Hazel put themself at ease on their bed, hands under their head, watching Guelder undress behind the partition and change into nightwear. Her silhouette was painted in shadow on the dressing screen by the dancing light of a candle. It was an idyllic moment, despite the almost palpable tension in the air, threatening to break out at any second. Tonight Hazel lived in the present, and enjoyed Guelder's carelessness. It provided a welcome distraction from their failure. They had been so close to achieving their goal. What had happened was probably enough to further Kassil's agenda, but Hazel had wished for more. In fact, a lot more. The thrill of the hunt was still pulsing in their body, unsatisfied. The only thing that comforted them was that Guelder looked exactly like her old self, which meant Hazel's fears about tonight had largely been unfounded, at least in the short run, and they still had plenty of time to make their peace with the idea of that... union.

  "Is there something you want to tell me, Hazel?" sounded her voice, as she finished brushing her hair and put on her nightwear.

  "What do you mean?" asked Hazel smugly.

  Guelder emerged from behind the screen, her hair falling in soft waves on her shoulders, her feline eyes carrying the promise of bloodshed in their narrow pupils.

  "What were you doing in Darlac's room at this hour of the night?"

  "Make a guess."

  Guelder sat down on the edge of Hazel's bed, and gently brushed their face with her soft fingertips. Her hand came to rest on their neck, and pinched a strand of curly, red hair between her thumb and index finger.

  "Driving a wedge between two allied states and two loving hearts?"

  Hazel broke into a cheeky grin.

  "Hmm. Driving a wedge," they mused. "Funny that you put it this way, Guel. I might even say you have a dirty imagination."

  "It does not require a lot of imagination, Hazel. You have been buzzing around her like a hungry bumblebee since the moment we met her at Blackstones Ford. And now her scent is all over you."

  "Well, I offered a little comfort to a lady whose beloved you happened to be entertaining tonight. You know, to prevent her from turning up at your secret meeting place and running you through with that formidable longsword of hers. In a sense, I saved your life."

  Stormclouds gathered behind Guelder's eyes. Hazel loved storms. Natural electricity in the air made them energised. It gave them swiftness of step and extra power to their arrows. It was no different with the baroness, either. Anger made her terribly beautiful.

  "There are a hundred ways to keep someone occupied without seducing them!" she snapped. "This is not Pitax, Hazel. I do not tolerate such behaviour in my court, not to mention your offensive insinuations. You brought shame on me."

  "Oh, did I now?" smirked Hazel. "How is this different from your disappearance from the feast, hand in hand with the baron? What do you think everyone will be gossiping about tomorrow? My escapade with Felicia Darlac or yours with Maegar Varn?"

  "Do not shift the blame," hissed Guelder. She didn't even have the decency to blush. "Baron Varn is a friend and an ally. Your messing around with his fiancée was uncalled for, to say the least."

  Hazel lost their patience. This was not the reaction they'd expected. They would have grudgingly accepted some gratitude for keeping Darlac out of Guelder's hair, or enthusiastically welcomed a bout of jealousy. In fact, they would have taken anything but this moral high horse she was placing herself upon.

  "Have you ever felt like a child sent out of the room while the adults were talking?" they snapped. "Or like an old toy thrown away by a kid who just received a new, shiny one? If your answer is yes, then you can imagine what... what Felicia was going through tonight, while you were spending time with the man her little world revolves around. She needed care and attention, and I offered her just that. What is so bad about this?"

  "Darlac is an adult woman with her heart at the right place, not one to get a nervous breakdown if her significant other dares talk to someone else!"

  "Then why was she so quick to spread her legs for me?"

  Guelder froze, her face reflecting disbelief and indignation. Hazel decided to twist the knife.

  "I admit, I could not resist her. So charming, so heartbroken, so full of repressed sexuality waiting to be unleashed. A lovely, tormented soul in a lush body, pulsing with desires she never even acknowledged... You know, you two have more in common than you are ready to admit."

  Guelder's eyes narrowed. She was very close to flashing her fangs, too.

  "What are you on about?"

  "You should learn from Felicia. She is brave enough to leave behind her comfort zone of self-pity and take a leap of faith into something entirely different, even if that means putting at risk everything she has: her status, her relationship, even her alignment. When will you gather your courage to do the same? You are an amazing woman, lovely, beautiful, charismatic. I, for one, would take you a hundred times over her. What are you afraid of, apart from accidentally biting your lover on a moonlit night?"

