The air inside the tent suddenly grew cold. That single name, spoken from the chief spy's lips, echoed in my mind:
Eliza.
Or rather, by her real name, Willabelle.
For a moment, the cup in my hand froze. I relaxed my fingers and set the cup down on the table. The light on the surface of the wine trembled, then stilled.
"I understand," I said in a low voice.
A sharp disappointment settled inside me. Not an outburst of anger, nor a dramatic shock... just that familiar bitterness catching in my throat. Willabelle. I had already accepted her turning and leaving that day. But to hear that she had sided with Ronald... that was a move I hadn't anticipated.
I shook my head slightly. "It seems her son's safety outweighed her former loyalties."
The spy was silent. I could only hear his breathing.
