Jacob sat in his tavern and watched his people with eyes that saw not faces, but fire.

Little fires and big ones, soldering embers and roaring infernos—all types were present at his tavern. And it was his job to stoke them—to make sure the fire kept growing and growing until it set the nation to flames.

That was the duty of a [Revolutionary Hearthkeeper].

Even if some flames were fickle.

Marat, sitting opposite him at the table, slammed a fist down. “You have to get me more funds, I mean it! If the printing presses wind down—”

“You have to show more results!” Jacob shouted back, grinding his teeth. “Every time we meet, you ask for more money to fund more printing presses—but your work’s popularity has been stagnating. Your writing is still too high-minded! Think of the common person more. You need more drama.”

Marat waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about that, my next volume is certain to set the coffee shops ablaze—the issue is just that we can’t print and spread in one location for that long before the authorities catch on. If we had more consistent venues—”

“Then write more subtly! Smile to their faces while hiding a dagger behind your back—make sure the censors have nothing to notice!” Jacob sighed and rubbed his forehead. “Marat, I appreciate you but—”

Suddenly, the tavern’s door was slammed open and everyone in the room tensed. Eyes went to the door. More eyes would be posted outdoors, but if the visitors had come this far, they would have been judged as not dangerous by the sentries.

But as Jacob looked over the four women who stepped inside his lair, he cursed his sentries for their foolishness. Because some people would be deceived by appearances. Young women, not one armed among them, even with a [Maid]. But other people did not see the fire.

Jacob saw. Even the little one.

“Hailey, go take the horses to the stable and see them fed!” snapped the woman in [Maid’s] clothing, and a young boy dressed in black and white sprinted out to follow the commands.

“He still hasn’t lost his spirit,” A messy-haired one with the face of a fox said, stepping into the tavern.

“And he is learning fast,” the one with golden air and a refined bearing commented, following the first two in.

The last one, dark hair and gloomy eyes, did not speak. She only scanned the place and followed through. Until all four stood there in the doorway.

“So this is the place,” The [Maid] said, running her eyes through the room.

Jacob turned in his seat and regarded the four. The four who were much more dangerous than they looked. The foxy woman had the fire that burned the least bright. Jacob knew the type. Not much conviction, but the fire’s fickleness could be stoked with the proper motivation to achieve great things.

The refined one had a soft, gentle flame. A conviction of kindness that felt sorrow whenever it was forced to burn those who opposed it. A rare one among her type. Jacob could recognize a [Lady] when he saw one.

The gloomy one had potential, but her flame was flickering. It could roar into an inferno, but it had been tested and found wanting. Her type did well in his service.

But the fourth—

The fourth…

Jacob rubbed at his eyes, but he saw true. Why is it the [Maid] of the group the one who leads?

It was a clear and single-minded flame, one that would not hesitate to follow its nature and do what needed to be done. The conviction of one who was sure of their path, and knew what needed to be done. The exceptional ones. Or the crazy ones.

Pierre was of that type.

And the [Maid’s] eyes found him. Or the man by his side. “Marat! So, you really were here!”

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The boisterous man stood up at his table. “You answered my invitation! I was getting worried I would get spurned!”

Jacob glared up at Marat. He invited them? Wait, didn’t he mention a group like this… He looked back to the four, gaze suddenly sharp. Had Marat not exaggerated his tale? He glanced around the room and motioned a hand, and everyone relaxed. Readied skills were let go and weapons relaxed. If an enemy were to try them, most would get destroyed on the spot.

But this lot were apparently guests.

“Marat, please introduce your acquaintances,” Jacob said, as the party of four walked up to his table. “Please sit down, all of you. You may call me Jacob. I lead.”

The women sat down at his table hesitantly, but Marat was smiling eagerly, and talking rapidly. “Of course, of course! These are the four fine ladies I met in Arreau, who caused quite a stir there, as I told you all before.”

Jacob’s gaze sharpened. Then that [Lady] would be…

A true highborn [Lady] of reportedly excellent talents. A letter waiting in Jacob’s pocket felt heavier. And she is just the right age too… perhaps this will turn out worthwhile.

“You finally found the wisdom in my words?” Marat asked, smile infectious as a plague.

