I sigh. “I just hope she’s not at one of her famous parties with a dozen of her chattiest friends.”

Merendsen exhales a laugh, speaking with a smile in his voice. “I don’t think that’s going to be a problem.”

Before I can ask him to elaborate, the call connects and the picture pops up. There’s a woman in the image—a girl my age, maybe younger. For a moment I don’t recognize her without the hair, the makeup, the glitzy dresses and jewelry. I find myself staring, trying to connect this sleepy-eyed, fuzzy-haired girl with the heiress to the LaRoux fortune. She’s pretty—beautiful, even—but nothing like the creature I think of when I think “Lilac LaRoux.”

“Tarver,” she mumbles, stifling a yawn and rubbing a bit of sleep out of the corner of her eye. She’s clearly been woken up; she’s wearing a silk robe over whatever she was sleeping in.

“Hi, beautiful.” His voice is soft in a way I’ve never heard from him before. “Am I off the hook for running out yet?”

She wakes up a little more, a smile lighting her features as she leans a little closer to the screen’s camera. “Tarver!” she repeats, more alert now. Her smile grows wry, amusement coloring her face. “Have any of the nasty swamp people shot at you yet?”

I have to stifle a protest, swallowing it down. It’s clear Lilac LaRoux can’t see me or Flynn standing in the background.

But Merendsen just snickers, as if she was joking. “No, but it’s still early days. How are things at home?”

“Good. I haven’t had a chance to try the bathtub yet.” Lilac’s leaning closer still, one hand appearing as she lifts it to trace the neckline of her robe. Coy, flirtatious, her movements graceful enough to make me strangely envious of that skill. I look at Flynn again, but this time he’s staring at the floor, keeping his eyes averted from the girl on the screen.

“Someone’s got to test out the new plumbing, make sure it all works.” Merendsen’s amused, his voice low and private.

“Do you have a little time? I could bring the comscreen with me. Show you how much I wish you were here.” Her finger pulls the neckline of her robe open a little.

I see just enough skin to realize she’s not wearing anything under it before I jerk my eyes away and stare intently at the ceiling. Too late, I get why Flynn’s watching the floor with such dedication.

“Oh, come on.” Tarver groans. “I said I was sorry for leaving, do you have to torture me? And, uh”—his voice turns a bit sheepish—“Lee’s here, so you might want to…” He trails off and glances over his shoulder at me.

Dammit, Merendsen. I clear my throat and step forward, into the light cast by the screen.

Lilac gives a startled squawk, grabbing her robe closed up under her chin. “Tarver!” she gasps. “Why didn’t you say someone was there? Who the hell is this?” Her face is burning with embarrassment.

“This is Lee.” I can tell Merendsen’s aiming for bland, but he’s not hiding his amusement very well. “Don’t worry, I’m sure she was staring at the wall. She’s very discreet and she doesn’t believe in romance.”

I pull my eyes away from the girl on the screen, trying to offer her a little of her dignity to cling to. “The ceiling, sir,” I correct him.

There’s silence from the computer while Lilac stares at the picture on her own screen. Then, in a low, careful voice, she asks, “Lee is a woman?”

I have to choke back a sound of surprise. Merendsen didn’t tell his fiancée he was flying to the next system for a girl? I know it’s because he doesn’t see me like that—to him, he flew for a day and a half for one of his soldiers. I’d do the same for mine. But to Lilac LaRoux…

“I’ve never really noticed,” Merendsen replies, carefully not looking in my direction. “Lee’s friend is here too. Lilac, can you get us a secure line?”

She sobers, and all traces of the wounded, sulky bride-to-be vanish. She nods curtly. “Give me two seconds.”

And then she’s busy, typing away—doing as I did, not trusting the eye-tracker interface. She gets up, reaching for something behind the screen that we can’t see. It sounds like she’s flipping switches. I can’t understand what she’s doing. Whatever it is, it’s far more advanced than anything I did at my end. Merendsen couldn’t have taught her that.

Finally, Lilac settles back in her chair with a small device that, when she turns it on, sends a wave of static through the picture. It evens out after she starts making tiny adjustments to a dial on the device. Some kind of dampening field. I find my gaze creeping over toward Merendsen, wondering why they have such a need for secrecy.

“Okay, go.” It’s a completely different girl than the coy, flirty creature there a moment before. This Lilac is all business.

“This is Flynn Cormac,” Merendsen says, prompting Flynn to step forward into the light. “One of the rebels here.”

I half expect a dramatic exclamation from flighty Lilac LaRoux, some shallow declaration about how ridiculous he looks with his bleached hair. Instead she leans forward, inspecting him in her screen. “Goodness,” she says mildly. “This is one of the infamous Fianna? He isn’t exactly what I might have expected.”

Flynn speaks up, deadpan. “That’s why it works so well. It’s better if you don’t actually look infamous.” It’s an imitation of his usual humor, but there’s something different about it. A note that’s missing I didn’t know I’d learned to recognize until it was gone.