“I’ve even had my girls stroke him into a glass so I could look at his seed in a lens chamber,” Jessa said. “He’s precious few tadpoles at all, and those swim in circles, bumping into each other like drunks at a reel.”

“I’d like a look myself,” Leesha said.

“To what end?” Jessa asked.

“There may be a blockage I can clear with surgery,” Leesha said.

Jessa shook her head. “Even if you had all the resources of the Age of Science, that’s delicate work, and assuming the duke will let you anywhere near his manhood with a knife.”

“Then I’ll resort to hora magic,” Leesha said. “I know a woman decades past her fertile years cured by it.”

“You think Rhinebeck will let you put a spell on him?” Jessa asked. “That’s asking for the hangman’s noose.”

“We’ll see,” Leesha said. “But for now, I’d just like to see his seed. Could you … ?”

“Acquire some for you?” Jessa laughed. “Of course. But you could get it yourself if you wished. Pregnant or not, Rhinebeck wouldn’t hesitate if given the chance to cuckold his brother.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Leesha said.

“You wouldn’t even need to lie with him,” Jessa said. “My girls have given him a taste for a woman’s hand. Won’t take you but a minute.”

Leesha breathed deeply, burying her revulsion at the thought. “Will you get it for me, or shall I ask the duchess?”

Jessa saw she had pressed too far. “I’ll have it sent to your chambers on ice as soon as I can procure it. Tonight, perhaps.”

CHAPTER 22

BACHELOR’S BALL

333 AR WINTER

There was a rap at the door, and Leesha jumped. She glanced at the clock. Nearly midnight.

It could be Rojer again, but Leesha thought it unlikely unless there was some emergency. Dare she hope it might be Thamos? Late-night visits had been the norm when they were together, and he had stared at her all through dinner. Leesha had pretended not to notice at first, but then she met his eyes, expecting him to look away in embarrassment.

But he hadn’t. His eyes held hers, and she could feel the heat in his stare. They had not spoken privately since that night on the road, but he was to head south in just two days, and there was too much still unsaid. He knew it, and so did she.

Wonda had been dozing on one of the chairs, but since Rojer’s surprise visit, she had refused to retire before Leesha. She shook herself, casting off sleep and straightening as she approached the door.

Leesha reached quickly into the top drawer of her desk, taking her hand mirror and checking her hair and face. It was vain, but she didn’t care. She stuck a finger in the front of her dress, pulling it down and giving her bust a lift.

But it wasn’t Thamos. Instead, Rosal sauntered into the room, carrying a lacquered goldwood box.

“Did anyone see you?” Leesha asked, trying to keep the disappointment from her tone. “The duke …”

Rosal shook her head with a giggle. “I brought His Grace to a boil before I emptied him. He was passed out before I stopped stroking.”

She laid the box on the desk, lifting the lid. The inside was cured and filled with crushed ice. Resting atop the ice were three tiny crystal vials with a thick, cloudy liquid inside.

She closed the lid. “How fresh?”

“Not half an hour,” Rosal said. “I took the tunnel.”

Leesha wondered if the duke’s brothel tunnel was warded as well as the rest of his walls. “Pure? No other … fluids mixed in?”

Rosal smiled. “Are you asking if I spit it into the vials? Mistress Jessa would have my head if I delivered a sample like that. I don’t even use oil. I pull him dry.”

Leesha shuddered at the mental image of corpulent Rhinebeck grunting and twitching under Rosal’s ministration. “You seem to enjoy your work.”

Rosal shrugged. “Better than working in my da’s lacquer shop, head ready to explode from the fumes. Ent so bad, practicing a wife’s tricks on the Royals. Mistress Jessa taught us to lead the dance, emptying purses as well as seedpods.”

“So you’re there willingly?” Leesha asked.

Rosal nodded. “Ay. But I won’t miss it when I graduate. Looking forward to starting my real life.”

The girl swept back out of the room, leaving just a hint of rose in the air. Leesha immediately began polishing and assembling her lens chamber. She set a drop of the duke’s seed on the glass and adjusted the lens until the cells came into focus. Much as Jessa described, Leesha saw few active seeds. She slipped on her warded spectacles, and it was worse. A healthy sample should glow bright with teeming life. Rhinebeck’s was gray, like a cloudy sky.

So much for the Duchess Mum’s hopes of surgery. If the seeds were not reaching his issue, she might correct that. If they were dead …

Gared paced back and forth, clenching and unclenching his huge hands. A young squire watched in horror as his bunched shoulders threatened to tear the seams of his fine jacket.

“Night, Gar, sit down and have a ripping pipe.” Rojer was already sucking on his own, feet comfortably on the tea table.

Gared shook his head. “Don’t want to smell like smoke.” His hair was oiled and tied at the nape of his neck with a velvet bow. His beard was cropped close, and his wool coat was emblazoned with his new crest, a two-headed axe crossed with a machete before a goldwood tree. Gared had stared at the crest for hours when the tailor had presented him the patch for his approval. The man had needed to wrestle it from his hands just to sew it on the jacket.

“A drink, then,” Rojer said, pouring two cups as the big man continued to pace.

“Ay, so I can slur whatever stupid words I manage to stutter out,” Gared said.

“Stop that talk,” Rojer said. “You’re not stupid just because you weren’t raised in a manse.”

“Then how come I feel like every other word anyone says is just there to poke fun at me?” Gared asked.

“It probably is,” Rojer said, emptying his brandy. “Royals are always cutting each other, even as they smile and talk about the weather.”

“Don’t want a wife like that,” Gared said.

“Then don’t pick one like that,” Rojer said. “You’re in charge tonight, even if it doesn’t feel that way. You don’t have to marry anyone you don’t want to.”

“What if I don’t want any of ’em?” Gared asked. “Duke said I had to go back to the Hollow with a girl to court. What if the Duchess Mum gets fed up and just picks one?”

Rojer gave a short, sharp laugh. “You stand toe-to-toe with twenty-foot rock demons, and you’re more scared of a woman half your size and thrice your age?”

Gared chuckled. “Hadn’t thought of it that way, but … ay. Guess I am. Reminds me o’ Hag Bruna, only scarier.”

“You’ve just got stage fright,” Rojer said, taking the brandy he had poured Gared and emptying that as well. “You’ll be fine once it starts.”

Gared started pacing again, but then he paused.

“Ya think Rosal will be here?” He inhaled deeply, as if to catch her perfume. “Pretty name, that. Smelled like roses, too.”