[ They could have sat in the armchairs in her office, arranged before the hearth with the little table alongside in a carefully-constructed scene of informality. But she'd needed to move, the walk down to his floor, the distance from everything waiting in her suite. She regrets it a little now, sliding his wine glass along the edge of the desk and taking a sip of her own before arranging skirts with one neat gesture and sinking back into the chair. She hadn't counted on the immediacy of that faith in her, not unearned but still undeserved.

She shakes her head. ] No. [ There's a dry little laugh in her tone. ] It was nothing but dumb luck. They were passing through Drake's Landing on their way to take Hasmal. They recognized Flint and thought his presence meant we'd learned of their plans. We did our best to keep up that impression as long as possible.