THE SABLE SPY | SIX

  "HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN?" Lady Rochesdale asked as she led Cass through the house, towards her new bedchamber. Her lady's maid dutifully trailed after her, a pretty young girl named Emily. The lady did not worry that her husband would stray, even with such beauty around. That was telling. She had aunts whose entire households consisted of old and bony maids. Not that it stopped those uncles from flopping into someone else's bed. For a family that had produced so many decent people, it had also created a large amount of useless pigs. (The duchess's words, not hers.)

"Ten years, my lady," she replied, keeping her voice soft. She must not forget herself. She wasn't Little Sable, the legendary spy here. She was the Honourable Cassalyn Diao, distant relative of the Duchess of Dai, and a guest of this great house.

"You have bloomed most beautifully, dear," the lady told her, smiling. Cass decided she liked Lady Rochesdale. She was the elegant matron and leader of society, but she could see the hard intelligence behind her sapphire blue eyes. Marcus had those eyes as well.

"Thank you. But my sister is the beauty, not me."

"Can you not both be?" She sounded amused, giving her a soft pat on the shoulder. Cass fought back a wince. That was her bad arm, though the lady probably wouldn't have known or noticed. "Here is your room, Miss Cassalyn. If there's anything you need to make yourself more comfortable, just ask. Ring the bell here and a maid would be with you within moments. But that would be for later. We must prepare you for the Vallerings' ball first, yes?"

"Yes, my lady."

That made her smile. Cass wasn't sure why.

"Emily! Go get a footman to fetch all of Miss Cassalyn's trunks. We shall have to get her ready for the ball in haste. I told them to bring you here earlier, but they wouldn't listen. I've heard so much about you, so I was looking forward to seeing you tremendously. Shall we wear your hair in the Arecian fashion?"

"My dresses were made by modistes here, so I assume so, Lady Rochesdale." She was the utmost polite and proper. Somewhere between the carriage ride here, she had switched into the role of the perfect Saian society lady. She left her Arecian accent-free, but left just enough switch of words to remind people she was foreign. She had let her face fall into the serene, cool expression she often utilised in these situations. It would keep people at bay unless she approached them first.

"Perfect, because if you wanted the Saian fashion, you'd most likely have to do it yourself." Cass was brought to a vanity, and the lady made her sit on the ottoman, cupping her cheeks with her hands. Callus-free, soft and silky, just as they should be. Cass herself had always taken great care in wearing gloves and applying cream to her own, but they were still a bit rougher than they ought to be. Her scars could all be relegated to mundane origins: a tumble from a horse, an accidental fall. "I can see why my son is so smitten."

And Cass blushed on command. "I assure you, we—"

Lady Rochesdale raised her hand, cutting Cass off. "Do not think I see you as fallen just because you have been acquainted with my son on more... intimate levels. Did you know that Lord Rochesdale and I were childhood friends as well? Grew up together. When he went off to be in the army, I cried myself to sleep for many long nights. When he came back... let's just say my engagement was not wholly proper, and the ceremony was rushed greatly." She grinned, lost in the memories from a time long past gone. "Besides, your career isn't exactly considered proper either, but I admire it greatly. My role is more akin to your little sister's, as you might know. I've met her a few times. She comes to town quite often."

"Ciri is the best sister I could possibly ask for, my lady." She kept her voice steady, letting a small smile twist her lips up, portraying the doting older sister. "I could not be prouder of her."

"The most graceful little girl. I foresee a great deal of heartaches over her."

"Has that not already happened?" Cass asked, an eyebrow raised. "I do not deal with society much, but I've been told Ciri causes scandal and heartbreak wherever she goes. Not that any of the scandal is tied to her, of course. She just seems to be a walking goddess of disaster."

"A goddess of beauty and love is more like it," the marchioness grinned. "Let's stop discussing Miss Cirinique and talk about you. I've been told you've had quite an adventure."

"I stumbled upon more than I could chew," she admitted remorsefully. "Which is why I'm in Arecia right now. I suppose you have already been told?"

"Told enough to understand, but not the full story. Not that it's surprising, of course. These things are better off left confidential. Do be careful, child. It would not do to lose a soul so young and full of potential. You have a grand path ahead."

"I certainly hope so, my lady." Cass let a pleasant smile transform her face.

