The creaking stopped and Leta looked up as Fiearius leaned back to look down. “You wanna give this a go, kiddo?”

Of course she didn’t. Heights terrified her. Which was something Fiearius was well aware of. “Hurry,” she growled again, rolling her eyes. “I’m tired of looking up at your ass.”

The creaking resumed as Fiearius continued his climb, though Leta was certain, through the noise, she heard him remark, “Liar.”

Refusing to reward bad behavior with attention, Leta ignored him and went back to watching the vast double doors like a hawk. The party inside seemed to be going strong and, as far as she could tell, no one was wondering where they had gone. Except maybe Liam. Gods, she probably should have said something to him. Or invited him along. He was a reporter, surely he had some investigative skills that would come in handy. At the very least, he was good company.

Leta was just considering going back inside to fetch him when a door directly beside her swung open. At once, she jumped back, but when Fiearius emerged from beneath the shadow of the doorway, a proud smirk plastering his face, she calmed.

“Unlocked the stairs,” he chimed and headed back into the narrow corridor. “Come on up.”

Casting one last glance in the direction of the ballroom and internally hoping Liam would understand, Leta followed.

The upper level of the mansion was just as beautiful as the rest, but infinitely quieter. Of course, everyone was down below, dancing the night away at the party. Fiearius and Leta left the grand balcony and entered a hallway, lined with white marble pillars and floored with lush red carpeting. After the first corner, Leta was already turned around, but Fiearius continued on with the confidence of someone who knew exactly where he was going.

“How do you know where his quarters are?” she had to know.

“Found the guest room ledger in the downstairs study,” he answered easily.

“The downstairs study? Shouldn’t that have been locked?”

“It was.”

“So you broke into the private study to steal secure information about the guests,” Leta said. “And you called Liam a shark.”

Fiearius glanced back over his shoulder and smirked. “Takes one to know one.”

“Speaking of which.”

“We don’t need to–” Fiearius began, but she cut him off, feeling a spike of that familiar anger run through her.

“We do need to. You were horrible. I wish I could say I was surprised at you, but frankly, I’m not. I had just been hoping you’d be able to be an adult about it.”

Fiearius locked eyes with her, but his expression was unreadable. “Leta–”

“Liam’s done nothing to you. Nothing. I know you’ve had bad experiences with journalists in the past, but that’s no reason to act like such an ass to every one you meet,” she went on. “Especially one that I’m introducing as someone who matters to me.”

Fiearius continued to stare at her for a long, tense moment until finally, he sighed. “Look, I respect that, honestly, but–I don’t trust him,” he said, speaking far more calmly and cohesively than she’d expect from him. “He knows too much. He’s in a position of power that could destroy–everything I’m working for.” He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like having things held over me.”

“But he not holding it over you,” Leta argued. “He would never publish anything about what you’re doing. He believes in our cause, he’s on our side and he wants us to succeed.”

“And you’re so sure of that?”

“Yes!”

But Fiearius shook his head and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t trust him.”

“Why? Honestly? Because he knows about the Councillor initiative or because I’m sleeping with him?”

To her surprise, he admitted, “Maybe a bit of both.”

She opened her mouth to respond, but found herself slightly too stunned to manage it. Moments later, she collected herself. “Well. I’m not asking you to trust him. I’m asking you to trust me. And trust me, he’s on our side. And I would appreciate it if you would at least try to be nice to him.”

Leta almost thought he wouldn’t answer, the way he continued to stare at her across the hallway, silent and stoic. But to her great surprise, the stubborn, impossible man she’d known for half a decade somehow, miraculously, shrugged his shoulders and said, “Alright, fine. I’ll play nice. If it’s that important to you.”

“It is.”

They exchanged a silent but meaningful look of agreement, and then Fiearius said, “C’mon. Should be this door over here.”

Leta followed Fiearius a few more feet and watched as he easily picked the lock on a grand white door which swung open to the guest room on the other side. Fiearius strode straight inside as Leta double-checked that no one was watching them.

The room was exactly what one would expect from the mansion. Huge, lavishly furnished with shining red wood cabinets and long flowing white curtains. It held the biggest bed Leta had ever seen and its doors opened up onto a balcony nearly larger than the room itself. The one thing it didn’t seem to contain was many personal items of its tenant. There was a small bag in the corner and a tablet sitting on the desk, but otherwise you might not have known there was someone staying here at all.

“Well, you did know it’d be unlikely you’d find anything,” Leta told Fiearius who already looked disappointed. After she’d said it, however, determination masked his face.

“Don’t give up just yet,” he said, crossing over to the desk to pick up the tablet. He turned it over in his hand and switched it on, a blue glow lighting his face.

Leta rested her hands on her hips. “You don’t really think he’d be that stupid.”

