Lorraine fixed her veil one last time, adjusting it so the folds danced with shadow. She stood exactly where she knew her reflections would multiply on the mirror-like tiles, between tall, beveled glass panels angled just so. Her silhouette shimmered like a specter in a prism, fractured and multiplied, unreachable.
She patted her cloak gently. Inside the seams, stitched with precision only years of necessity could teach, nestled her hidden weapons: powdered toxins, sleep draughts, contact poisons sweet as perfume and twice as deadly.
Was it reckless to meet her husband like this? Yes.
But curiosity had always been her most dangerous trait. Why had he come searching for the Swan Divina?
And besides, they were just going to talk.
This tower was a fortress in disguise. Every floor had a trap. Every corridor had a misdirection. A single whispered word from her could end a man before he reached the second stair. And if not, her poisons were always within reach.