Emily returned with two footmen behind her, with her two trunks. She had brought one from Gira. The other was older, one she used to use when she was still an Arecian agent. She had bought it in Kon Ria, because of the beautiful embroidery. It reminded her of home. It wasn't the same as Saian embroidery, but it came close. Cass walked over and unclasped the second trunk, revealing the dresses someone— most likely Georgie, considering the neatness— had put in. She held up a dark green one, glancing at Lady Rochesdale for approval.

The lady walked forward, inspecting it with a sniff of her nose. She didn't like it much, then. Truth be told, Cass wasn't too fond of it either. "Better that than debutante white," Lady Rochesdale muttered before asking Emily to help her get prepared.

✴

"IS FATHER NOT HERE?" Marcus asked, strolling into the foyer. 8 Clearance Road had been in their family for generations, a sprawling townhouse of two floors and many rooms. Most recently, his mother had it redecorated shortly after her marriage to his father. The foyer was now decorated in white and pastel blue, almost like a marble temple.

He had gotten ready much earlier. He had a valet, a former soldier, but the man spent most of his time running through the city passing on messages and being a spy. Edward was dependable and stern, someone he trusted dearly. He wore a simple evening suit, one of the few he owned. Someone, most likely his mother, had picked it out.

Laurence followed suit behind him just as Marcus's mother, Lady Rochesdale strolled down the stairs. "He's joining us at the Vallerings', Marcus. Your friend, Miss Cassalyn is getting ready upstairs. And hello there, Laurence. Come, give me a kiss."

Laurence was practically a second son here. He enthusiastically gave the lady a peck on the cheek. "Lady Rochesdale. It is splendid to see you."

"I'm sure that's true. Come join me in the drawing room while we wait. It might take a little while. She should have come earlier. The dresses she brought with her are horrifying, by the way. No taste. Monsieur Cadieux chose them, did he not? Should have let his niece do it," she said with a snort.

"Cass was of the same opinion," Laurence chuckled. "But I'm sure under you and your maid's... magic she'll look perfectly alright."

"You flatter me, darling. Why don't you both take a seat?" So they did, lowering themselves on the couch. "Tea?"

"We'll be leaving momentarily, so I don't believe that's necessary," Marcus replied, sweeping his fingers through his hair.

Laurence, on the other hand, said, "Could I have food?"

"Already prepared," Lady Rochesdale grinned.

Laurence's hand flew to his chest. "I do believe I adore you, Lady Rochesdale. What delicious snack have you prepared for me this time? Biscuits? Scones? Waffles?"

"Biscuits, and stop being dramatic. Marcus, you're ruining your hair, stop touching it. So, how are we on this fine day?"

"Running around the city, searching for an assassin does leave one rather ragged. Nothing, as expected. The murderer's a ghost, which is why we're risking Cass on this ball in the first place. Try to keep an eye on her for us as well, yes? We'd have to be subtle about it, but you don't."

"I will. Nasty business. The Vallerings would not be pleased with a corpse in the ballroom."

"Would anyone?" Laurence asked as a maid appeared holding a tray of biscuits. His eyes lit up.

"Someone would find the macabre element of it delightful, I'm sure of it," Marcus shrugged. "Strange people exist, Dumont. Cass, for one, has definitely murdered someone in a ballroom before."

Laurence squinted, thinking. "The Eiraon politician, the one who was very firmly against them having any contact with the outsiders?"

"Aheahe Kekua? No, too clumsy. Wasn't her work, even though everyone thinks differently. She wouldn't have let him die within the ballroom and caused a major spectacle. She'd have waited until he was leaving or at home for the poison to take effect."

"Murder is not a proper discussion topic for the drawing room," his mother said firmly.

"You harbour three spies under your roof, mother," Marcus snickered. "It's rather to be expected."

Lady Rochesdale's eyes tilted heavenward. "So improper. I taught you better than that, Marcus."

"You're right," suddenly came Cass's voice. "Kekua was not my work. The Meliqueans', I think. I saw many notorious Meliquean spies in that area. I left before the ball. Lady Rochesdale, I do believe I'm ready to leave."

All three spun around, where Cass stood in a velvet green ball gown. She looked miserable. Marcus swallowed down a laugh. Despite her expression, she still looked perfectly lovely, though the dress did not fit or complement her at all. Her hair, long, silky and black was tied back in a fashionable chignon that he recognised as Emily, his mother's maid's work. When he was younger, he often sat and watched Emily do his mother's hair, entranced by her skill. She made it seem so easy.

