Melody scrutinized my expression in the mirror we both faced as she braided my hair. I never paid much attention to what was in fashion, but she breathed it like air. She loved dressing me up, as if I were some favorite doll. I think that was half the reason she was so disappointed to see me go when war called. "So what color for this evening, Aleyr?"

I had long ago surrendered any idea of true control when Melody was in her element. Besides, I always found it soothing when those delicate fingers played with my hair, enough to make me amenable enough to playing the game. "Do you have a recommendation?"

"I may have obtained some painted emerald silk from Azov that I may have done quite well with."

My lips tipped into a shadow of a smile. "May have?"

She laughed and released me. "I took the liberty of laying it out on the bed."

"How generous of you," I said dryly, a nudge that I knew she would take as a reminder that I knew this was more for her satisfaction than my own. I turned and rose from my seat, following her out of the bathroom. It felt so strange to be in a satin slip instead of armor, after more than a year of campaign.

"Don't be so churlish, Aleyr. You simply cannot march into Rhandiir's banquet hall with arms and armor arrayed about your person like you're invading it. You would ruin the victory party."

"But it would be most enjoyable."

She laughed and pulled me through the door. "Honestly, Aleyr, sometimes I feel I'm wasted on you."

"Always," I agreed, pausing to admire her handiwork as I took in the sight of the dress. Azovian painted silks were rare to find this far north and west, but they were always breathtaking in their intricate patterns. This differed from the geometric or swirling patterns that they favored enough that it had to be a special order, however. Particularly given how well the painted design meshed with Melody's masterful use of fabric.

It was more than a green dress worn off one shoulder: it had shades as an emerald did, ranging from deep forest green following some cuts to the color of fresh spring buds shading in other areas. A great wyrm, twisting and turning gold that gleamed like real metal, seemed to wind up from the dress's lowest hem, clutching an opalescent rose in one claw, as if it was climbing the left side of the garment and breathing silver fire down that sleeve, just touched at the very wrist by delicate, almost petal-like swirls of crimson. I was fascinated by the eye of the wyrm, as opalescent as the rose it held. It was beyond merely white, carefully painted like all the rest.

"What do you think?" I could hear Melody's pride in her voice. How many hours had it taken her to craft something so carefully stitched to keep the whole beauty of the pattern? How much time and effort to find a silk-artist who could work such magic? I suspected that while the silk had come from Azov, the painter had worked from Melody's sketches of the dress she intended as much as from their own imagination.

"I think Teth is going to die of jealousy. You have done a masterful job."

Melody beamed. Teth's vanity was legendary and as a result, she spared no expense to obtain the best and rewarded those best with undeath...that also consequently bound them to her service. For any to outdo her precious stable of artisans, that required astronomical talent accompanied by immense amounts of hard work. It didn't hurt that I had given my highest compliment as well. For successes like this, I always used the word 'masterful'. To me, it honored the thousands of hours of practice and thought and relentless improvement that had gone into their labor, an unspoken underlining of their hard work that those who knew me best always appreciated the most.

I stepped forward, skimming my fingertips along the dragon's spine. "Who did the design?"

"Pantelis."

I blinked and turned to her. "I thought he was still an apprentice."

"Not anymore." A mother's pride shone fiercely in Melody's expression. "This was his demonstration that he had surpassed his master, and a repayment of your gift of an education."

I felt a twinge of warmth behind my breastbone as I looked down at the dress. "How swiftly he has grown," I murmured, stroking a thumb across the fabric. It seemed like yesterday that he had been a toddler chasing butterflies in my garden. "I knew he would make the best of his place in the world, even being sent away. I'm flattered that I received his masterwork."

"As if it could have gone anywhere else, Aleyr," Melody said. She hardly disagreed with her son being sent away, no matter how difficult it had been: he was a boy who needed the beauty of a living world, and that he was not likely to find in the Eternal Kingdom where he had spent his first thirteen years. I had used a good amount of coin and leverage over some of Luka's 'friends' to ensure he would be safe and able to study with the best.

"He could have bought himself a patronage in any royal court in the south or east with this."

Melody laughed. "He would have never even known about Azov silk painting if you hadn't given him that book. We both hoped you would wear it for us."

"For Rhandiir's party? That seems unfair to the two of you," I murmured.

"Keep it and wear it for many years, then, and think of us every time you do."

I heard the reminder in Melody's voice, a gentle nudging at the truth that our natures were not the same. All three of us were alive, but they would age and wither where I would not, albeit not quickly for either of them given Melody's heritage. I turned and put a hand on her delicate arm. "I will," I promised, hoping she could see the depths of my sincerity. "Tell him when you next write to him that I am proud of him and touched to receive his gift."

Melody smiled. "I will. Now enough avoiding things, Aleyr. You need to be completely dressed in two hours."

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"And how is that so difficult to achieve?" I asked as I picked up the dress.

"We haven't touched your cosmetics at all."

I sighed, mostly for effect, but in truth it didn't really bother me. I viewed cosmetics as the diplomatic version of warpaint, completely stripped from the ideas of courting and romance that they held in the bordering kingdoms. They were just part of the mask that I wore when the battles of words began, as carefully constructed as the helmet that shielded me in war, even if they were less permanent.

Once upon a time, I had felt differently, but I no longer had any interest in outlining whatever beauty I had for the eye of another. Those days were gone, and as far as I was concerned, nothing would return them to me.

I stayed perfectly still under Melody's attentive hands and artist's eyes, making certain that I made no move to ruin her careful shading or delicate lines. I let her shape the hardness of my appearance, comfortable in the knowledge that nothing would remove the coldness.

