Maybe it would expedite matters, but I don't tell her who I am. If this goes wrong, she can't betray what she doesn't know. Such a pragmatic dispensation of secrets and lies, but it's the mantra of the resistance. Yet I don't want her to despise me, so I whisper, "I'm resistance. Here to help."

Tiana cuts me a quick look, then smiles. I can tell she assumes I'm a free La'hengrin, recruited for reasons unknown to her, but it's more comforting than thinking I'm a slave. More cheerful now, she escorts me to an enormous room with a vaulted ceiling, decorated in antiques and expensive touches. Reminds me of my mother's formal salon, before we left New Terra for that extended vacation when I was thirteen. My father hardly ever ventured in there; he said it made him nervous. That's how I feel right now though not because of the decor. The wait feels interminable before she returns.

"He'll be with you presently. Would you care for refreshments?" She's polite even if she despises seeing her sisters in this condition.

"Thank you, no."

While I wait, I examine various paintings and objets d'art. The legate had good taste in home interiors if he furnished the place himself. If not, he had the sense to hire someone who does.

At last, I hear footsteps in the tile hallway. I turn with a smile that doesn't feel natural, as if my skin belongs to someone else, and draw up short. The centurion standing in the doorway is most definitely not Vel. He's short and stocky with broad shoulders and a chest thickened through physical conflict. Pocked skin, a smashed nose, and a thin-lipped mouth give him a sinister aspect.

"You have some nerve coming to the legate's house uninvited." I can't place the accent, but it's not as refined as most Nicuan voices. This one fought his way up. That makes him tenacious-and a pain in the ass.

Vel needs to get rid of him.

I arch a brow. "Pardon me?"

"You heard me. But since you don't seem to grasp the obvious, I'll spell it out. Whores aren't welcome in the residence during the day." His muddy gaze rakes me from head to toe, and it's so intrusive, I feel like covering up. "I can see why you think he'd make an exception for you, though. You're a pretty, pretty piece."

I'm fragging exquisite. This face was expensive. But that's not the point.

He takes my silence for an admission of guilt. "What's wrong, darling? Did you really think you'd get away with this?"

"The legate is expecting me," I tell him.

"Of course he is. Don't worry. If you make me happy, I won't tell anyone."

I can't kick his ass. I mean, I probably can, but I shouldn't. The legate wouldn't be interested in a woman with mad ass-kicking skills. By the images the doctor showed me, he went for fragile, helpless types. They likely made him feel less an abject failure as a man. So physical conflict is out unless I kill the centurion, and having a member of the legate's household go missing so shortly after an attack on his country estate, well, that wouldn't sell anybody on Vel's cover.

Think, Jax.

"I don't think the legate would like that," I say humbly.

"As if you truly know him, despite that pretty collar around your throat."

"I can't fight you," I say, because that's how a La'hengrin female would respond. "But you do not have permission to touch me."

Not that those words have ever done any good.

His face hardens. "Then I'll have you taken up for trespass. And they'll be rough on a beauty like you in the penal stations. I can be sweet. Gentle, even."

I draw in a shallow breath, like I'm scared. And this bastard responds. He likes women to be frightened. It's disgusting; he preys on the La'hengrin females in his care. I wonder how many times he's pestered Tiana.

Before I decide what to do, more steps ring out, and the centurion shakes his head. "You're in it now. Too late to keep this between you and me."

Vel steps into the doorway, clad in legate skin. He leans with careless disdain, arms folded across his chest. How did he perfect the mannerisms? Maybe there were vids for him to watch, here. The legate strikes me as the sort of man who would document his achievements, however small.

"What's the meaning of this, Cato?"

"Nothing to worry about," the centurion replies. "I have the problem in hand."

"It sounded to me as if you were importuning one of my guests."

The centurion pales. "I thought-"

"That is the trouble. You did not think. I heard you blackmailing this woman for sexual favors. If you come within three meters of her, I will kill you. Is that perfectly clear?"

"Yes, Excellency."

"Get out of my sight."

I swear, the centurion almost pisses himself in fleeing the room. Vel shuts the door behind him, then crosses to me; he looks perfectly at home in the legate's skin. It's a gift he has, emulating mannerisms, and his sophisticated vocalizer does the rest.

He moves to embrace me; as he leans in, he whispers, "Glad you're here, Sirantha."

