“Luck isn’t what I’m concerned with,” said Fiearius, his tone low and his brow furrowed as he watched Ren start to shake his head a little too much, a little too fast.

“My research on the Councillors is what got me thrown in jail to begin with. If I look into it again, it’ll probably kill me.” Leta caught Fiearius’ look of alarm, but Ren went on. “But it’s not that — it’s the thousands of others that will suffer — ”

Leta got to her feet and took a step towards him. “We’ll help people, Ren,” she said gently, desperation clinging to her voice. “Your research will help. We need — “

“I KNOW what you need!” Ren yelled, voice exploding as he suddenly banged his fist on the table, making the glassware rattle and Leta’s wine glass crash to the floor. In a flash, Fiearius, his face dark and dangerous, stepped closer to put himself between Leta and Ren.

Ren was breathing hard, his eyes sliding out of focus as he dug his hands into his hair. “I’ve killed enough — I’ve killed enough, Leta, don’t you see? I can’t have any more blood on my hands. If you really care, if you really want the suffering to stop — end the war!”

Gasping for air, he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes and backed out of the room.

—-

Hours passed, and the night wore on, and Ren did not reappear. The door to his bedroom remained shut and neither Fiearius nor Leta dared open it, though Leta had knocked and called to him a number of times.

In his absence, they passed the time quietly debating the war, discussing plans still in motion and eventually merely swapping stories about their daily lives. It was nearly midnight by the time Leta had seemed to give up; she was nodding off on the couch, eyes closed and breathing shallow. Fiearius sat in an armchair nearby, wondering to himself how the hell he was going to fix this.

He was toying with the idea of just kicking down Ren’s door and demanding he hand the information over when that very door opened and a figure slipped out.

Ren said nothing. He didn’t even seem to acknowledge that Fiearius was there. He simply stepped out of his room and headed straight for the balcony, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Fiearius gazed at Leta’s sleeping form for a few seconds and then rose up to his feet and followed.

Outside, the evening wind blew through the trees. Even in the darkness, it was a rather beautiful view of the foresty landscape, the tops of trees swaying in the breeze. Fiearius sensed Ren tense at his presence, but they stood by side, neither of them saying anything until Fiearius grunted, “Next planet I go to is gonna be warm. Gettin’ real tired of this cold shit.”

Ren glanced sideways, a vaguely amused glint in his eye. “What are you talking about? It’s perfect out.”

“Please, I just left where you grew up. Your definition of ‘perfect’ is clearly skewed.”

Ren snorted and looked back out over the dark expanse of trees. Again, they fell into silence, but silence wasn’t going to cut it. Fiearius took a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry about earlier–”

“It’s fine. It happens.”

“Well it shouldn’t,” Fiearius said simply and Ren looked back at him, first in alarm and then in slow, dawning realization. His eyes narrowed.

“If you’re going to turn my illness into a message then–”

“One, it’s not an illness,” Fiearius corrected him. “And two, I don’t want to. I wanted to do this right and proper and nice, but the plain fact of the matter is that I can’t walk away from here with a ‘no I can’t help you.’ So if nice and good ain’t gonna work, we’re gonna need to try something else.”

Ren rolled his eyes and looked away.

“Listen. We need your help,” Fiearius went on. “If you don’t help me, we’re gonna lose this thing. All of it.” Fiearius took a step forward, leaning against the railing and trying to catch his eye. “And then there’ll be a lot more people with that ‘illness’ of yours.”

“That’s all very dramatic, Admiral, but as I said, I follow the news and you seem to be winning just fine,” Ren pointed out.

“Sure, technically we’re winning,” said Fiearius, crossing his arms. “But the thing is, no matter how much we win, the Society’s not losing.”

