Anatoliy brought her to a townhouse halfway across the city, on Sertsiy Island, a heart-shaped island near the center of the city which was where most Kirovkan nobles kept townhouses for when they were in Zaryevsk.

Nesta had only been to Sertsiy Island twice in the years since she moved to Zaryevsk, once to run a con, when she'd been young enough that she could make anyone feel sorry for her just by batting her lashes and letting her eyes fill with tears, and a second time when she'd followed a particularly insistent client who refuse to take no for an answer back to the overpriced flat he shared with his wife. She'd slipped a note into the post box, addressed to his wife, telling her where her husband spent his evenings. She'd never seen the man again.

The townhouse that Anatoliy brought her to was older, stately but a bit worn. Most of the windows were shuttered or dark, and the flower boxes hanging beneath the windows were empty and bare, as if for winter.

"Aside from the servants, I'm the only one in residence, at the moment," Anatoliy explained as he unlocked the front door. From a distance, it was a cheerful red, but up close, Nesta saw that the paint was chipped and faded. A brass house number hung beside the door, speckled and rusted with age.

"It's nicer inside," Anatoliy said sheepishly, pushing the door open. He stepped aside to let Nesta precede him inside.

She stepped through the red door and emerged into a stately entryway of exactly the sort she'd expect to find in a house like this. Twin staircases curved their way up to the open landing of the floor above, and a twinkling chandelier hung from the ceiling, two stories up. Beyond the stairs, a hallway led the way into the depths of the house.

It was so silent that Nesta could have heard a mouse sneeze. Did mice sneeze? She had no idea. But if they did, she would have heard it.

And then footsteps on the wood floor made her turn towards the depths of the house, just as a young girl emerged from behind one of the many doors with a stack of linens in her arms. Nesta couldn't tell if they were clean or dirty.

When she saw Anatoliy and Nesta, she bobbed a quick curtsy. "Welcome back, sir. The third floor bedroom has been made up for your friend, as you requested."

"Thank you," Anatoliy said, setting his hand on the small of Nesta's back and giving her a small push to propel her towards the stair.

The maid disappeared down the corridor, and Nesta allowed Anatoliy to lead her up two winding flights of stairs to the third floor.

As they climbed, he said, "The ground floor is for hosting guests, not that we have many. The second floor is where I reside, and where the owner of the house lives when he's in town. And the third floor will be yours. You'll have much of your training here, to prepare for the job."

"So, who owns the house?" Nesta asked, a bit out of breath from all the stairs. She lived on the ground floor of a tenement flat on Kytov Island–or had lived, she supposed. Anatoliy had told her that an acquaintance of his would pack her things for her and deliver them to the townhouse, not that she owned much, or would have minded leaving most of it behind.

"Count Romanov," Anatoliy replied, to Nesta's surprise. She hadn't expected a straight answer. "An ally of our organization."

"Count Romanov?" Nesta repeated. "Never heard of him. Does he spend much time in the city?"

Anatoliy smiled vaguely. "He prefers to stay in the country, although his son sometimes spends time here. But don't worry. You likely won't meet him, and even if he decides to come, he's an ally, too, just like his father. He'll probably occupy his father's quarters, if he comes. It's not like his father uses them."

Nesta wasn't reassured, but she let the matter drop. She had no choice, as they'd reached the third floor, and Anatoliy changed the subject.

"The library's at the end of that hallway," he said, pointing to the right as they reached the top of the stairs. "There's also a music room and another bedroom. It's empty, and I don't think it's been used in decades. Your room is down the other way–you have that side to yourself, actually."

Nesta trailed after him as he turned left at the top of the stairs, counting the doors they passed before he pushed open the one at the end of the hall. Four doors, two on either side, before they reached hers, at the very end.

"This will be your room," Anatoliy said, pushing the door open.

Nesta hesitated in the hallway, then crossed the threshold. Her breath caught in her throat as she took in the room beyond the door.

To call this room a bedroom was a severe understatement, Nesta thought as she spun in a slow circle on one spot just inside the door. A bedroom would have meant a bed, maybe a couple of side tables, maybe a dresser, not this... this... absolute luxury.

The bed alone wouldn't have fit in her tiny flat on Kytov Island. It was so big that, if she were to lie in the center of the down mattress, she didn't think she'd be to reach the sides. The end tables had ornate mother-of-pearl inlays shaped like some sort of flower that Nesta couldn't remember the name of–either in Kirovkan or Kellan.

Actually, the whole room was so big that she could have fit her entire flat inside it two or three times over–at least.

