(title hidden — not yet read)

(summary hidden — not yet read)

Marasi settles into the sitting room couch in the wake of Wax's second blast, ears still ringing, Allik beside her with his mask down — chewing gum, since chewing in public is taboo for him with his face covered. He rests his head on her shoulder; it is, she reflects, nice to have him around full-time after sixteen badly-spaced years of long-distance courting.

While they wait for VenDell to come back from communing with Harmony, Wax describes the Malwish airship and the new ambassador. Allik tenses. *This is Daal the Primary*, he explains; *very well respected by the Hosts*. Wax takes that as a political comment; Marasi corrects him — *respected by the Hosts* means *successful in war*. Steris, stocking-footed and tucked against Wax with her notebook out, names what they are all hearing: his arrival is a threat. Allik won't quite go that far — but if the rumour is true and the five Southern nations have at last agreed to present a single face northward as the Consortium, then the choice of Daal is a symbol. They send their best. They send the stern one. They have decided their previous laxness toward the Basin will end. The standing sore of the Bands of Mourning — left in the Basin like, Allik says, the body of a dead father that is also a powerful weapon — is part of what Daal has come to take back. Nobody at home liked the decision to leave them. *You didn't choose this, Allik*, Wax reassures him. *No,* Allik says, *but I didn't not choose it.* Marasi squeezes his arm: he doesn't have to carry the weight of his nation alone.

Footsteps announce not VenDell's return but Wayne's arrival — *you all got blowed up and didn't wait for me?* Steris dryly informs him only Wax got blown up; the rest of them only witnessed it, and she suspects he did it on purpose to annoy Wayne. Wayne inspects Wax — *you okay, mate?* — and gets Wax's mild reassurance that his ears are ringing, that he has been reminded *quite profoundly* that he is two decades past prime exploding age, but that he'll live. Marasi leans forward, glad Wayne is back, because they need to plan. He grumbles about being the fifth in the room — *what every feller wants* — stomps over to the tea service, pours a cup, sets the cup back down, and settles into a chair with the entire teapot, drinking from the spout. *I like the spigot part. Fun to drink outta.* Steris puts her hand to her face. Marasi checks her own pocketbook just in case.

She lays out the bones of her plan: impersonate the Cycle and his local cell using the notebook, run the scheduled shipment into Bilming, and hand the receiving crew a ready-made arrest. Wax wonders whether interrogating the captives already in custody would be enough; Marasi judges they are local flunkies who will know very little. He nods — she will want constables on the sting prepared to put down Metalborn on the receiving end. *I keep telling Reddi we need a specialist team,* she says. *A squad just for Metalborn.* He keeps resisting; she thinks he considers her and her friends *to be* that squad.

VenDell arrives at last, shaking his head. He has, he reports, been re-ordered to make himself available to them in their current plans, with *much urgency*. Harmony, he says, is *worried*. Trellium has a repulsing effect on other forms of Investiture. Touching it to harmonium is dangerous; doing as Wax did — heating and stretching the harmonium first — produces what Harmony called an *Invested matter-energy transference*. That is *very* bad. Wax presses: did the news surprise Harmony? Did he expect it? VenDell couldn't tell. Harmony is difficult to read; Wax, of course, already knew that. *Did he send you a note, Lord Waxillium?* Yes — Wax thinks Harmony implied he should make an earring out of trellium. Marasi, frowning: *whatever for?* He doesn't know. He suspects Harmony is dangling a mystery to get him interested again, since he has been ignoring the last few invitations to commune. *This time it's different, Lord Waxillium,* VenDell says softly. *This time Harmony is frightened.*

The room falls silent — except for Wayne slurping tea through the teapot spigot. Marasi thinks she sees him add something to it from his flask, and tries hard not to be nauseated. Who, she wonders, spikes their tea. He's hurting, she realises. The MeLaan breakup is final. She makes a quiet promise to herself — take him to that noodle place he loves, bring along the constables he likes, remind him he has friends.

She returns to the plan. Her sting needs to happen soon: the book says the next shipment leaves for Bilming in three days, and she means to be ready. Wax tells her it is a good plan. He and Steris have something to work on while she prepares — and notably, he does not invite himself into her operation. *Talking to Harmony?* she asks. *Maybe. I haven't decided yet.* Curiously, he doesn't volunteer to come along. He explains: it is vital they find out whether the Set has already discovered the explosive interaction, and that is the research Steris and he can do here. He glances at Steris, who is leaning into him and scribbling, and the omission stings Marasi more than she expected. A few years ago she might have welcomed his absence; now, with a real shot at high-level Set operatives within reach, she had assumed he'd come. She has long since made her peace with the fact that she once held the Bands of Mourning and gave them back to him; that isn't who she is. But she is also frightened that he isn't who he was, either. She doesn't push.

Wayne volunteers to go listen some more to the men they have in lockup, and offers — *VenDell, you want to come?* — to give the kandra tips on his accent. VenDell points out, with dignity, that he is an immortal kandra with hundreds of years of impersonation experience. *And you always sound snide and upper class in every body I've ever seen you use,* Wayne returns. *So — want some tips or not, mate?* VenDell sighs — Harmony did order him to be about this, ugh, fieldwork is so distasteful — and accepts. Wax settles back on the couch, the envelope from Harmony still in his hand, looking thoughtful. *All right then,* Marasi says. *Let's get to it.*