Ren regarded him sideways and Fiearius thought perhaps he’d piqued his interest. “They’re strategically sacrificing, that’s all. They know we can’t go after their major footholds, after Ellegy, after Satieri. We won Vescent only because they weren’t expecting it, but now, they’d see any big move coming. We’re stuck hacking away at bases, at supply stations, trade lines, small fish in a big big ocean. This isn’t a war to the Society. It’s a rebellion. A rebellion they’re just waiting to tire itself out so they can crush it.”

“So you want to kill the Council. Because it’s a big move they can’t see coming.”

“And it’ll shatter internal Society structure,” Fiearius added. “At least long enough to gain the advantage.”

“And how exactly do you expect to manage that? Even in all my research, I was barely able to scratch the surface of the Council. How do you expect to get close enough to murder them?”

Fiearius snorted and turned around to lean his back on the railing, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Oh don’t worry. They made sure I’m good at that.”

Another silence fell. Wind whistled through the trees. And then, out of nowhere, Ren barked a laugh — a genuine, if slightly pained laugh. When Fiearius raised his eyebrows, Ren said, “I just — it’s just funny, is all. That life has turned out this way. I’m hermitting in the woods, Leta shows up with the assassin she’s dating … ”

Fiearius let out a barking laugh. “I’m not an assassin, least not anymore,” he corrected. “And Leta sure as hell ain’t dating me.” He tilted his head and spared a glance at the sleeping woman on the other side of the window pane. “Not anymore.”

Fiearius could tell by the look on Ren’s face that he’d clearly surprised him.

“Really?” he asked after a moment’s pause. “Fooled me.”

Fiearius could do nothing but shrug. Ren went on quietly, “I owe her a lot, you know? Leta.”

“Yeah. Me too,” Fiearius agreed in the same hushed tone. They lapsed into silence until Fiearius cracked a lopsided grin and ventured, “Maybe you could repay that debt by helping us?” The glare he got in return was exactly what he’d anticipated. “What, can’t blame me for trying.”

But Ren let out a heavy sigh. “I want to help her, I do. But I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” Fiearius asked seriously. When Ren didn’t answer, he pressed, “Look, what can I do to change your mind? You don’t want to look at the shit again? Don’t. Just hand what you have to us, we’ll manage it. Don’t trust Carthis? Great. Neither do I, they won’t see a word of it. No one but the Councillors will be hurt, I swear it. I’ll make sure of it. You’ll be saving — gods, hundreds? Thousands? Maybe you have no reason to trust me, but trust her.” He pointed towards Leta. “Help us.”

Ren met his eyes firmly for long enough that Fiearius almost thought he’d broken through. But just as quickly as he’d started celebrating, Ren tore his eyes away and marched across the balcony in frustration.

“I can’t,” he said for the thousandth time and it was all Fiearius could do to not groan. But then he went on, “Even if I would, and I won’t, I can’t. My research, my journals, you think I have them with me? What you need — I’ve no idea where it ended up. What I remember I can’t–” Here, he gripped the railing so hard his knuckles turned white. “I can’t–I can’t say. I can’t–” He tore himself from the rail and shook his head violently, as though shooing away a fly buzzing in his ear.

But unlike before, he managed to pull himself together. He stood up straight. He crossed his arms over his chest. And he said, “I’m sorry Admiral, I can’t help you.”

Fiearius met his stare straight on. He felt disappointment, anger, frustration, worry starting to stir in his chest. But before he could respond, Ren’s face crinkled unexpectedly into disgust. “Is that–do you smell smoke?” he asked suddenly.

Fiearius did smell smoke. Just as the building’s alarms detected it. Both men turned to the sliding door and even from there, they could see the warm glow of flames starting to seep under the door from the hallway.

For the first time in weeks, Fiearius forgot about the Councillors entirely. “Shit.”

The niceties had to end at some point, Leta thought, as she reached across the table and seized the bottle of wine to refill her dwindling glass. She, Ren and Fiearius sat around his dining room table, empty plates around them, flames from the candles casting dancing shadows along the walls. Leta sipped her second glass of wine, hoping it would smooth over her edgy mood: the longer they talked, the more she couldn’t help but feel they were headed toward rocky waters.

