That’s it. I am totally doomed. Even if they don’t call us over, the others are certain to suggest introducing ourselves. And Lady Guantes at least must know what I look like. She might even recognize me through the mask …

Her mind was whirring like a nuclear-powered hamster wheel, suggesting and rejecting plans at a speed that would have made Irene’s supervisors proud. If she ever saw them again.

If this is really the Guantes’ story, and I’m just a minor enemy character within it, this could happen - I get discovered and dragged off in chains, end of chapter. And it all finishes with a triumphant auction featuring a dragon, then a war.

She needed to leave. And for that, she needed a distraction.

Everyone’s attention was still on the Guantes. Irene picked up her mostly full glass, murmured, ‘Wine, increase in strength ten times,’ into it, and leaned across to switch it with Zayanna’s nearly empty wine glass.

Sterrington was turning to look at her. Had she seen?

Irene quickly picked up her own glass. ‘A toast?’ she suggested.

‘A toast to Lord and Lady Guantes!’ Athanais agreed. Everyone picked up their glasses and drank. Irene watched out of the corner of her eye as Zayanna swigged with abandon.

‘How very polite.’ Lady Guantes sounded positively mellow. ‘Donata, do send over another bottle of your best to that table over there.’

Hadn’t the landlady said earlier that her name was Maria? But she was nodding in agreement, without the slightest complaint. Perhaps, in this place, if you were human you were a piece of stage dressing - and then your name was simply whatever the Fae chose to call you.

The group resumed their seats. ‘Should we go over and introduce ourselves?’ Athanais said eagerly and predictably. ‘It would be courteous to thank them for the wine.’

And you’re on the lookout for another patron, Irene decided, however much you’re trying to put the rest of us off.

‘Proper courtesy would be to drink the wine and then present thanks,’ Atrox Ferox said curtly. ‘To thank without appreciation is not to show due regard for the gift.’

Thank you, thank you, thank you, Irene thought silently as she nodded in agreement. She was watching Zayanna unobtrusively, but so far the other woman was resolutely upright.

‘I’m surprised they came in here,’ Sterrington said. She glanced around the room again. ‘It’s good, but I wouldn’t expect it to be one of the best restaurants in the city.’

She was cut off by Zayanna giving a long gurgling sigh of satisfaction. The other woman carefully put her empty glass down, then slumped forward onto the table. Damn. Overdid it.

‘I didn’t think she’d drunk that much,’ Martha said, visibly distancing herself from the situation.

‘Zayanna?’ Athanais laid a long-fingered hand on her shoulder and shook her gently. ‘Zayanna, sweetheart, my little honey-flower, wake up?’

Irene glanced nervously over to the Guantes. They didn’t seem to be paying attention.

‘Perhaps some cold water,’ Athanais suggested tactfully. ‘Clarice, can you ask the landlady—’

‘Stop shaking me,’ Zayanna slurred. ‘Gonna be sick …’

Perfect. Irene leaned over to slide an arm round Zayanna. ‘We’ll just go outside for a moment,’ she announced to the rest of the table, as Athanais flinched back. Apparently Fae chivalry didn’t extend to situations where he might get his lovely new red velvet cloak messed up.

‘A good idea,’ Martha said. She shifted her chair a little further away, as Irene levered Zayanna upright and swayed under her weight. Over at their table, the Guantes were emphatically not paying attention, and the landlady was pouring their wine. Irene just hoped that meant the story was on her side tonight.

That’s right, keep it up - just don’t bother looking over here, don’t think of this as anything unusual …

‘Madam.’ One of the other drinkers raised his hand to catch her eye, then pointed over at a door on the right-hand wall of the tavern. ‘That way goes out onto the alley outside.’

‘Thank you,’ Irene murmured. She assisted a staggering Zayanna over to the door, trying to ignore the woman’s worrying groans. It might be poetic justice, but she didn’t want vomit all down her nice new cloak, either.

Outside, the cool air was full of fog. It was even thicker now than during their boat ride to the tavern. The temperature seemed to revive Zayanna a little, and she leaned against the wall, swaying, as Irene looked round nervously. There could be anyone hiding here - on the rooftops, around the corner - and she’d never see them coming.

‘Wanna go home,’ Zayanna mumbled.

‘That’s a bit far, I’m afraid,’ Irene said. ‘Take a few deep breaths and sit down. Let me help you.’ The alley was mostly free of refuse, and it was easy to find a fairly clean bit of paving. ‘Now just sit here. I’ll get you some water.’

‘Don’t want water.’ Zayanna’s dark curls tumbled round her face as her hood fell back. ‘Wanna go home. Wanna be with all my sisters, preparing for dawn sacrifice. Wanna seduce a hero. Are you a hero, Clarice darling?’

‘Of course not,’ Irene said quickly as Zayanna tried to curl up against her. ‘I’m just like you. I’m just a woman with a job.’ She couldn’t hear anyone following them from the tavern; the others must be trusting her to handle things.