“Someone’s been funding an expanded TNR program behind our backs.” Dukes Dukes’s face was pale as he carefully avoided the Regent’s narrowed eyes. The study presented a dubious sanctuary from the investiture festivities, but the exotic liqueurs on the sidebar would provide adequate cover for the gullible.
“It can’t be. Even before the old Ambassador died—” The Ambassador shook his head and scrubbed a hand across his mouth. His eyes landed on a stack of papers, awaiting his attention on his desk. Topmost, a letter — politely worded — urged him, again, to return to his father’s road expansion plan. His lip curled up at the sight of the boldest signature at the bottom; a florid Leofrick occupied more than its share of the page.
“All my teams have been recalled, the traps scrapped.” Dukes tapped his crys-com. “But the Messenger Guild—”
“What have the Butterflies got to do with this?” The Ambassador rose to pace between the desk and the over-padded chairs.
“The Butterflies always saw us,” the Regent said, her expression growing thoughtful as she turned away from the window. “What else have they seen?”
“Traps. Easily twice what we had. If the Regent is revealed now…”
The Ambassador whirled, his polite smile gone, and the Regent snarled silently.
Dukes raised his hands, eyeing them both.
“How long have you known?”
“Ambassador, you’re not that good of a summoner.” Dukes huffed a laugh. “You barely made the cut for TNR back in the day. I knew when you brought her in.”
The Ambassador fell into the desk’s chair, folding over his stomach with a groan. Wordlessly, the Regent handed him a pill bottle.
“What now?” he asked after dry-swallowing a pill. His shadowed eyes only saw the Regent. “I can’t paint a target on your back, my heart.”
“We find them.” She pressed a hand to her softened belly. “Carefully. Quietly. And then?”
Her smile was much wider than the Ambassador’s and masked nothing.
