Drex knew the huge demon was never able to enjoy the mortal surcease of sleep, and she therefore found his familiar, nightly words even more comforting. She would have preferred that Grimm were present to safeguard the domicile, but she accepted that this was not always possible.

Drex understood, even if she did not appreciate, that Grimm had a vocation to fulfil. Despite the opulent conditions in which he lived, her lover was not a free man; in fact, he was more a slave than she would have been if the Questor chosen to condemn her to the Grivense authorities for her attempted theft of his purse.

Drex stood before the tall mirror in the room she had shared with Grimm during their all-too-brief liaison. She still thought of herself as a grubby beggar, a penniless waif, but she could no longer deny that she was a beautiful woman. She did not suffer from an excess of vanity, but she admired the way her gold-flecked locks cascaded over her shoulders in a fulsome wave. Her green satin robe hinted at her feminine curves in an artful manner, without making her look like a common street-woman.

For the first time in her life, she was able to appreciate her Aunt Dalan's advice on the proper application of cosmetics and clothes: “Accentuate your features, but don't flaunt them. Subtlety, girl; hint at it, don't hand it over."

After spending so many years in dire poverty, now Drex had the means to follow her long-dead aunt's advice. Grimm had not forced a choice of clothes upon her; he still had an adolescent boy's ignorance in such matters, and she felt grateful that he acknowledged the fact.

She revelled in her sumptuous, self-chosen wardrobe, but a part of her still warned her that she might be returned to penury in the space of a heartbeat; she did not care to dwell on her elegant, reflected image for too long.