I hug him back. "Even if I'm not myself?"

"That will take some getting used to."

I cock my head, realizing his speech patterns are different. He sounds less like himself, more...human. When he impersonated Doc, his only mistake was calling me Sirantha, as nobody else does. To this day, Vel's still the only one who uses my first name. With him, I don't even mind, though it's a sore point with others because it reminds me of my mother and the way she dropped my full name whenever I pissed her off.

"I hate it," I mutter. "One look, and your guard assumed I'm helpless."

"That may come in handy."

Staying close to him because I don't know what the situation is, I murmur into his ear, "Is the house secure? Have you swept for spyware?"

He shakes his head, then nods, answering my questions in sequence. Great. That means someone is spying on us already. Well, on the old legate.

"Have you presented your evidence to the prince?" That question I can ask in normal tones. It doesn't break cover.

"Not yet. It took me several days to get an appointment, but he's agreed to see me at the end of the week."

"I'm sure he'll be fascinated."

I need to decide what kind of character I'm playing. La'hengrin females aren't all the same, despite their shared circumstance. So is she quiet, meek, demure, silly? Given what I know of the late legate's predilections, she'd likely be all of the above-or at least capable of pretending in order to keep him happy. Belatedly, I realize I don't have a name.

"I hope to earn new rank and prestige with this revelation."

I hope we learn about weapons caches, troop movements, and planned strikes against the resistance. But that won't happen overnight. First, Vel has to ingratiate himself with the prince and get appointed to the Imperial War Council. Then we'll have access to all kinds of data that we can forward to our people-and in time, bring this struggle to an end.

Nicuan forces aren't numerous, but they control the credits and tech. Once the cure circulates fully, we'll outnumber the enemy. Sufficiently demoralized, they'll surrender and withdraw. But not without some bloody battles, first.

All in due time.

I raise my brows at Vel. "You didn't introduce me to your centurion."

It would help if I had a mental connection with him, but we can't do the silent talking. Fortunately, he's skilled at reading subtext. He makes a flourishing gesture toward the door.

"He didn't deserve the honor. Let's go where we can be more private."

Hopefully, he means to a room that's not bugged. He escorts me to his bedchamber, which is enormous. Like the rest of the house, it looks expensive but tasteful, but the red-and-gold color scheme doesn't suit Vel. Not that it matters.

Once he shuts the door, I ask, "We're clear?"

"Yes. We can speak freely in here. Flavius has a white-noise generator installed in the walls, running continuously."

"Which interferes with any spyware?"

"Precisely."

"I guess he wasn't an exhibitionist."

Vel smiles with Legate Flavius's face; and that's just so weird that I have no words. The man annoyed the shit out of me, then I saw his corpse on a rainy night in the provinces. "No, the legate had other perversions."

"Do I want to know?"

"No."

"It's not important anyway. What I was driving at downstairs...have you told anyone about me yet? Come up with a backstory or a name?"

He shakes his head. "I thought it would be better to leave that in your hands."

"Yeah, it will be easier for me to remember details I invent."

"I suspected as much. Are you ready to begin, Sirantha?"

I nod. It's time to start the next phase of the war.

CHAPTER 37.

Moving into the town house proves painless.

The legate has many servants, but Vel promotes Tiana to the head of the household. Such a move would make everyone think he'd selected a new sex toy, except my presence scotches that gossip. Cato leads the surviving centurions, but they bunk in separate quarters behind the main residence. He passes me in the hall with dark looks that promise trouble.

While waiting for Vel to return, I use the wardrober to design exotic outfits. It's hard to think about fashion when I know my squad is fighting without me, but I can serve best here, now. Plus, ex-Flavius's accounts can stand the strain; it's not like he needs credits anymore. The time I spend waiting I use to write my character background. Mishani was taken into service when she was a child, and her shinai-bond has passed three times. Legate Flavius took one look at her and fell into a deviant sort of love that permits no distance, requires total ownership.

Pretty clothes can only take me so far. Once I have enough dresses, I sprawl on Vel's bed, pretending I'm not nervous. Mishani would be worried about his safety due to what it meant for her shinai-bond. The La'hengrin don't enjoy riding the winds of fate, tossed wherever whimsy dictates. I'm anxious for different reasons. Hope the meeting goes well.

