“Leave me,” she said. “All of you. We’ll speak of this another time.”

Bertram stood, bowed, and followed the servants out.

“Come down, Zusa,” she told the ceiling. “You know you’re always welcome at my table. There is no need for you to skulk and hide.”

Clinging like a spider to the wall, Zusa smiled down at her. With deceptive ease, she let go, falling headfirst toward the carpet. A deft twist of her arms, a tuck of her knees, and she landed gracefully on her feet, her long cloak billowing behind her. Instead of any normal outfit, she wore long strips of cloth wrapped around her body, hiding every inch of skin. Except for above her neck, Alyssa was still pleased to see. Zusa had once belonged to a strict order of Karak, the dark god. Upon her willful exile, Zusa had cast aside the cloth from her face, revealing her stunning looks and her beautiful black hair, which she kept cropped short around her neck. Two daggers hung from her belt, wickedly sharp.

“Let me be the one in the shadows,” Zusa said, smiling. “That way you are safe, for no assassin can hide there beside me.”

Alyssa gestured for her friend to sit. Zusa refused, but Alyssa took no offense. It was just one of the skilled lady’s many quirks. The woman had rescued her from rape and torture years before, and then helped protect her estate from Thren’s plans. She owed her life to Zusa, so if she wanted to stand instead of sit, she was more than welcome.

“Did you hear everything?” Alyssa asked.

“Everything of worth. The old man is scared. He tries to be the rock in a storm, to survive by doing nothing until it passes.”

“Sometimes a sound strategy.”

Zusa smirked. “This storm will not pass, not without action. Not with his cowardly action. You know what Bertram wants. He wants you bedded and yoked to another man. Then your womanly passions may be safely ignored, and he can rule through your husband.”