“ … So I help around here where I can,” Ren was saying, his eyes resting on Leta for a moment before he tore them away and answered Fiearius. “Mostly I read a lot. Write sometimes. Help the other people who live here.” He shrugged. “Nothing that thrilling. It’s a relaxing life. Just what I needed really…”

“I bet,” said Fiearius, and, to Leta’s surprise, she couldn’t detect sarcasm in his tone. Before today, Fiearius and Ren had never exchanged more than a few words. There might as well have been a brick wall between them: Leta suspected Fiearius did not forgive Ren for leading them all to the Baltimore, and she suspected Ren did not forgive Fiearius for all that had happened with Leta.

And even besides that — they couldn’t have been more different if they’d tried. Ren was bookish and academic; he’d been in law school once upon a time, and now he desired a private life away from the war. While Fiearius was leading it.

But first Fiearius had displayed actual gratitude and humility for Ren allowing them into his home, and now he was making expert small talk? Leta wasn’t even sure this was the same person she’d walked in with. It couldn’t be. The Fiearius she knew couldn’t go two minutes without snarky comments or dry, needless wit.

And yet, he didn’t sound snarky or witty when he said, “You’ve recovered from ARC though, haven’t you?”

“Mostly. I have relapses and — bad symptoms sometimes … but it’s manageable. Carthis was very kind to treat the immediate effects and they were thorough. Just…after a while, I felt it best I leave and seek my own methods. Their treatment started to feel — ” He grinned, and heaved a sigh, “imposing.”

Leta couldn’t help herself from mumbling, “Like everything Carthis does,” into her wine glass. When both of them looked over at her curiously, she just shrugged. “What? Someone in this room has to be honest.”

Ren cracked a smile, then turned back to Fiearius. “Well, I’m sure you didn’t come all the way here to learn about my latest chess tournament with the neighbor downstairs.”

Fiearius gave a laugh that must have been fake, but sounded so real Leta started to question it herself.

“You’re right, I didn’t,” he admitted. “I’m sure you follow the news closely?”

“Of course,” said Ren. “I may have distanced myself from your war, but I can’t ignore it, or —

“It’s our war, Ren,” said Leta suddenly. “Yours too. All of ours.”

Ren gave her a swift, searching look through narrowed eyes. A look she recognized, one she certainly hadn’t missed. The one that made her feel like a child who’d spoken out of turn on a subject she didn’t understand.

“Maybe we’d better debate this another time,” he said slowly, and Leta sat up straighter.

“What’s there to debate?” she demanded. “They unjustly imprisoned you. They took over our home. They killed — gods, how many of our people?”

“Leta–” Ren warned and it only made her angrier.

“How can you even say it’s just ‘our war’? After what they did t– “

“Leta.”

It was Fiearius this time and when she caught his eye, ready to argue with him too, she stopped. It wasn’t anger clouding his face, it was pleading. And worry.

Ren stood up and walked into the dining room to retrieve another bottle of wine and in his absence, Fiearius, his eyes still locked on hers, mouthed, “We need him.”

Leta glared back, resilient, frustrated and annoyed that these two men, both so passionate and open and honest when she knew them, were now suddenly preferring to dance around and play this stupid game with one another instead of getting to the root of things.

Rolling her eyes, she reached for her wine glass.

“As I was saying, yes, I keep up with the news,” Ren went on suddenly, rejoining the circle, but this time he did not sit down. “I’ve read quite a lot about what you’ve been up to, Admiral.” And now, where before there had been only kindness, there was the tiniest hint of malice in his tone.

“Don’t believe everything you’ve read,” said Leta.

“So you didn’t lead a group of mercenaries into a civilian zone? Or sign off on the air strike over a populated city? Tell me, Admiral, have you visited the refugee camps? The people that your actions put in those camps?”

