26
“In a way, I rather enjoyed myself on this little excursion. Allow me to thank you on behalf of my husband,” Priscilla said, her arrogance undiminished, as they sat in the parlor of the Pendleton mansion. She brought a cup to her lips as she spoke.
Across from her, that most distinguished woman, Serena Delacroix, smiled and accepted Priscilla’s expression of gratitude. “As your host, it is a burden off my shoulders to hear you say that. And speaking of your husband, I don’t believe I see him. Where might he be?”
“He’s been indisposed in the days since our trip. Overstimulated. He’s a weakling, you see.”
“If what Miles and Balleroy told me is true, I can’t blame the count for feeling overwhelmed. But in any case, I’m glad to hear that he’s safe.”
Priscilla smiled quietly; such decency was unexpected from the Scorching Lady, known for the depths of her brutality.
Just as Priscilla had predicted, armed uprisings and large-scale rebellions had taken place all over the empire, not merely on the sword-slave island. Each, however, had quickly been subdued by the Divine General sent to deal with it, and the capital—which was theoretically the objective of the entire exercise—remained blissfully undisturbed.
In the end, the enemy’s true aim remained unknown. Ubirk, who had started the trouble on Ginonhive, had vanished, and the entire incident left an unpleasant irritation behind it.
“It seems our new emperor can relax, despite having just assumed the throne. I will watch with great interest to see whether he can really handle the task he so eagerly took upon himself,” Priscilla said.
“So you take that tone even with regards to His Majesty the Emperor. You are indeed quite something, young wife. And…”
“And what?”
“It’s nothing. I owe you a debt, I’m afraid. I put you in danger.” Serena shrugged. She was referring to how Priscilla had assumed Serena’s identity—and the danger that went with it—on the sword-slave island. From the outside, it might have looked as if Priscilla had been trying to protect Serena from the disaster that threatened to befall her. But the two women themselves knew full well that Priscilla’s motives were nothing so admirable.
Serena would have heard reports from Balleroy and Miles, who had been with Priscilla. It was hard to say what Balleroy might have noticed or said, but Miles would certainly not have minced words when describing Priscilla’s actions. What was more, what Priscilla had achieved had gone well beyond merely acting like a body double, and Serena apparently valued that service highly. What they were doing now was a sort of ritual to highlight that.
“I don’t like owing people,” Serena said. “I want to repay my debt as quickly as possible. Is there anything you want? Aside from my subordinates, whom I’m afraid I can’t part with…”
“Don’t make me repeat myself. If I desired your lackeys for myself, I would not bother to ask for your permission. They would come to me of their own accord.”
“Is that so? A frightening prospect in itself. Very well. This debt is to remain, then?”
“For the time being, yes.”
Serena frowned and looked at Priscilla, who noticed again the white sword scar that ran along the left side of the woman’s face. She winked her own left eye but looked squarely back at the high countess.
One of them was substantially older than the other, but they shared this—they were both masterful women who could make men quiver before them. Thus, Serena, her intuition whispering in her ear, might even have guessed that the entire reason Priscilla had impersonated her on the island had been to create this debt.
Priscilla, of course, would not say precisely what the facts were. However…
“One day, I will call in this favor you owe me. In the meantime, you may savor the anticipation of when and how that will be.”
“Heh. It seems I’ve incurred quite a serious debt indeed.” The girl before her was so young and yet so lovely. The Scorching Lady could only swallow at the prospect of one day having to make good on this obligation. She let out a sigh.
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