  Hazel was prepared for the incoming slap. After all, how else would Guelder respond to a clear and unequivocal confession of love? They grabbed her wrist just in time before her claws could rake their face bloody. The two of them locked eyes for a long moment, then Guelder tore herself free and pushed Hazel away.

  "For the sake of our friendship," she hissed, "I give you one last chance before firing you. From now on, you shall stay away from Darlac and refrain from any behaviour detrimental to my image as a ruler. Do not make me subject you to the same regulations as I did Regongar and Octavia. And as to my private life, you had better mind your own business."

  Darlac counted to a hundred, then released a sigh of relief. Whatever the baroness had to say, be it a fake apology for twisting the baron around her little finger, or a feigned interest in Darlac's wellbeing, or another advanced way of tormenting her, she didn't want to deal with it right now. What she wanted to hear was the creak of the next room's door opening and the thud of it closing.

  Now that she heard that, she finally dared to move.

  She lit a candle beside the mirror, and looked at herself, horrified at the thought of anyone seeing her like this. She reached up and collected her hair into a topknot, staring at the reflection of her body covered in the marks of lovemaking interrupted all too early. A bruise here, a bite mark there, unfulfilled desire throbbing inside, not yet cauterised by remorse. Her trembling fingers undid her belt to finish the deed for herself, but suddenly recoiled and pulled it tight again. She stood there, motionless, eyes closed, until she began to feel cold and the desire abated on its own.

  Hazel's farewell echoed in her mind.

  Whenever you fulfil your premarital duty to him, you will think of me. Of what could have been.

  She fumbled frantically for the modest healing powers granted by her goddess, and exhaled with undeserved relief when she found them. The alignment shift she dreaded, however close it felt, had not happened yet. Just one spell, and the shameful marks would vanish from her skin without trace.

  Coward, she thought. If you were too weak to stand your ground, at least don't run from the consequences. She straightened her shirt, retrieved her jerkin, threw her cloak around her shoulders, and stormed out of the inn.

  The cold breeze before dawn felt soothing on her face but did little to squelch her burning shame. The crescent moon was about to set behind the mountains, its light twinkling on the shallow waters of the Kiravoy for a few last minutes, as she waded through the river barefoot towards the keep. Perhaps if she lay down in the water, it would carry away the filth from inside her... She banished the thought. Water wouldn't help. There was only one way to wash her disgrace off. She needed to make a confession to the person most seriously affected by her sin.

  If he cared to hear it at all.

  Standing there, ankle-deep in the icy cold water, she changed her mind. She couldn't face the baron right now. He might have betrayed her, but the humiliation increasingly felt like a trifle compared to her guilt. First time in her life, she turned tail and fled back to the west bank, telling herself it was just tactical retreat.

  She took to the streets. The house in front of which she halted stood near the main square. A sign of a piece of raw leather hung above the door. It was the store, workshop and home of Tirval the leatherworker, a half-elf from Daggermark, Darlac's honorary big sister in the Varnling Host.

  She knocked on the back door leading to the private rooms.

  At her third attempt, a tall woman in nightwear appeared in the doorway, holding a burning candle. Her long auburn hair, tangled from sleep, reached below her shoulders.

  "Darlac? What... Oh gods, you look like death warmed up. Come in!"

  Darlac allowed herself to be ushered indoors and seated at the kitchen table. Tirval set her candle on the table, and started a fire for the kettle. Darlac stared into the sputtering little flame.

  "I... made a mistake," she muttered. "A big one."

  Tirval opened a sachet of herbs and shook some of it into a brown filter bag.

  "State affairs or personal stuff?"

  "Both, I think. Mostly personal, though."

  "You can tell me whenever you feel ready. I'm here for you, brewing our favourite tea."

  Darlac sat silent for a while, idly tracing the wood pattern of the kitchen table with her finger, preparing herself to put forth her request.

  "I need to do penance," she blurted out.

  Tirval put the teapot on the table, quite a bit louder than intended. The candlelight cast dancing shadows on her face.

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  "No, Darlac," she said sternly. "You need a mug of hot tea and a nice chat. And maybe biscuits, too, depending on how bad you're feeling. As to penance, can't you go make a confession in the morning, like normal people do?"