Leta scoffed. Wine or simply Ren himself was making her crave argument. Especially since Ren didn’t know what he was talking about. He wasn’t there. He didn’t have the information Fiearius had sitting here in his cabin in the woods away from everything. She was about to tell him as much when Fiearius beat her to it.

“I have. I do. Often,” Fiearius admitted. “And I don’t like them any more than the people who live there do. I don’t like the camps, I don’t like the air strikes, I don’t like raids or battles and, though everyone seems to believe otherwise, I do not like to kill people who at one point were friends simply because of a mark on their skin.”

“Then why do you do it? If you really hate it that much, why not end this sham of a war?” asked Ren.

“Sham?!” Leta cried, indignant.

“Everyone knows it’s just Carthis’ play to gain territory,” said Ren darkly. “That’s been obvious since day one. They say they want to defeat the Society, free the people, but they just want the clusters and all the resources that come with them for themselves. It’s a sham.”

“It is,” Fiearius admitted before Leta could get another word in. She was so surprised to hear him say it that she was stunned to silence. “Of course it is. Why would they sink so much money and energy and lives into something that’s not gonna come out with them on top?” He shrugged. “On Carthis’ part, the whole liberation thing is a total sham. But not on mine.”

Fiearius stood up then and crossed the room to meet Ren face to face. “This matters to me. Not because I’m gaining anything. But because it matters. I wanted to see Vescent freed. I want to see Ellegy freed. I want to see Exymeron freed. I want no one ever again to live the life I lived on Satieri. So you ask why I do it, I have to do it. I have to fight this war. Because someone has to.”

Ren stared at him. Seconds passed. Leta was certain he wasn’t buying this. He certainly didn’t look convinced. But apparently he seemed convinced enough for Fiearius to take his shot. “Look, I want this to end just as much as you do. More, even.” He frowned. “A lot more. But that’s exactly why I’m here.”

Without hesitation, Ren said, “You want my research on the Councillors.”

When both Leta and Fiearius regarded him with surprise, he furrowed his brow. “Why else would an admiral visit me? Not like I have anything else of value.”

Fiearius stumbled, but he recovered smoothly, “With that research, we can hunt them down. Cut off the head of the Society. We can stop plowing through towns and cities and people and get straight to the source and end this once and for all. You’re the only person out there who might know their identities. With your help, we can finish this war.”

Ren nodded solemnly, gazing down at his hands. Then he looked up, met Fiearius’ eyes, and said, with a strange manic edge that hadn’t been there before, “No. I can’t. I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

“What?” said Leta softly.

“I won’t dive back into my research. Yes, I know how important it is!” he added, when Leta opened her mouth to retort. His eyes had suddenly grown wider, even scared. Breathing faster, he said, “Listen to me. What I know about the Councilors? It won’t help you win this war. It’ll just get you killed. You killed one of them, Leta, and you won’t get lucky again. Either of you.” He shot a look toward Fiearius.

Fiearius continued to stare at her, so she went on hurriedly, rolling her eyes, “His name is Liam, he’s a freelance investigative journalist, he grew up on Vescent, he’s my age, he dropped out of school. His writing is supportive of the war but seems too loyal to Carthis and I’m not interested in him.”

“For someone who’s not interested, you sure did your research.”

“Of course I did.” Leta snorted. “But I’d never date a journalist.”

“I should hope not. You? Fraternizing with the press?” He smiled at her. “Makes me nervous just thinking about it.”

“Me too,” Leta muttered, and then she polished off the last of her drink in one shot. Whiskey burned warmly down her throat and she sighed, feeling truly relaxed for the first time all day. Perhaps it was the liquor, or maybe it was the way she could feel Fiearius watching her, but Leta felt no reservations in suddenly musing quietly, “Besides, if I started dating someone, who would keep you company when you visit Vescent?”

He did not look surprised by the comment, but he did regard her with a new, certain level of interest. Light brimmed in his eyes.

“Certainly would have thrown a wrench in some things,” he admitted quietly.

They exchanged a silent look before Leta asked, “Do you want to get out of here?”

