"I got the papers you asked for. From Caer Glaem. Did you know that uncle doesn't liver there anymore?"

She was lain out in the grass, slender fingers braiding long green stems together. The moon was high overhead, and her mother lay out near her, their heads together, their bodies stretched in the opposite direction. Distantly rang the noise of camp and men and horses; plumed of thin smoke rose from cooking fires.

It was unseasonably warm, and the lowland orchard air hung heavy with the scent of apples and sweet blooms even at night. It was early still, and Alyosha had tucked herself away in the long, long rows-- knowing she wouldn't be disturbed at this hour by anyone she wouldn't be contented to be found by.

Head and shoulders propped up on the trunk of a tree, she'd nestled her daughter in the crook of her living arm, the child's head pillowed on her shoulder. Shamash, smaller for their similar age and less inclined to squirm and fuss, was propped on her chest, gumming at his own hands.

Alyosha's silver hand held a slim volume, and even in the low light she read it easily over her children; like any other mother might read a story-book.

"'Though it should not be the sole prop of your power, your reputation is your currency, and you’re naive if you don’t put some work into polishing it. Nonetheless, the occasional scandal can be helpful; perhaps you need to make yourself seem a little more down-to-earth, or a little more exciting, or you need to invent a weakness to distract from the real gaps in your defences.'" She chuckled there, half-absently, and turned her face towards Ishtar's sudden gurgling for attention.

"Isha, Isha, do you know how much scandal you would cause?" She flicked the fork of her tongue fondly against the infant's ear, and she squealed merrily. "Do you? I know very well you don't, little darling. Yes, yes, sharpen your little fangs on my clothes, that'll do just wonderfully. Now," She cleared her throat to continue.

"'This latter is effective but deadly difficult, and should not be attempted by novices. It is easy to invent weaknesses, and hard to dispel them.' Your father's too clever by half, and I hope he listens to his own advice. If we're discovered, he and I, it'll be a race back to Dorchadas for us three. Now there's a section he should've written, 'When to Cut Your Losses'. I've made better progress than I thought I might, in the Citadel... Marquis Kayneth, Hermione, Flora are mine for certain, but I'll need the others too. The Lady Keeper, a better grip on the Marshall."

She quieted there, set the small book down over one thigh, hugged them both loosely close to her. Used her fingertips to gently pluck fallen pale petals and flowers away from their backs and sides. "And to smother his son..."

She hummed thoughtfully, frowning, and kissed Shamash's dark, fine hair.