  "To whom?" exclaimed Darlac. "All the priests in Varnhold Town belong to the Host. How do I tell any of them that I cheated on Maegar?"

  Tirval froze with the hot kettle in hand. She stopped herself in the last moment from overfilling the teapot.

  "You did... what? With whom?"

  "Someone from the Nightvale delegation."

  "Which one? Tell me it was the blonde fighter lady."

  "No. The ranger."

  "Hmm... Not bad. A bit too masculine to my taste, but not bad at all. And how was it?"

  "Tirval!"

  The half-elf grinned. She dropped herself down on the other chair opposite from Darlac, and grabbed both her hands from across the table. The candlelight twinkled in her eyes. She was just as excited for her friend as she'd been when Darlac was preparing for her first night with the captain.

  "Be honest, like the good little paladin you are. Did you like it?"

  How could she be so easygoing about Darlac's mistake that had probably just dealt lethal damage to her relationship? How could she immediately focus on the bright side?

  "Like it? Hell, yes... until I realised what I was doing. Then I bailed out."

  "How far did you go?"

  "Foreplay," muttered Darlac, her face flushed in the darkness. "No. Not what you think. In fact... fore-foreplay."

  Tirval waited patiently, but Darlac didn't continue.

  "And you beat yourself up over that."

  She poured some tea into two glazed clay mugs, and put one of them in front of Darlac. The paladin folded her fingers around the mug, letting the heat burn her skin, inhaling the slightly bitter herbal fragrance.

  "Darlac, I'm happy for you," said Tirval. "I'm a bit disappointed that you backed out before time, though. You need attention like a mouthful of bread. At the age of 25, you're still with your first man, all faithful and loyal, never even glancing at another person, like a horse with blinders on. You gave him the best years of your life. Soon he will marry you, and that means game over. Not because a baroness can't have lovers, but because you will choose not to, due to honour, respect, sincerity, insert random paladin bullshit here. Do you want to commit yourself without experiencing stuff outside your one and only relationship? Apparently not, and I commend your wisdom, even if it came a little late. You have to start somewhere. Next time, I hope you will go a whole entire lot further in breaking taboos."

  "No. There cannot be a next time. I wounded his trust."

  Tirval hid her face in her palms.

  "You went ahead and told him, didn't you? Making a mastodon out of a flea, as usual? Mighty Calistria, save me from Lawful Stupid..."

  "No, I didn't tell him. Not yet. I need to work up my courage first."

  "Then let it remain so. What he doesn't know can't hurt him. Unless... Well, he might benefit from savouring the idea that he can actually lose you if he doesn't step up his game."

  Darlac buried her face in her palms. If only that were so easy. But she knew the secret would grind her down inside, and however absent-minded Maegar could be, he would most certainly spot that something was wrong and torment himself over it. Not that he was totally undeserving of some torment, of course. Still, it was best not to question Tirval's advice openly.

  "Tirval, it would really help if you could lend me that whip you made the other day."

  The leatherworker sipped some tea, smiling naughtily behind her mug.

  "You want him to punish you, right?"

  Darlac paused for a moment, biting back an indignant protest. Yes, Tirval, of course I want to turn the consequences of my disgraceful behaviour into a kinky ride. Thanks for knowing me so well.

  "Yes," she lied, lowering her eyes.

  "All right, all right," laughed Tirval. "You might just have found the proper way to handle the situation. But first of all, drink your tea and tell me everything. Not the captain. Not the priests. Me. As an unanointed fake priestess of Calistria, I will take your confession and absolve you. Understood? You will relive every single dirty and blissful moment with me. That's your penance. Biscuits?"

  The next morning, Darlac showed up at the official sendoff of the Nightvale delegation. Her perfectly sharp uniform concealed all the memories of last night, the marks of passion as well as the welts of self-inflicted punishment. Only the dark circles under her eyes betrayed that she hadn't spent the night sleeping, but that was something to expect after a banquet. Standing by the baron's side, like always, but this time at a little distance from him, she caught Hazel's eyes for a moment. They acknowledged her with a wink and a smile, not even bothering to be discreet about it. Blood rushed into Darlac's face. Baroness Guelder looked tense and troubled, casting furtive, worried glances at her, then quickly looking away. Does she know? Or does she think that I know? Tristian had a haggard, bleary-eyed look to him, as if he hadn't caught a moment of sleep all night long, either. In fact, Darlac didn't remember to have seen him since their arrival in Varnhold Town at all. When she sought him out with her eyes, desperate for a little compassion, he was quick to turn away in embarrassment, avoiding her gaze even more than usual. Perhaps he knew, too.