——————-

It was fortunate that the far corner of the base lay quiet and deserted, which meant no one glimpsed two figures moving quickly across the bridge in the pouring rain, their hands clasped together as they discreetly went inside the building. No one witnessed Leta hastening to unlock the door to her room, nor she and Fiearius slipping inside quickly, not even bothering to turn on the light before they started a staggering, clumsy kiss towards the bedroom.

His hand pressed against the small of her back as he walked backwards, his mouth pressing urgently against hers, again and again and again. Breathlessly, Leta wound her arms around the back of his neck, her mouth pressed to his so hard it was almost painful. Her fingers slipped up into his hair to deepen the kiss, as his hands dug into her back beneath her sopping wet shirt.

They fumbled in the darkness before the back of Fiearius’ knees hit an armchair, and he sank into it, pulling Leta down with him. It was quiet in her room, but breaking the heavy silence of nighttime was their shirts hitting the floor, her sharp gasps of breath and Fiearius’ groan in her ear when she lowered to his lap and straddled him in their chair. Their lips were pressing clumsily and heatedly together, and she could taste the whiskey on their breath.

A corner of Leta’s mind was protesting this, but the voice was growing dimmer and dimmer in her mind as they progressed as they had a thousand times before. It was a familiar dance between them, and starting not long after the Battle of Fall’s End, it happened every six months, or every ten months, or whenever they saw one another on the station, or on Vescent. They had never fully reunited as a couple — Leta knew they couldn’t — but they seemed to have a silent agreement that this level of intimacy was acceptable. Consenting adults who trusted one another deeply: what was wrong with it, really? Leta didn’t particularly want to date anyone, but company in bed and the companionship of waking up with someone — well, she missed that, sometimes. And Fiearius treated her well. Their agreement was mostly unspoken, but neither of them voiced any regret after their trysts. They would wake up together, Fiearius’ lips against the nape of her neck, untangle themselves, get dressed, say goodbye for months, and get on with their lives.

In this moment, Fiearius drew her hips closer on the chair. Her hand went to fumble with the waistband of his pants, but that was when it happened: Fiearius grasped her wrist, halting her in place. His mouth was pressed against her collarbone as he muttered, “We can’t do this.”

Leta froze, stricken with surprise. Fiearius pulled back, his face clouded with distress.

“We really shouldn’t do this.”

“Okay,” said Leta slowly, her voice shaky. “That’s — never stopped us before … but — ”

“No no, you don’t understand.” He pulled his hands off of her and dug his palms into his eyes. “It’s different. It’s different this time. I — shit I should have told you earlier — ” He groaned and then blurted out, “I need you to come with me. On the Dionysian. That’s why I’m here.”

“What?”

Alarmed now, Leta pushed herself off of his lap and stood up to her feet, somewhat unsteadily.

“We’re not making enough leeway in the war,” said Fiearius, staring at her in the darkness, looking horrified with himself, “so we want to try and cut off the Society’s head by going after the Councillors, but we don’t know who they are or where they are and the only person out there with any clues is Ren Calimore but we don’t know where he is either and he wouldn’t want to talk to us anyway so–” He dragged one of his hands away from his eye to look at her. “We need you. I need you. I need you to come with me.”

“You need me to come with you on the Dionysian and find Ren so we can chase down Councilors?” Her voice was oddly shrill, hysterical. “And you’re telling me this now? Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?!”

“Because we’re trying to keep it quiet! The only people who know are me, Gates and now you. We can’t risk this getting out. It’s too big. It’s too important. I needed to wait until we were alone.”

Leta opened her mouth, horrified. They were more than alone; they were both shirtless in her living room.

“Good job with that,” she snapped. Then she reached for her blouse from the floor, hurrying to pull it on over her head.

“This — wasn’t exactly part of the plan,” Fiearius said, catching a hand through his messy hair. “And no, I don’t want you to chase down Councilors, I want you to convince Ren to tell me where they are so I can chase them down. Look, when he was released from ARC rehab, Ren pretty much took Carthis’ subsidy and ran. No one’s seen him or heard from him since. But you know where he is.” Fiearius leveled her a meaningful stare that she couldn’t ignore. “Don’t you?”