“Of course not,” Fiearius said, scanning through the device. “Check the bag.”

This whole escapade was starting to feel a bit idiotic. Of course they weren’t going to find anything. What had she been thinking? Falling, not for the first time, for Fiearius’ dramatic flair instead of trusting her gut. Still, she did as she was told, approaching the bag, crouching before it and delicately poking at the opening. It looked like what she’d expect. Some clothing. Toiletries. Normal things that normal, if rich, people carried with them while traveling.

“Fiear, we should go back downstairs.”

“In a minute,” was his distracted answer across the room.

Leta stood up and glanced back at him. “You’re supposed to be raising money for the war. That’s more important than rooting around in some poor guy’s belongings.”

“Hang on.”

“If he is a Councillor, and I’m beginning to think he’s not, you’re not gonna find out here.” She moved over to him and tried to take the tablet from his hand, but he resisted, his eyes fixed on the screen. “What–”

“You’re right,” Fiearius said, sounding a little numb. “He’s not a Councillor.” When Leta just narrowed her eyes at him, lost, he turned the screen towards her where a message was blazed onto its face. She read it hurriedly, ready to scold him and drag him back downstairs. But then she read it again, more thoroughly. And one more time.

Finally, she looked up at Fiearius, her eyes wide and her stomach suddenly tied into a knot.

Fiearius met her stare. “He’s an assassin.”

“I wonder,” said Leta suddenly, “the kind of fundraising you could be doing right now if you were talking to investors instead?”

“Well I wonder how our investors are going to feel knowing you brought a shark into their midst, eh?”

“Shark?” Liam repeated with a laugh. “I’ve published nothing but good things about the war effort and our allies. I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Yet.”

“Well, Admiral,” Liam laughed, but his face was dark, murky, “Can’t say I know what I’ve done to offend you — “

“Nothing,” Leta interrupted, her gaze ice cold. “You’ve done nothing wrong. And you don’t have to answer to him. Let’s go find your banker — even that’s more worthwhile than this conversation.”

Leta gazed him one last cold glare before slipping to Liam’s side, taking her drink, and disappearing into the crowd of people. Fiearius watched them go, lifting his glass to his lips and taking a long sip. Well that hadn’t gone as he’d planned. Oh well. He had things to take care of anyway. Ignoring the group of guests waiting to talk to him, he wandered off.

—–

This wasn’t Leta’s favorite way to spend an evening, but she was prepared to grin and bear it if it meant helping the war effort. Which was how she found herself at a round banquet table with six other strangers, eating dinner, drinking champagne, and currently forcing a laugh at someone’s joke that wasn’t funny. Anything to fundraise.

At her side, Liam was deep in conversation with an older man, discussing the state of media these days (“The Society has their hand in almost everything,” Liam was saying, “but they’ve inadvertently made room for independent journalists to break through the noise.”) While he was talking, he caught her eye and half-smiled.

Leta waited for a pause in the conversation before leaning her shoulder against his. “Hey,” she said quietly. “About earlier. At the bar.”

She wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but Liam brushed his hand sideways dismissively. “Don’t worry about that,” he whispered back.

“Really though,” she insisted. “I probably should have mentioned before. Fiear–Admiral Soliveré and I have a bit of…history.”

He looked more amused than surprised. “You don’t say.”

“I’m really sorry. He had no right to be such an ass to you.”

“It’s not your fault, Leta, really. Lots of people don’t like journalists. I’ve read the articles, he has a lot of cause to not like journalists. Hell, I don’t like journalists.” But it wasn’t just because he was a journalist, Leta thought privately, but Liam went on, “I can handle a little backlash from Soliveré.” His lips pulled back into a grin as he leaned in closer to add softly, “But if it’s bothering you, why don’t you make it up to me later tonight?” He squeezed her knee warmly under the table, and Leta finally felt herself relax.

She turned back to the table and engaged in a conversation with an older woman. Leta asked about her life and promptly forgot everything she was told, they covered a brief praise of recent Carthian victories, and then, just as the woman was asking her about medical school, Leta was suddenly interrupted. By Fiearius. Again. He materialized at her side and then jerked his head sideways and said, “Come here.”

“What?” Leta set her drink down, hard, with a bit of a thud. She lowered her voice. Hopefully he would leave before anyone noticed he’d arrived. “No, I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“I need to talk to you.”

“I’m in the middle of dinner,” she hissed.

“So? Come on.”

Leta could feel that they were attracting attention. The table grew quiet, and the woman at her right side was blatantly staring between them, her mouth hanging open. Fiearius glared at her briefly before focusing in on Leta.

“It’s important,” he grunted. “Trust me.”