  At this point, probably everyone did.

  The baroness stepped up to them to bid them farewell and thank them for their hospitality. A polite and reserved handshake with Cephal, a much longer and warmer one with the baron, and then... she suddenly pulled Darlac into an embrace. The paladin froze in surprise and, for lack of a better idea, automatically hugged her back. She smelled like a cat bathed with herbal soap, a bit strange but not unpleasant, and very different from Hazel. Darlac's paladin senses didn't detect any falsity. She wouldn't have done this if she'd spent last night in his bed, right? Right?

  Darlac should have been relieved when the delegation finally left the town, accompanied by a squad of Varnlings who escorted them to the border, using the same route by which they had arrived. But the hardest part was yet to come.

  The rays of the morning sun cast the keep's shadow onto the waters of the Kiravoy, as the baron and his advisors approached the ford.

  "I'm calling a meeting at noon," said the baron. "We're going to evaluate the summit and the information we've obtained on our allies, and plan the next steps. Until then, rest and recover. We have a busy day behind us."

  "And a busy night," remarked Cephal with a malicious smile. "I'll be thrilled to hear to what lengths everyone went to learn more about Nightvale and its leaders."

  "Oh, come on, you old rake," laughed the baron, patting him on the back. "See you all at noon."

  Darlac remained frozen in place. Cephal knew, too. But how? Then the realisation hit her. It only took him (or young Velainah, his faithful apprentice) two or three spells to spy on anyone. Invisibility, Comprehend Languages, and Enhanced Sonic Transmission, Cephal's very own spell for listening in on distant conversations or transmitting his own voice over a distance longer than normal earshot. It was just a matter of time for him to weaponise this knowledge against her.

  If Darlac had any doubts regarding the need to own up, now they vanished into thin air.

  "I hoped you would come over last night, Felicia," said the baron, as they stood by the river.

  "I don't remember being invited," said Darlac tartly.

  "I sent Martyn to find you, to no avail."

  "Oh. I visited Tirval for some late night tea."

  The baron let out a sigh. He knew her all too well. If she'd visited Tirval in the dead of the night, that meant something was weighing on her heart.

  "Didn't you have company, anyway?" Darlac managed to keep her voice steady, or so she hoped.

  "No. I mean, I showed Guelder around the keep and spent some time chatting with her, then she returned to the inn."

  "And?"

  "She is a lovely person, and also very fond of you."

  "Which," snapped Darlac, "didn't keep her from escaping with you from the banquet, like two teenagers high on hormones. What did you even think you were doing?"

  "Oh... I admit, I gave no thought to the implications. I'm so sorry, love."

  Again, no falsity detected. He was speaking the truth, oblivious as ever.

  Darlac lowered her head. Now was the time to make her confession. But the words didn't come. Tears came instead, and she hated them for silencing her and telling lies on her behalf. The baron pulled her close and squeezed her tight to his chest. Darlac put her arms around his waist, melting into his warmth, perhaps for the last time.

  "I never meant to hurt you, Felicia," he whispered. "Please forgive me."

  She nodded, her face red with crying and shame.

  "Come home with me. We can take a bath together, and then I'll make sure to cheer you up. What do you say?"

  She nodded again and fell into step with him, prepared for the worst.

  A naughty little voice in her head (a bit like Tirval's) urged her to cast a quick healing spell while he wasn't looking and pretend that nothing had happened. Darlac squelched it without mercy. She might be a slut, but she was no coward. She would let him see every single trace left by the enemy incursion across her body, and tell him everything he would want to know. Then she would pack up her belongings and hit the road, never looking back. She had no funds anymore to cover the tuition fee at the Lastwall academy, but she could always join the Mendevian Meat Grinder, also known as the crusade. The best place for those who'd lost their honour. Her mother's soul would understand. She had been used to being disappointed with Darlac, anyway, and by the Inheritor, had she been right.