bromer followed up. She wanted in to the gossip. “Imagine if we see him getting arrested. It will make the whole trip here more than worthwhile! Oh for the saints, if that was the case I would gift the prince part of my estate as a reward for the fun.”

  The both chuckled before getting into a full on fit of laugher. They sounded like hyenas, enough to make those around stare at them and then quickly get away from them both.

  “So, Culum, how long is it until we are let inside?” Bromer asked.

  “I have been told that the his Highness the Regent intends to give a speech at around eight, so I guess we still have about three quarters of an hour left here.” Culum answered, crossing her arms. “A shame that I have to spend it with someone whose only interests are surgeries to look so much younger than she actually is.”

  One of Bromer’s eyes twitched, but she let it go. Something else was bothering her at the back of her mind.

  “His Highness is not here yes, is he not?” She asked, and Culum shook her head in negation. “I guessed as much, the young man is a hermit, so terribly unconcerned with anything regarding society! Imagine if he actually had to rule this country, we would end up in such a terrible position.”

  Culum furrowed her brow. Oh, right, politics.

  “What I mean to say, you stuffed old bird, is that he lacks a spine, like good men ought to have. He is far more interested in numbers and magic than talking with anyone.” Bromer clarified, lying.

  “Bromer, I know about what you are thinking. Even if the stretched smooth skin makes your face harder to read than before.” Culum whispered. “Someone is missing at this party.”

  Bromer blinked. She hadn’t thought of it, but what the stick woman had said was exactly the thing that was bothering her. In these events, those of the highest society there tended to be a lot more noise, a lot more pleasantry, a lot more soul to the party. Under normal circumstances those are brought in to someone those not in the know could call the ‘soul’ of the thing, although most nobles referred to them as a sort of spiritual fuel to make the fire of the ball burn so much brighter. And yet, there was none of that there.

  Lord Crato was nowhere to be found.

  Culum looked at Bromer and pulled her fan from somewhere in her purple dress, covering the lower half of her face with it. The nose poking right above it was hysterically funny. She tried not to laugh.

  “Rumor is that he is doing odd jobs for the prince!” Culum sneered.

  “He would not step that low, not even a drunk frequenter of brothels like him would. I tolerate your gossips, stork-face, due to their entertainment value, but thinking that a noble like Lord Crato who is even part of the government would step so low as to having to do whatever a figurehead like the Regent says is beyond the pale. You should be ashamed!” Bromer said, turning around and pretending to be upset at the suggestion. She wanted more details.

  And she got them. “Not whatever he says, of course, they say that he is investigating some sort of deep conspiracy, one that has left behind at least a dozen dead.”

  Bromer arched an eyebrow. “Now, that, I cannot believe, Lady Culum, that man is just a womanizing, drinking, smoking, gambling dandy. The last person one would put in charge of any investigation, never mind someone as allegedly smart as his Highness.”

  “Maybe it is because he has been seen around with a pretty constable girl following him.” Culum answered.

  Their conversation was suddenly cut. The lights in the lobby went off and then, a brief instant later, back up as if nothing had happened.

  Bromer felt the taste of magic in her mouth and her entire body tensed up. The sensation that something was wrong hadn’t left while they spoke about the Minister’s song, that horny idiot, but now she knew for sure what had caused it, and it chilled her blood. Someone, at a distance not too far, was using magic, and for something particularly strong if it had caused such an effect on the thatharic current that illuminated the hall.

  She looked at Culum, who seemed baffled for a second before immediately turning to other nearby nobles and beginning to complain, what a chatty hen, about how the palace should immediately change their entire thaharic installation right at that moment, preferably from her husband’s company. Bromer sighed and began observing other nobles; those who she knew or suspected had the sense to feel magic, like she had developed after so many magical surgeries, seemed to be much more scared and upset than those who didn’t, and with good reason.

  “Bromer,” Culum turned back around towards her. “Your mother was a witch, do you perhaps know what that was? It did not felt like the system actually malfunctioning.”

  “She was a mage, Culum, you may have the right to badmouth me all you want, as I do to you, but I do not tolerate to call my mother any slurs.” Bromer answered, angry, and then calmed herself before continuing. “That said, it seems to be magic, and a whole lot of it. I would say that we stay for a couple of minutes more, demand the presence of the prince, and if he does not come, we leave this place before anything can happen.”

  The hanging folds of Culum’s neck were shaking even if the rest of her body hardly was. She nodded. They were in agreement about the plan, even if it was still quite imperfect, as they had always had. Otherwise, given their differences, they could have never be friends.

  But just as they readied themselves to go ask about his Highness, they saw the strangest and most unsettling sight:

  Lady Wynthart dressed in white, running at a speed that human being shouldn’t be able to move in and holding a blade the size of her arm as she ran though the lobby and apparently out into the garden, under the rain. She was smiling.