He caught her eye meaningfully and then turned on his heel and stalked off, clearly expecting her to follow. Well she had no intention of doing that. After the way he’d acted earlier? She had no intention of spending any more of her evening arguing with this man. But–what the hell was so urgent? Leta sat there, torn and angry, before she finally —

“Excuse me,” she said, mustering a smile and rising from her chair, dropping her napkin back on the table.  “I’ll be right back.”

Liam arched his eyebrows at her in clear disbelief.

“It’ll just take a minute,” she added, and then she went after Fiearius. He was waiting near the dance floor, and Leta hissed under her breath, “What the hell is the matter with you? This better be important — “

“Oh, it is,” Fiearius assured her. Then he took her wrists and started to draw her onto the dance floor.

Immediately, Leta dug in her feet, pulling her forearms back. “That’s what you dragged me away for? To dance with me?” She tore her hands away. “No, absolutely not. How dare you? I’m not here for –”

“Come on, I need a place no one can eavesdrop.” He tilted his head towards the clusters of people around them, in direct earshot. And then towards the dance floor, where people were traversing the space quickly, sparsely and under the spell of a song.

Leta groaned. Well, he had a point.

“Make it quick,” she snapped.

Leta put her palm on his shoulder, and his hand went to her hip, drawing her closer. Too close, like it was the old days. Before they could get too comfortable (Liam must have been in shock at the point), she muttered, “Well?”

When he didn’t answer, Leta was convinced that there really wasn’t any important news, he had just made it up to tear her away the table. She was just about to pull away sharply when he answered in her ear, “There’s a Councillor here.”

Leta’s whole body tensed. Her palm tightened on his shoulder. “What?! How do you know?”

“Gates gave me the guest list this morning. Told me to research the investors a little, y’know? Make sure I know who’s who,” Fiearius explained. “Most of them were just rich Carthians, as you’d expect, but there was one. One that stood out.”

He turned her around expertly, her skirt billowed out around her ankles. “The majority of these people, they have these long family histories. This guy? Just showed up about twenty years ago. No history before that. No family. Just…appeared. Around the time the Society first took a holding in Synechdan.” He lifted his brows indicatively. “I know the Synechdan Councillor was at one point involved in Carthian politics. Dez says he had insider info no one who hadn’t been involved could have. So how good of a cover, hm? Pull off your fake Councillor death, create a new identity and then use your knowledge to insert yourself in your enemy’s upper crust?”

It was a good cover, Leta had to admit. But, “Doesn’t that seem kind of risky? For a Councillor?”

“It does,” Fiearius agreed, “But if he can pass along details of Carthian war plans? Wouldn’t it be worth the risk?”

“Not if it’s that easy to uncover it,” Leta argued. “Surely someone else could pick up on the lack of history and–”

“And assume he’s just new money trying to hide it to save face,” Fiearius finished for her. “I talked to a very nice gossipy group of ladies. They all know. And they all have theories. But none of them are ‘secret Society Councillor undercover’, believe me.”

“Then how do you know those other explanations aren’t true? Aren’t they more likely?”

Fiearius just shook his head. “I’ve got a feeling. Maybe I’m wrong, but it all fits. And I want to check it out.” When she frowned in confusion, he elaborated, “He’s staying in the mansion for the week. Got a room in the guest quarters upstairs. I’m gonna investigate.”

Now, Leta was shaking her head. “Fiear, even if he is a Society Councillor, what exactly do you expect to find just lying around his room for someone to discover?”

“No idea, but if I’m right? This may be my only chance to find this guy. I have to take it. I have to at least try.” He squeezed the hand that he held as they danced. “You with me?”

Leta hesitated. It sounded farfetched at best, downright foolish at worst. But despite all logic telling her otherwise, there was something in Fiearius’ tenacity that made her question her own sense. After all, what if he was onto something? It really wasn’t a chance they could pass up. So going against all her better judgment, she nodded. “Alright. Let’s look into it.”

—————-

Unfortunately, investigating the man wasn’t quite as straightforward as Fiearius had made it sound. After failing to gain access to the upper level of the mansion from three different access points (the guards employed for the evening apparently wouldn’t even sway for an admiral and his questionable need to use the upstairs lavatory), Leta was quite certain it just wasn’t going to happen.

Fiearius, as always, had other ideas.

“Would you hurry up?” Leta hissed under her breath, folding her arms tight over her chest to combat the nighttime chill. She peeked around the corner into the still empty courtyard and the busy ballroom through the windows beyond and then looked up at the dark figure of the man carefully climbing the trellis up to the balcony. “What if someone sees you?”

“Isn’t that why you’re keeping lookout?” Fiearius whispered back. The trellis creaked as he moved further up the wall.

“Just–can’t you go any faster?”