Sagiel leaned against the carriage post, straw between his teeth, his coat the same shade as the dusk behind him. He greeted Lucian with a nod that wasn't quite respect.
"Best trick," he said, "is keeping your face in front of her. The duchess forgets names faster than she forgives debts. Stand where she can't ignore you and agree to whatever she doesn't ask."
Lucian accepted the folded note Sagiel offered. The seal, dull red wax stamped with a crude sigil, flaked under his thumb. The handwriting looked intentionally careless, useful and ugly in the right way. Even the scent of cheap ink felt planned.
"You got this because I'm generous," Sagiel said, yawning. "Don't embarrass the signature."
Lucian watched him amble toward the road, hands deep in pockets, every step suggesting a man too idle to fail.
