“It could get ugly.” An orb hummed out a voice, emanating light from atop a dresser. “He’ll be paranoid after the poisoning failed.”


    “I have the tendency to make ugly situations end beautifully,” responded the woman as she stared into a mirror, tilting her head to view it from different angles.


    To say this woman was beautiful would be understating the point. Bright red curling hair, immaculate pale skin, green eyes that were part mischief but wholly allure… and on top of that, the priestess’ garb she wore strained to make her immodest body appear modest. She looked designed rather than born—and when she brought a finger near her face, finely sculpting what was there, that point was proven.


    “Petronella,” the orb said, drawing her back to attention. “He’s the son of the Scourge of the South—the most talented son, at that. He’s had contact with slaves like you before. He’s intimately familiar with our espionage efforts into the kingdom, because he was a part of them.”


    There was the faintest twinge in the woman’s brow at the word ‘slave,’ and she looked away from the mirror back to the ball.


    “I don’t fear the fruit from a lion I once fought,” she said evenly. Her voice was deep for a woman, yet rich and smooth as honey.


    “But you’re not here to fight—you’re here for reconnaissance,” the man said brashly. “We don’t yet know whether or not Willem turned his back on us, or simply failed and retreated. If it’s the former, you can’t expose our spy network in Gent. That’s why I express caution.”


    “Why enlist an expert for a task and then give advice? To irritate, perhaps? To exert authority?” Petronella fixed her hair backward, tying it near the bottom in a loose braid. “However tempting it might be to goad a chained beast, remember that losing me would be a far greater blow than losing you. I’m sure our betters could overlook an accident.”


    “Perhaps. But you’d only worsen your position on the next round of negotiations.” The ball’s dim glow faded entirely.


    She scoffed lightly and shook her head. After one final examination of her appearance, she made for the door. Petronella was looking forward to this meeting. Despite the excessive oversight, infiltrating the church in Gent had been one of the most entertaining tasks of her time in servitude. She was looking forward to how this story unfolded.


    Willem van Brugh possessed youth and talent—separately they were bland, but together could be a wonderful brew. Perhaps this great talent would be bewitched by a monster bearing the guise of the church. It would be poetic. All too often, the young saw red flags as frills for their silken romance. Would this one be the same? Her superiors had assigned her to gather information and infiltrate the administration, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t have her own fun.


    ***


    Petronella pulled on the iron handle leading to the Chamber of Divulgence. When it opened, she felt some minute surprise that Willem van Brugh had come to such a risky location. It seemed he didn’t fear reprisal from her owners.


    The room ahead was octagonal, and had eight mirrors facing inward. Willem looked into the mirror opposite the door, studying her as she entered the room. She was doing the same for him. He did look a great deal like Baron Tielman, but… younger, and less rigid. Petronella entered inside and shut the door. On all eight sides, the mirrors reflected them infinitely right alongside the altar in the center of the room.


    “Enjoying the view?” She asked as she walked to the altar.


    “This isn’t glass, is it?” Willem tapped the mirror, ignoring her flirtatious question. “Polished silver, looks like. Quite extravagant.”


    “Silver has cleansing properties,” Petronella explained, having long ago memorized the superstitions of this church. They were false—if they weren’t, her shapeshifting guise would’ve faltered in front of this silver long ago. “But more importantly, it’s needed for the ritual of Divulgence. I’m Matriarch Petronella,” she said, gesturing elegantly toward herself.


    “Really?” He turned around, paying closer attention. “You’ve aged well, matriarch.”


    Petronella smiled as sweetly as a priestess in white garb ought to when she told her lie. “I’m twenty-seven, Willem. Matriarch is a title bestowed by merit.”


    “Hmm. I might be the same age.” Willem nodded with distant eyes, and Petronella wondered why he was lying—he was barely twenty-three. “I forget, actually. After a while, the years stop being important.”


    Petronella wasn’t sure whether he was nervous or eccentric. The reports described him as neither. Nevertheless, she had a role to play and information to extract.


    She gestured to the altar in the center of the room. “To start, let’s have you place your hands upon the altar. Your inner self will be projected to all eight mirrors in the room. Then, I’ll hear your Divulgence. Is that clear?”


    “Crystal.” Willem walked to the altar and planted both of his hands down firmly. The altar probed his energy, extracting it and harnessing it.


    A silver light pulsed, then faded down the altar into the floor before eventually creeping to the mirrors. The image that took shape in the mirrors was that of a coastline. The waters were a rich blue, and the trees were something Petronella had never seen before despite her decades of travelling the world. There was only one structure of note that seemed manmade—two gravestones, with the writing too far to be legible.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    “Huh.” Willem looked around. “I thought you were being metaphorical about projecting your inner self.”


    “Not at all. The mirrors create an image you’d find the most calming, so you can feel at ease giving your Divulgence.” Her eyes wandered this foreign scene, fascinated.


    Willem nodded, staring at those two gravestones. “It would be here. This place…” He tried to walk toward the graves, but his hand bumped the wall and he jumped, brought back to reality.