Leta wanted to tell him to leave, but she couldn’t — not when he looked so desperate, eyes shining in the shadowy darkness.

“Yes,” she said shortly. “I do. And you’re right, you do need me, because there’s no way Ren would trust you or Gates with anything.”

Fiearius’ mouth twitched like he wanted to retort, but then thought better of it. Shifting uncomfortably, he stood to his feet, and that was when Leta found his shirt on the floor and tossed it to him — or rather, threw it a little unnecessarily hard at his chest. He caught it and blinked, narrowing his eyes.

“So. That’s a yes? You’ll come?”

“Maybe.” Leta crossed her arms. “On some conditions.”

“I figured.”

“You need to bring me back here right away. I can’t leave my clinic.”

“I would never ask you to.”

“And when I’m on your ship, I’m not sleeping with you.”

“That’s fair.”

“And — ” Leta shifted on her feet. “Tell Gates to give my apartment back.”

Fiearius opened his mouth, perhaps to argue, but decisively shut it again. “I’ll…see what I can do,” he grumbled, eying her skeptically.

“Then fine. I’ll help,” she growled, “but next time you’ve got some big mission to take me on — you open with that, alright?”

“So you have been in contact with him. I knew it.”

“Leta –” he warned.

“Dez, his whole group — they’re terrorists, Fiearius!” she protested under her breath.

“According to Carthis.”

“According to everyone. They bombed that temple on Ascendia.”

But he was shaking his head. “They didn’t. They were just the easiest group to pin it on.”

“There was proof, their ships were there when–”

“ — when the bomb went off, yeah,” Fiearius finished for her. “But that doesn’t mean we were the ones that did it.”

Leta opened her mouth, then hesitated, suddenly stricken.

“We?” she repeated, and clearly Fiearius hadn’t even realized he’d said it. He regarded her with his jaw clenched, and Leta said, with dawning realization, “You’re working with them, aren’t you?”

His eyes darted around the room at once, desperate to make sure no one had heard. Fortunately, the bar was nearly deserted.

Still, Leta lowered her voice to barely a whisper as she said, “Fiear, what the hell are you doing working with Dez? Does Gates know?”

“Gods, no. Of course not. He’d fucking murder me.”

“For good reason! Can you imagine what would happen to the war effort if it got out that its main admiral is working with branded terrorists?”

Fiearius sighed, exasperated. “It’s not what you think. It’s not like that. I’ve lent them a hand a few times. I’ve given some advice a few more. And they’re not terrorists. They’re on our side.”

“But not on Carthis’ side.”

“So what, you gonna go tell ‘em now?” Fiearius demanded, full of challenge. “That I’m a traitor? That I support terrorists?”

Leta shot him a warning look.

“You know I wouldn’t do that,” she said darkly, and then sighed. “Besides — I’m not exactly on good terms with Carthis these days, either.” She inhaled sharply. “They’re seizing my clinic. I found out this morning.”

Fiearius looked surprised, and then unsurprised.

“Shit,” he hissed.

“It’s not that I’m not appreciative for everything they’ve done. Removing the Society strongholds, stabilizing Vescent, they’ve supported me and my efforts too, but…”

“But they’re beginning to wear down their welcome,” he muttered. “Even without rioting in the streets, that’s pretty obvious.”

“But Gates said they’ve started meeting on an exit strategy,” Leta insisted. “He said they’re finally looking into pulling out.”

Fiearius’ eyes were locked on hers. His mouth twisted toward a smirk. “You believe it?”

“I have to.”

Uncomfortable silence fell. Fiearius went to respond, but suddenly the door to the bar swung open and a group of men and women in uniform strolled in, laughing amongst themselves as they moved to a booth nearby. Fiearius downed the rest of his beer, put the glass down on the bar and waved for a refill. For now, at least, the conversation was dropped. It had to be dropped, with Carthian ears so close by.