Laurence did not share Marcus's tact. He bursted out laughing. "Do try to smile, Cassalyn. You look as if you're about to stick a knife in someone's heart."

"Yours, most certainly." She walked forward, the dress swaying as she moved her hips. Cass always moved with a dancer's grace. She fought like one, too, her moves blemished by elaborate flourishes and unnecessary sways. It was why she never was the best fighter. During the first few fights, her moves would be disguised by all the elaboration, but after you got used to it, she was easy to figure out, and slow. Cass was an assassin, a spy, for whom having to deal with direct combat was already a failure. "If Ciri was here, I'd borrow her gown instead. But I don't feel like bothering Lady Kuroki's precious establishment just for a simple dress. Dreadful etiquette, wouldn't you agree?"

"You look perfectly fine," his mother said with a huff. "Laurence is just being stupid. Marcus, she looks lovely, doesn't she?"

Marcus stared for a moment before snapping back into reality. "Oh, of course. Yes. You look fine, Cass. Perfectly fine. Ignore Dumont. I'll strangle him later if you wish."

She met his eye for barely a second before they flickered away. She kept doing that, ever since their little discussion. He wasn't going to give up just because she refused to make proper eye contact with him, no matter what she thought. He was made from more stuff than that. He'd been everywhere from the mountains of Grimsnes and the islands of Eirao. He had gathered intelligence there and survived in abominable environments unscathed. As a spy, he wasn't any worse than her. She was just more well-known, which wasn't the best thing for a spy either. "I shall do whatever throttling is necessary among my acquaintance by myself. You are absolved of your duty."

Every bit the perfect debutante. If most debutantes went to the most dangerous places in the world because they were bored and knew how to puncture people with knives with deadly accuracy. She had changed her voice and the way she spoke. She did that a lot. Every word was perfectly pronounced, not a single blemish in her words. Her accent was as posh as any highborn native, and she uttered them slowly. He had always admired that particular part of her skill. He could do it, too, but not as swiftly and as comfortably. When Cass played a role, she became a different person.

"If we're all prepared," his mother started, standing up, "I shall prepare the carriage and we shall leave in a moment. I assume you've all packed your deadly weapons? Try not to stick them in anyone yet, please?"

"My corset is armoured and hides an array of little knives. This stick in my hair," Cass gestured to her chignon, "also hides a nice little blade. I have a dagger strapped to my thighs," Marcus tried desperately not to think of her thighs, "so I'm quite ready for murder, yes."

"No guns?" Laurence asked, frowning. He reached into his vest and tossed her a muff pistol. "No need to return it. It's for you."

Cass held it up and inspected it for a moment, sliding her fingers against the gun's hilt. "I will not hide this in my muffs, I think, most probably because I'm not wearing one. My reticule, perhaps. I will not ask why you have a weapon designed specifically for women in your arsenal."

"It's either for Georgie or Georgie's. Being so acquainted with spies, Cadieux insisted she know the basics on how to protect herself," Marcus shrugged. "Am I right or am I wrong?"

"Georgie had it made a while back. Never used it, especially since now that she's pregnant, she's not even allowed out without someone protecting her. Tyler is very protective. He's coming back tomorrow. Georgie said that you could have it. If someone finds it, a muff pistol could be explained as for self-protection."

"As opposed to if I was carrying around a double-barrel flintlock," Cass said drily.

His mother just looked confused. "I do not believe guns are appropriate topics of conversation for the drawing room either."

Cass's eyes flickered to hers. "I agree, Lady Rochesdale. Most undignified of us. My deepest apologies. Should we leave now?"

The lady called for the servants to prepare the carriage, and slowly began to lead them out of the drawing room. Marcus offered Cass his arm. She begrudgingly took it. Laurence and Lady Rochesdale went ahead, muttering something to each other under their breaths.

So to her, he muttered, "You do look lovely, you know. The dress is not flattering, but your beauty makes up for it." He was laying it on thick, and they both knew it, but his current mission was to get her to relax around him. The old Cass, who wouldn't shy away from his gaze but roll her eyes at him.

"Try harder," came back her annoyed voice. "You used to be far better at compliments. Or perhaps I was just young and stupid and did not know any better."

"You? Stupid?" He made a tsk-tsk sound with his tongue. "Never, Miss Diao. A mistake I'll never make."