    “It’s only an image,” she explained, staring at him with curiosity. What was this place? And how did some baron’s son in the frigid northern reaches know it this well?


    “I understand.” His eyes lingered on the two monuments. “A shame I can’t visit them.”


    “Who were they?” she asked, gesturing toward the gravestones.


    “They were… someone’s children, just like all of us.” Willem looked back at her. “Well, go on. I always did tend to run my mouth when I came here. Turn my guts inside out, matriarch. I hope you appreciate the opportunity.”


    Petronella was surprised by his composure, and regained hers in turn. Mysteries fascinated her—it was the nature of her species. But other secrets needed to be pried from this man, and duties needed to be fulfilled.


    “Let us speak of something recent, then. You must’ve thought a great deal about this. What has leaving your home taught you?” Petronella asked.


    “Nothing I didn’t already know,” Willem answered smoothly.


    “Such as?”


    “I knew that envy makes people behave foolishly. I knew that letting someone else decide who you are is a fool’s game. And I knew that I was better off continuing to ignore things.”


    “Ignore things?” Petronella pressed, wondering if he was indirectly referencing her present owners.


    “Sure.” Willem nodded, crossing his arms. “Success isn’t always chasing great victories. Sometimes, it’s just avoiding folly. When you see the easy victories, take them, but never chase them—let them come to you. And along the way, sidestep everything that invariably results in misery. Anyone can do it. Not many will.”


    Petronella couldn’t dispel the notion he was speaking in inuendo, but wasn’t convinced enough to break her cover just yet. Instead, she asked, “What results in misery?”


    “A great deal. If you want a guide, just look at people that are miserable and ignore the things they care about,” Willem outlined. “I just stay cheerful in spite of whatever troubles I might have, avoid harboring a lot of resentment, and try to deserve what I want. It helps to have low expectations, but I’ve found I’m quite terrible at that.”


    “Like expecting to be Baron Tielman’s heir?”


    “What?” Willem looked like he’d been taken out of his thoughts. “I’ve never wanted the barony. What in the world would I want with a dingy castle that has invaders north of it? Let Tielman, or Lennard, or whoever rises out of that mess handle all of that. I intend to be down here, far from any troubles, with slightly unreasonable expectations for the future.”


    Petronella pursed her lips and held Willem’s gaze. The Chamber of Divulgence, while primarily being a place to inspire calm, also served well as a room for interrogations. The projected scene would waver if the person inside was dishonest with their thoughts and feelings. It could be manipulated, of course, particularly by people with copious amounts of either magic or aura.


    But whether or not Willem was truthful or merely skilled at deception, she was certain this conversation meant that Willem had taken advantage of her owners to escape the barony. Fortunately, he seemed totally oblivious to her affiliation. Her report back would decide what came next for him; she could give him a peaceful exit, or make this a matter doubtless to inspire revenge from her owners.


    “I’ve said a little more than I intended.” Willem looked at the scenery again, breaking his gaze away. “Perhaps it was this little trick you pulled. Or… perhaps the pleasant company is to blame.” He smiled warmly at her.  “Whatever the case, do you have what you need from me? Am I free to leave, financial records in hand?”


    Petronella perked up at his mention of pleasant company, wondering if he was less immune to her charms than he let on. “You’re free to leave, certainly. But you’re also welcome to stay a great deal longer,” she said invitingly.


    “Very kind, but I’d prefer to collect those records and be off.” He brushed his hair back with his hand. “I have a great deal to do.”


    Petronella pouted her lip involuntarily at his refusal. “The church would like to impose some oversight to ensure our records are not being used for nefarious purposes.”


    “Oversight?” He hesitated, appearing to loathe the idea. “You people don’t hate usury, do you?”


    “Reasonable interest is wholly accepted,” Petronella answered from memory.


    “Then some oversight is fine, so long as you look without touching.” Willem nodded. “Shall I, then? Where are these papers?”


    “Wait at the entrance to the temple. I’ll have them sent to you,” she said.


    “Wonderful.” Willem walked out briskly. When he left, so too did the scene he created. Petronella was left alone in the room with the mirrors, without having been given so much as a goodbye.


    Petronella walked up to the mirror, studying her immaculate face and robust body clad wholly in white. The man seemed far more interested in getting his hands on those papers than he did her—she hadn’t even spotted one indecent glance, and she’d certainly invited them plenty. Was she losing her touch? He’d come away from the meeting having been far smoother than she had, Petronella felt.


    Whatever the case, she’d gotten what she needed. Petronella could have a report ready any time she needed to, and by establishing the condition of oversight, she’d gained an open line with someone closely associated to the count’s family if she ever needed it. Anne Claire had already done a great deal for Willem, and she was known to be a woman hesitant to show any favor to anyone, even her blood children.


    With one last look upon her designed form, Petronella considered the idea that Willem was simply interested in the opposite persuasion. That had to be it, surely.