He pauses. "Even the parts that make us look?—"
"All of it," I say. "She'll know if we curate it."
He leaves. I pour the wine I never drank and this time I actually drink it, thinking of a woman who walked out of my interrogation room like she was the one who'd called the meeting.
Three days. She'll have an answer in three days.
I'm already looking forward to it.
5
MIREYA
Isolde finds out before I even get back to the district.
I don't know how. That's the thing about Iz — she has some kind of instinct for when I've done something catastrophically stupid, and she materializes accordingly. By the time I reach the temporary lodging I've been using since my usual rooms burned a bridge with a Vaelzhar spy three months ago, she's already inside, sitting on the single chair with her arms folded and an expression on her face that I'd describe as controlled volcanic.
"Tell me," she says, "that you did not just walk out of House Vhol'ir voluntarily."
"I walked out. The voluntarily is complicated."
"Mire."
"He didn't arrest me. He didn't threaten my people. He offered me a contract." I drop onto the edge of the bed and pull the pins out of my hair, because if I'm going to have this conversation I'm at least going to be comfortable. "He wants a political marriage. One year. Public elevation. In exchange for legal protections across every human district in his territories —no forced labor seizures, no debt collection involving children, no noble ownership rights over Lowtown citizens."
Iz stares at me. "He wants to marry you."
"Publicly. As a political provocation."
"He wants to marry you," she repeats, like she's waiting for the part that makes sense.
"I know how it sounds."
"It sounds like a trap," she says flatly. "It sounds like the most powerful and most dangerous dark elf in this empire has decided you're useful and is offering you the one thing you can't say no to so you'll walk willingly into whatever he actually needs you for."
"Yes," I say. "That's probably exactly what it is."
"And you're considering it."
"I'm verifying it first." I watch steadily. "He's giving me three days and full access to his territorial records. Go through them with me. You know the Lowtown enforcement patterns better than anyone — if the protections are real, you'll see evidence of it in the field reports. If he's fabricated them, we'll find the seams."
She's quiet for a long while. Iz doesn't do quiet easily — she's the kind of person who thinks out loud and argues with herself and fills silence on general principle. When she goes still it means she's working through something she doesn't want to admit.
"And if the protections are real?" she asks.
"Then I'm going to negotiate better ones and sign the contract."
"Mire. You know what nobles do to humans they can't control. Even if he means it now — even if every word of it is genuine — you'll be inside his house. You'll be dependent on his goodwill. What happens when that runs out?"
"The protections are written in. They survive the marriage regardless of outcome." I hear how that sounds. I hear the gaps in it. "Iz. I know what this is. I know he's using me as bait for hispolitical enemies. I'm not walking in there thinking he's a good man."
"You're walking in there thinking you can handle whatever he is."
"Yes," I say. "I am."
She looks at the ceiling. She looks back at me. "Fine," she says, which is not agreement, it's Iz for I hate this but I'll help you survive it. "Show me the records."
The recordsSevareth sends are thorough enough that I'm immediately suspicious they're too thorough, and then I spend six hours going through them with Iz and Oren and three contacts in different Vhol'ir-controlled districts, and the problem I run into is that they're accurate.