Across from the bed, on the opposite wall by the door, was a cavernous fireplace with a small fire crackling merrily in the grate. A sofa and two armchairs had been arranged around a coffee table, and there was a daybed tucked beneath the window closest to the door. There was a desk beneath the other window, which had been thrown open to let in the fresh, cool air. When Nesta peered out through the glass, she saw that the room overlooked a little, walled garden, and a quiet canal beyond.

"I'll give you some time to get settled," Anatoliy said from the door. He hadn't moved while Nesta took in her new, temporary home, and she realized that she'd been staring openmouthed at her surroundings and quickly snapped her jaw shut. "I'll come and fetch you for dinner. We'll be going out. There are clothes in the dressing room that are meant for you. Make sure you wear something appropriate for the higher end of the Halfworld."

Nesta nodded mutely, still too awed by her new room to speak. How long had it been since she'd seen anything even close to this luxurious, since she'd slept in a comfortable bed in a warm, clean room with windows that didn't overlook a busy, noisy road?

And, Saints, how long had it been since she went out for dinner?

Sure, she sometimes bought food from a vendor or at a tavern, but it had been at least a year since she'd treated herself to a meal at a sit-down, formal restaurant. The last time had been when a particularly lucky–or unlucky, depending on how you looked at it–sailor had staggered into the club after winning big at one of the gambling dens nearby. His pockets had been overflowing, and he'd tipped generously, and when Nesta slid her hands over his body, he hadn't noticed her lifting some of his winnings.

She didn't notice as Anatoliy quietly shut the door, leaving her alone in the beautiful room. His receding footsteps barely registered as she took in the details she'd missed on first glance–the cream silk wallpaper; the stack of books on the nightstand; the two doors on one wall, open to reveal a tiled bathing room with a sunken tub, and a dressing room with a full wardrobe.

Nesta wandered into the dressing room and her jaw dropped as she beheld the dozens of dresses and gowns in a rainbow of colors, far finer than anything she'd worn in a very long time. Silks, velvets, wools, brocades, and on and on. She ran her hand along the skirt of a sheer, blue ballgown, the bodice covered in embroidered flowers. Her hands, rough from cheap lye soap and chalk and the pole she used for dancing, caught on the delicate fabric.

She drifted out of the dressing room and into the bathing room. Indoor plumbing! A luxury only the wealthy could afford. Even then, most people in Zaryevsk still preferred to do things the old-fashioned way, and bathe in copper tubs with water heated in the kitchen, or make the trek to the banya, as people had done for centuries.

This... Nesta had never before bathed in a tub where the water was piped in directly to the tub. To heat the water, several large stones were keeping warm on the bathing room hearth. When added to the bath, the heat from the stones would warm the water–provided Nesta could manage to safely transport them without burning herself.

Nesta ran reached out to touch the sea-blue tiles. They were smooth and cool, and, upon closer inspection, actually a gradient of shades beginning at a deep blue at the bottom and fading to a soft sea foam color where they met the ceiling. The whole thing was peaceful and lovely and pleasant, such a far cry from the chaos of the city beyond.

Nesta wanted nothing more than to fill the tub and soak for hours, but, now that she was alone, her body ached with weariness. She hadn't slept in so long, and already, morning was giving way to afternoon. Her limbs were heavy, and her head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Her body craved sleep, even as her mind whirled.

She let her weary feet carry her back into the dressing room, where she stripped off her coat and the skimpy silks she'd been wearing since she left the club and left them in a pile on the floor. She kicked off her scuffed, old boots, which she'd pulled on the moment she'd kicked off her torturous heels as soon as she got off stage. Her feet were sweaty and gross, but she knew that if she gave into the lure of that tub, she'd fall asleep in the water, which didn't strike her as a particularly good idea.

She didn't bother to track down any sort of nightgown before giving into the call of that massive bed.

Within seconds of collapsing into the downy embrace of the covers, she was asleep.

✦————✴————✦

Nesta awoke to a shadow standing over her, blocking out the light. She reacted out of instinct, throwing a punch in the vague direction of the figure.

"Damn it," Anatoliy swore, ducking out of the way. Nesta's fist grazed the side of his arm, hard enough to leave a bruise. "Saints, girl! Remind me never to sneak up on you again!"

"What's going on?" Nesta asked, still half asleep.

"I came to see if you were ready to leave for dinner." Anatoliy's gaze traveled over her bare arm, her naked torso, half-covered with the duvet. Nesta's cheeks flamed and she pulled the duvet up to her chin. "It seems I have my answer."

"I fell asleep," Nesta said unnecessarily.