But these women had resistance to such. The [Maid] glared at him. “No. I’ll be honest—I don’t know enough about you people yet, but we might have a common agenda. I want to kill three people, and I can’t do it all alone. So—” she gestured around “I accepted your invitation.”

Jacob eyed the [Maid], then looked back at the others, surprised that it was she who was doing the talking. The [Lady] had not spoken a word. The power of a true conviction…

“There are many people in this world who deserve death, miss,” Jacob said coolly. “With some of them, we have an interest in their passing. Of whom do you speak?”

“Three names,” the [Maid] said.

“[Lord] Du Anglers,” the crafty one said.

“[Archbishop] Villefore,” The [Lady] said.

“And [Grand Magus] Mondoug,” the gloomy one said, each word dripping with venom.

Jacob hissed and reeled back in his seat. “Those… are quite a set of names. You are serious?”

“Deathly,” The [Maid] said, and suddenly a butterknife that radiated malice was in her hand. “I have sworn to see those three dead, and we all owe them a grudge. Can we count on your help in this?”

“We will prove worthy of your support,” the crafty one said, flicking her eyes to Marat. “He can attest to our capabilities.”

“That I can,” Marat said, smoothing his mustache. “If any other person of your level said those names and that they planned to rid the world of them, I would laugh. But for some reason… I just might be a believer.” He winked at the [Maid]. “You might consider me a fan of your work.”

Jacob nodded slowly. He could work with this. Whether they managed it or not, that wasn’t the key, but it was a fitting role. Again, he looked the [Lady] over, examining her features and remembering what he knew of her history.

“Sorry, have we met before?” The [Lady] asked, quirking an eyebrow.

Jacob smiled and reclined in his seat.

“We might be able to work together after all. Usually, we don’t trust many resources to newbies who haven’t earned their trust yet, but you four… might have an opportunity. Let me tell you a story.”

He sipped at his drink and closed his eyes, evoking the tone of a practiced storyteller. “There is a certain holding which belonged to a certain family of decent means. However, calamity struck and the family was killed to the last, and the world thought their legacy gone. Until it turned out that a daughter who had been raised quietly yet lived. A girl of great beauty, magical talent, and... of a marriageable age.”

He opened his eyes and looked over his audience. “Naturally, such a story provoked sympathy. An unmarried woman with an estate of her own, at just the right age? Interested parties made inquiries, and arrangements were made. Of course such a woman shouldn’t waste away at her cold estate, all alone! No—it would be of vital import that a fine [Lady] like her should rush to the center of civilization, and meet her peers at the proper society of nobles in St. Jean.”

“An invitation was sent, and the girl started her travels. But the carriage has been late, and the girl has yet to arrive at her destination. Where has she gone off to? The people of interest are very interested in the fate of this girl.”

He looked over his enraptured audience. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

The [Maid] sucked in a breath of air. “Did you make that girl disappear?”

“No,” the crafty one said, eyes sharp. “Wrong question. Did that girl ever exist from the beginning?”

Jacob nodded at her and smiled. “Who knows? But—” he reached into his breast pocket and drew out an envelope, which he threw down to the table. “The invitation is certainly real.”

He looked at the [Lady]. A [Lady] who had received appropriate education, who was of the appropriate age and bearing, who had the necessary magical talent, and who was interested in joining their cause. And as he saw from her flame—her level was right too. “The role is set, but we have been lacking an appropriate player for it.”

Jacob pushed the envelope forward, and the [Lady] snapped it up and began reading its contents. The Revolutionary smiled. “All of the three men you named reside there at St. Jean, and were you to answer the invitation, you would certainly come into close contact with this [Grand Magus] of yours. After all, is he not the dean of St. Jean?”

He locked eyes with the [Lady]. “So, miss Du Noelle. You wish to get close to Du Anglers, Mondoug and Villefore? Here is your chance. Let us discuss the terms of my offer, and what services I would need of you.”

The fire was already roaring brighter in the four women, so Jacob laughed, for he knew what the answer would be well before it came. The [Maid] was almost vibrating in her seat with eagerness.

“Well, miss. Are you interested in stepping into this role, and becoming the Countess Du Mont Krist?”