As she worked, Melody rattled off answers to the many questions I had tasked her with: who would be attending, what their intents for the evening were, who would be better to approach and who to avoid, and who was currently aligned with whom. The major players I knew well, but their underlings were in many ways more important to managing court politics. It helped to have an arsenal of secrets at my disposal, even if I was far less adroit in their usage than Melody.

"...and I think several extra guards would be prudent," Melody finished. "Given everything that has happened with Varys."

I pursed my lips, now painted gold to match the dragon. "It might be taken as insecurity."

"I agree, which is why I was going to tap a couple of the less vital agents I have in Rhandiir's household staff for the purpose. If something happens, they might expose themselves, but that is an acceptable level of risk. The vital people will all be well isolated from any backlash."

I nodded, running over the list of Melody's spies in my mind. She made certain that I knew who her agents were and how thoroughly she felt they could be trusted. I was long past the point where duplicity truly grated on me. It was too useful in war and peace alike for me to discard it. Besides, as Melody had rightly pointed out, even I was a woman who knew the value of being different things to different people.

"Test the waters with Teth," Melody reminded me. "Whatever Varys's wounded ego might spur him to do is less important than whether she is ready to step out from behind Maric now that she has Hallen's elite units bolstering her people. Speaking of Hallen, you might interact with him too given you haven't really had a conversation since before the public groveling. I know in the past that you've had your differences, but he may be exceptionally useful, even if he is perceived as being less relevant by everyone else."

"He remembers his debts."

Melody regarded me with her dark eyes composed in shrewdness. "His current debt is stinging his ego like vinegar dumped on scourge wounds. If you truly want something you can use and not just another problem, you will find a way to restore his pride to him."

"I cannot reassign units. The King in Black already gave his judgment."

She shrugged her delicate shoulders. "I am only advising."

I nodded, filing that away for future reference. I felt some sympathy for Hallen. Had it been my own people delivered into Teth's clutches, I would have done anything to free them...and the burning ashes of nations could well attest to what anything I could muster. I made a mental note to find Hallen, no matter how the festivities went.

Knowing the vampire lords, it would probably be their particular brand of bloody decadence taken to a violent excess. Even Teth, so well-mannered and groomed, had the same sadistic heart that drove Varys to crush prisoners and Rhandiir to glut himself on the misery of those around him. It would be interesting to see how Naltheme and Hallen weathered it. Both had some sympathy for the victims as well as their torturers.

His Majesty would likely not be in attendance. Such things were beneath his notice unless some other purpose drove him there. I would sit beside his empty seat, the ring on my finger warm and dead in his absence.

The door to my chambers opened, one of the new servants standing at an almost painful attention. "Your carriage is ready, Lady Frostborn."

I slipped back into my role as easily as I donned my armor. "Very well. I will be there presently."

"Off to battle you go, my lady," Melody said with a smile, resuming her role as servant as if we had never been speaking as anything else. Even most of the Sashes didn't realize what she was, and those who did know were fully aware of the consequences of their voice...and hers.

I stood and walked with the lightness of a duelist, elegance paired with danger. There was nothing in the Sanctum that I feared, not even the King in Black himself. We knew each other far too well for that, or once had, at least. Such rivers, once crossed, cannot be returned from. I wore no other ring, but Melody had made certain to pull out the draconic torc I had been given by an ambassador from the wyrm Drevanax and emerald earrings Naltheme had obtained at no small expense as a thanks for saving her precious books from fire on the battlefield.

Gone was the warrior version of Aleyr and in her place stood a queen in her own right, attired for a war as vicious and ugly as any fought on the front.

At the bottom of the stairs, Shira knelt on the floor to help a scrambling young man clean up his mess. She could roam the Winter Palace under Vex or La'an's watchful eyes, now that we had something of an accord. Once she was more capable of defending herself, I intended to let her fully wander as she pleased.

She glanced up at the sound of my footsteps on the stairs and froze like a deer, eyes wide.

I wondered what she saw that gave her such pause. Perhaps it was seeing this side of me. The stories only told of me in armor, covered in the blood of those who opposed me. Was this not what she expected? Or was it something else, some fear seeping into her heart?

I met her gaze and immediately she looked away, scrambling to get herself and the young man out of my way. He greeted me with the bowing and scraping of a new, nervous servant. I watched him tremble like a reed under the weight of my gaze.

Shira flicked her fingers delicately, still avoiding my eyes.

"She apologizes," La'an said in his slow, meandering way as he moved around the staircase.

La'an stood far taller than I, a true son of the storms. He kept his blond hair pulled back, shaved on the sides of his head to show off the runic tattoos that named him an instrument of the tempest itself. The various markings that ran down his body were meant to channel lightning, so he could endure even a direct hit by a mage or by a thunderhead without suffering damage. But for all his intimidating bulk, he was soft-spoken and used only the amount of force absolutely required.

He was easily the equal of Varys's best spies.

I studied Shira and the trembling young man. He was gripping a damaged tea kettle so tightly it was liable to shatter, trying to hide it behind his back. She seemed calmer, but it was a forced calm, an attempt to conceal fear.

"No apology is necessary." I dipped my head in a slight nod to La'an as thanks for the translation, then focused my attention on the young man. "I only hope that you are more careful with delicate things in future, for your sake."

I left them with that thought, headed out to the carriage and whatever festivities Rhandiir had in mind. I was never joyous on such occasions, but I still found my own savage pleasure at such events, even when politics were on my mind.