I couldn't accompany him, of course. I'm eye candy and not privy to important political business. Nicuan nobility is patriarchal to the point of aggravation, especially for those of us who were born peen-free. So I wait in the legate's bedroom, where I'm sure nobody's spying on me. My room adjoins through the shared bath, but I don't have white-noise generators in my walls.

I flick on the vid to see what local news has to say about the rebellion. A pretty, dark-haired Nicuan presenter is speaking when I tune in. "There has been trouble in the provinces, but the governor's office reports there is no cause for concern. The so-called LLA, or La'heng Liberation Army, is 'a passel of shepherds who lack both equipment and leadership. The centurions will put an end to this resistance, which is nothing more than a call to anarchy.'"

"That's what you think," I tell her.

I switch the feed to a film already in progress. Ironically, it's the one I watched in the mountains with my squad. The images on screen bring with them a host of bittersweet memories. Timmon and Eller have already fallen; how many more brave men will we lose before this war ends?

The bedroom door bangs open, startling me. Cato looms in the doorway, his eyes threaded red. Even from here I smell the stench of whatever he's been drinking. "Something's not right," he snarls. "The legate's changed too much. He and I used to go out, taking the choicest La'hengrin whores, and now I'm supposed to believe you're enough to sate him? I don't. There's something wrong."

Shit. The mission could unravel here. I roll off the bed, putting it between us, and look surreptitiously for a weapon. He slams the door behind him. Good. That means privacy.

"Don't run. I want to talk to you."

Talk. Yeah. I'm sure that's what he has in mind.

Cato lunges toward me, but I wheel around behind him. The minute I fight back, he'll know I'm either not La'hengrin, despite my appearance, or that I've taken the cure. Either way, it means he can't be allowed to leave this room alive. He'll tell anyone who'll listen about the spy in the legate's household. I have to take care of this problem before it escalates.

The centurion throws a sloppy punch. If he weren't drunk, it would have connected. As it is, I feel the breeze in the near miss. Nearby, there's a slender crystal lamp. I smash it into shards so glass litters the ground between us.

"Wrecking the place won't save you, love. Nobody will come to your aid. I'm in charge here, whatever the legate told you. He's forgotten, but I'll remind him."

What the hell. Something in his tone suggests Cato has some hold over Flavius, blackmail material maybe. He's ready to beat the shit out of me; I see the glint of anticipation in his gaze. I'm to pay for the humiliation he's suffered.

I don't think so.

Under the pretext of self-abasement, I drop to my knees and palm a pointed shard. He makes a fist and draws back his arm just as I slice his hamstring. His scream of pain is lost in the white-noise generator. He was right when he said nobody will come, no matter what goes on in the legate's chamber. He lands a glancing blow on my cheek, and even injured he's strong enough that my head snaps back. I roll into the fall and grab his ankle, then tug with all my might. His injured leg buckles; the centurion drops hard on his side, and I press my advantage, diving across his thrashing body with all my strength. With a slash of the razor-sharp shard, I finish him quickly though there's a bloody mess by the time I'm done. Mary, what am I supposed to do with the body? Shaken, I cover the corpse with a sheet and wait for Vel. He'll help me dispose of it.

I shower, desperate to get the red off myself. The next two hours are incredibly unnerving; by the time Vel returns, I'm mad with impatience. He approaches with a spring in his step, which makes me think the meeting went well. Rising, I greet him at the door as Mishani would. He brushes my cheek with his lips, and they feel real enough, if cool and dry. I imagine how it was for him, living a lie for so many turns on Gehenna. I don't think I could do it.

Before we can talk about how it went with the prince, we have a crisis to resolve.

"Buried any bodies lately?" I ask.

He tenses, noticing the disarray in the room beyond. "What happened?"

I summarize, and he mutters a curse. "I'm sorry. I thought he was sufficiently cowed."

"Apparently they had subtext in their relationship. Nothing we could've known."

"Let's get him out of here. Tiana can serve as the lookout." Without delay, he calls for the housekeeper, who smiles when she realizes who's dead.

Tiana beams at Vel. "You can plant him in the garden out back. He'll do more good fertilizing the flowers than he ever did in life."

It takes another hour to do as she suggests, then clean up the evidence.

Back in his room, I ask, "What will you tell the other centurions?"

"That he got a better offer."

"Good enough. How did it go?" I feel odd being so calm about what we've just done.