So Leta changed the subject.

“I almost forgot,” she said, straightening up. “I have something to show you.”

From inside the fold of her jacket, she withdrew a handheld console, switched on the screen and slid it over to him. A headline blazed on the screen.

Rogue Verdant Returns to Fall’s End! You won’t believe what (and who) he’s brought with him!

“Don’t suppose you saw this masterpiece of journalism?” she posed innocently. “I stumbled across it working today. There’s something in there about you bringing your newest conquest with you. A new girlfriend.”

Fiearius squinted at the screen, but didn’t bother reading the article before he pushed it away from him in disgust. “This exact kind of garbage is why I keep getting in trouble.”

“I doubt articles can take all the blame for that.”

He ignored her. “Did I tell you about this? Gates called me in for a meeting about a month ago. I thought it was just a debrief from the mission, but oh no. No it was not. It was about–” He leaned toward her and quoted, with absolute disgust in every syllable. “Professional and personal conduct.”

Leta snorted. “Because of that woman who wrote about her date with you and got picked up by the mainstream feeds? That was a fascinating read. Very well written. Descriptive.”

“For the record, most of that wasn’t even true. But fine, okay, I date around a bit, and sure, I don’t have the best judgment about which of those dates are secret wannabe journalists, but c’mon. Do I really deserve to be lectured by this guy about how my ‘behavior’ was ‘inappropriate for my station’? That, as a ‘key player in the war’, I had a responsibility to keep my ‘personal desires’ in check? Key player or no, I’m only human.”

Leta glanced down at her drink, which was nearly finished. Perhaps that was why she felt bold enough to ask, “Speaking of, how’s Quin?”

Fiearius arched an eyebrow at her, and Leta knew she’d startled him. “Quin? She’s fine. Ran into a bit of trouble on one of the border planets a while back, but she’s back in business and running a scouting trip as we sp– ”

“That’s not what I meant. I meant, you and her? How are you two?”

Fiearius looked distinctly uncomfortable. Brow furrowed, he grunted, “How’d you find out?” to which Leta felt some grim satisfaction. She’d had a feeling in her gut that Fiearius and Quin were sleeping together, although she couldn’t pinpoint how, exactly, she knew.

So all she said was, “Did you forget that both of our assistants are terrible gossips?”

His mouth flinched in disapproval and he took another drink. “Look, it’s not really like that. There’s no ‘two’ of us. We’re partners. That’s the main thing. And sometimes, when things are rough especially, we find some alternative forms of comfort in one another because we kind of always have.” He hadn’t been looking at her, rather staring at the empty glass in front of her, but now he met her eyes and smirked. “It’s not like Quinida Utada would be my girlfriend.”

Leta returned his smirk, as if she was more amused than she felt. “But would you want her to be?”

“Gods, no, she scares the shit out of me,” Fiearius laughed. “I like her and I respect her more than anyone else in those damn war room meetings. We’ve been through a lot together, especially over the past few years. But whatever you’re implying? Two of us? Together? Like that?” He blanched, and threw a nasty glance toward the glowing screen. “You can tell Vescent’s star journalists that they should rethink their sources.”

“I’ll pass the word along.”

“What about you then? Since we’re on the topic. It’s only fair. Anyone special in your life?”

Carefully sipping her whiskey, Leta shook her head. “I’ve got needy patients. I’ve got Nikkolai pointing out every attractive Carthian soldier we see. I’ve got a journalist following me around. That’s about all the attention I’m getting from men these days.”

Fiearius barked a laugh. “I seriously doubt that.”

He squinted at her face and went on, “Well, I can’t see you with a soldier, so I guess that’s out. And we both know how strict you are about doctor patient relationships,” he said with a smirk. “So the journalist then. Tell me about him.”

“He just wants an interview,” said Leta composedly. “We barely know one another.”