"The charming rogue suits Laurence more than you, my lord," Cass scolded. "Leave the role for him."

"And what's my role, then?"

"You, sir, are the Earl of Farnsworth, son of the Marquess of Rochesdale. Oh, right, I have to refer to you as Lord Farnsworth today. I have been out of society for far too long. I cannot wait to be ripped apart by a bunch of ugly, old society vultures. Holding my tongue shall be quite the challenge."

There. Good. She was relaxing, slipping into the old Cass, sarcastic and sardonic. She had momentarily forgotten that she was supposed to be wary of him. Thank god. There was something left to salvage. The realisation made him all giddy inside.

"My lord?" A raised brow as they stepped out of the door, Laurence and Lady Rochesdale still a safe distance ahead.

He snapped out of his trance. "Sorry. I got... distracted. Did you say anything?"

"I was about to, but then I saw that you were staring at the ground and grinning like an idiot. Perhaps that's why you're less popular than our dear friend Lord Archsham." That being Laurence, who was the Viscount Archsham. Truth be told, he found it difficult, even now, three years after Laurence's father had died, to imagine him as a viscount. "Does the haut ton consider you an eccentric, my lord?"

So they were playing this game. "No more than you, Miss Diao," he replied swiftly. "Which is to say, most definitely, but not to our faces. We're far too important and powerful for that, even to those unaware of our... other activities."

Cass suppressed a snicker. "Try not to say that within earshot of anyone else, Lord Farnsworth. They'll certainly take it the wrong way, and we'd be both weathering a scandal. I don't think I can handle that atop of the attempt on my life."

"Oh please. You cannot mean to tell me you're truly frightened by the society vultures. If they even dare land a feather on you, you'll happily wring their necks." It was frightening how easily they fit into the roles of the mysterious Lord Farnsworth and the witty Miss Diao. Sometimes, he wondered if she ever got so into it she forgot who she truly was. Then he recalled what she had told him once: all her roles were part of her, buried deeply inside, dug up for the purpose of deception.

"Which would most definitely throw me into a scandal and possibly a trip to the nearest prison, neither of which I'm fond of.

"Have you not seen your fair share of prisons, Miss Diao?" He was purposefully teasing her now, but she didn't seem to mind. He wondered how long that would last, before she remembered herself and became the cold, stony woman he had been acquainted with in the past week.

"Not as many as you. I am usually rather careful, you see. I've been on the wrong end of a knife more times than within prison walls." It made sense. Cass always seemed to be careful with being captured. Perhaps it was worry. Being killed would make her seem almost honourable, and wouldn't get nearly as many questions. Being captured risked being mistreated, and if it was known, society would ask questions, and answers would be given that might end Cassalyn's social career, which would also ruin Ciri's, and Ciri's espionage career with it. He wondered, sometimes, if life would be much easier had they been born the children of farmers and grocers instead.

Besides, a captured female spy would have an easier time dead. It was always ten times worse for women.

"I've been captured thrice, I think. One was a mistake, when some soldiers thought I was a Novokulugan spy instead of an Arecian one. I believe there is a Novokulugan ancestor somewhere down my line. You were there with me once. Melique, wasn't it? Somewhere in Tacana."

"We barely escaped alive. I was fifteen. Did you ever wonder what happened to some of the papers we lost on the way back?"

She had tensed, every muscle in her body. She was testing him now. She knew what game he was playing and she wanted him on his toes as well. No, he hadn't thought about them, but now it was clear.

"Fire or saltwater?"

"A little bit of both." Her body relaxed. "I separated them into two neat piles. Those papers consisted of the names of quite a few Saian spies and liaisons in Tacana. I recognised some as my aunt's friends. I could not, you understand, happily hand it over to the Arecians, who still weren't clear on whether we were friend or foe."

"I understand." And surprising even himself, he did. She was right. He hadn't been angry at her for sabotaging the mission. Hell, he had been so in love that had she told him, he might have been a willing accomplice. Letting a few Saian spies run free in the land of their common enemy didn't matter much in the long term. He had been pissed because she hadn't seen fit to tell him, and that he hadn't seen it until it was too late.

Both of them fell into a somber silence as the carriage arrived and Lady Rochesdale called for them. Not expecting her to say anything, Marcus started to lead her forward, when she suddenly said, "Good."

He stared for a short second, before continuing to walk forward. He didn't say a thing, just let the silence weigh in on her.