"I can see that." Was it her imagination, or did Anatoliy sound bemused. "I'll meet you downstairs in an hour. How's that?"

Nesta just nodded mutely, any words sticking in her throat. Day one of her new job, and already she'd overslept and her employer had seen her naked. Great. Just great.

As soon as Anatoliy left the room, she leapt out of bed, not even bothering to stop to light a lamp. It was summer; the sun would be up all night, and even with the curtains drawn, Nesta could see well enough to avoid tripping over anything.

As Anatoliy's footsteps receded down the hall, Nesta began to fill the tub. She took the briefest moment to admire the ease of indoor plumbing which brought the water straight to where she needed it without any effort on her part. Then, she used the pair of tongues hanging beside the hearth to move one of the hot stones into the tub. There was a massive hiss and cloud of steam as it hit the water, and when Nesta dipped her fingers into the water once the steam cleared, the water was tepid. A second stone brought it up to lukewarm, and a third made it the perfect temperature.

If Nesta hadn't already heard of systems like this, she would have thought that it was magic.

As tempting as it was to spend the whole evening soaking in the tub, Nesta allowed herself no more than five minutes to lay back and float and stare up at the ceiling, watching the way the water reflected in the tiles, rippling and dancing distortedly in the green facets.

Time passed too quickly, and she hurried to wash away the remnants of sweat and face paint with a bar of jasmine-scented soap–such luxury! Very few varieties of jasmine grew in Kirovka, and the few that did had decidedly less scent.

If Nesta's job at the club–now former job, she supposed–had taught her anything, it was how to get ready quickly. Once she was out of the bath, it didn't take much time to pin up her hair, spray on a bit of perfume and powder her face. She assumed that, given this house and the way he dressed, Anatoliy would take her somewhere fancy for dinner, and proper Kirovkan ladies didn't wear much face paint. Powder was allowed, as long as it wasn't heavy-handed, and that was all. Anything more was scandalous.

And then she faced the challenge of picking out something to wear. She stood in front of the bewildering array of her new wardrobe in nothing but a robe, pulling out one dress after another. All of them, she realized now, had a more scandalous cut to them than the wardrobe of a proper Kirovkan lady. Maybe she had misjudged where Anatoliy was planning to take her, considering the job he was employing her to do.

In the end, she picked out a midnight-blue silk dress that was less scandalous than most of her new wardrobe, although it left her back exposed, and the neckline could best be described as plunging. Still, it felt more elegant than revealing, and it was cut in a way that made her look a little less tiny than she actually was–at least as long as she didn't stand next to anyone of a normal height.

"Nesta!" Anatoliy's voice echoed up from downstairs, making her start guiltily as she turned this way and that in front of the mirror, admiring her reflection. "Are you almost ready?"

"Just coming!" Nesta shouted back, swinging a white fur cloak around her shoulders and hurrying down the stairs.

Anatoliy waited at the bottom of the staircase, dressed, as before, all in black. He'd changed, too, into evening wear–a black shirt, black waistcoat patterned with leafy vines, black jacket and trousers, and black boots. He'd slicked his hair back, and, for the first time, Nesta noticed the gold earring in his right ear. It gave him a rakish, dangerous air, augmented by the intimidating amount of black.

As Nesta reached the bottom of the stairs, he gave her a very polite bow. "Why, Miss Rennell, you look lovely this evening," he said, giving her a razor blade of a smile.

Nesta let herself preen a little at his words. "Is this suitable? I wasn't sure what we were going to do tonight."

Anatoliy's dark eyes narrowed, and he gestured for her to spin. Nesta felt like a specimen under a looking glass as she obeyed, turning slowly in a circle in front of him. His dark eyes were piercing as he took in every inch of her.

"It'll do," he said. "For tonight. Next time, wear something... more."

Nesta ducked her chin in a quick nod. Never mind that the dress was the finest thing she'd ever worn. Never mind that it was far more daring than anything she'd ever worn anywhere else than at the club. She'd just have to take a bigger risk next time.

Anatoliy offered her his arm with a dramatic flourish. "Shall we, Miss Rennell?"

Hesitantly, a bit awkwardly, Nesta took his arm, then jumped as his lip brushed her ear, as his breath stirred the tiny hairs at her temple.

"Relax," he whispered, with that same bemused tone that Nesta was getting used to. 

Goosebumps broke out on the back of Nesta's neck as his breath brushed against her skin. She shivered. 

She forced a smile and glanced up at Anatoliy from beneath her lashes. "Better?"

"For now," Anatoliy said. "Come, my dear. We have somewhere to be."

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