Chapter 62
By the time Lady Yselle Greenmoor arrived at the Voss estate, the drawing room had been arranged differently.
Not warmer. Not softer.
Simply quieter.
The tea table was set with pale porcelain, silver-edged plates, honey cakes, fruit tarts, sesame sweets, small cream pastries, and, because Dara had standards, a separate plate of crisp popcorn chicken.
Beside the pot of hot tea stood a chilled glass pitcher of spring jade tea with ice and boba, the pale green drink catching the afternoon light in a way Dara found rather satisfying.
Hospitality mattered.
So did variety.
Grace stood near the sideboard, serene as ever. Bernard waited by the window, hands folded. Elowra stood with her ledger open, prepared to take notes.
Marek stood near the door, visible and quiet.
A reminder.
Dara sat at the tea table with her hands folded neatly in her lap when Lady Greenmoor was shown in.
The councilwoman entered with graceful calm. Muted green silk. Soft chestnut hair. Gentle eyes. A face made for appearing reasonable in every room she entered.
Dangerous.
Dara smiled. “Lady Greenmoor.”
“My lady.” Yselle curtsied with flawless elegance. “Thank you for receiving me.”
“I invited you.”
“Yes,” Yselle said softly. “You did.”
She seated herself only after Dara gestured to the chair opposite her.
Good.
She understood rooms.
Grace poured the spring jade tea first, the cold drink slipping over ice before settling into the glass with the dark pearls at the bottom. Yselle glanced at it once, curiosity flickering over her face.
“Spring jade tea,” Dara said. “Cold, with boba.”
“How unusual.”
“Most worthwhile things are, at first.”
Yselle smiled faintly. “Then I look forward to understanding it.”
Dara lifted her own glass and took a sip. Clean, light, pleasantly grassy. The boba softened the edges.
Acceptable. Very acceptable.
Yselle tasted hers with careful politeness. Her expression barely changed, but her eyes warmed by a degree.
Good.
She had taste.
That made this more interesting.
Dara set her glass down. “Irrigation disputes.”
No long preamble.
Yselle placed her glass carefully onto its saucer. “Of course.”
“The southern grain wards have filed repeated complaints across two planting cycles.”
“Yes,” Yselle said. “The matter is complex.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Dara reached for one of the reports Elowra had prepared and opened it. “Water access, tenant obligations, storage contracts, wagon priority after rainfall, and boundary disagreements between estates.”
“All connected,” Yselle said gently.
“Yes.” Dara looked up. “Which is precisely why leaving them unresolved is inefficient.”
Yselle’s smile did not falter. “Rushed decisions can be destructive. Agricultural balance requires patience.”
“Patience is useful when something is growing.” Dara turned a page. “Less so when something is rotting.”
The air between them sharpened.
Just slightly.
Yselle looked at her for a quiet moment, then reached for her tea again. “I see your reputation for directness is deserved.”
“Only when the reports are irritating.”
“That must be often.”
“Recently, yes.”
A faint breath of amusement escaped Yselle. Not quite laughter. Not quite approval.
Dara allowed herself the smallest smile, then moved the first piece. “Certain estates receive faster water adjustments than others.”
Yselle’s gaze lowered to the report. “Different lands have different requirements.”
“Of course.”
“Elevation, soil type, crop variety, existing channels—”
“And political value.”
Yselle’s fingers stilled against the glass.
Only for a heartbeat.
But Dara saw it.
Elowra’s quill moved softly behind her.
Dara continued, voice calm. “I am not accusing you of anything, Lady Greenmoor.”
“How reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
This time, Yselle’s smile became more real.
Very small and very dangerous.
“There are reasons the old arrangements exist,” Yselle said.
“I’m sure there are.”
“Changing them quickly could anger landholders.”
“Many things anger landholders.”
“Yes,” Yselle said. “And some anger them profitably.”
There.
Dara’s eyes sharpened.
Not a confession. Not even close. But an acknowledgment that both of them understood the board.
Promising.
She liked clever women.
They were inconvenient, but rarely boring.
Dara leaned back slightly. “Complaints from tenant farms appear repeatedly delayed.”
“Tenant complaints are often incomplete.”
“Six from the same southern channel?”
“A repeated complaint does not automatically make it accurate.”
“No,” Dara said. “But it makes it worth verifying.”
Yselle inclined her head. “That is reasonable.”
“Then you will provide access to the irrigation maps, storage contracts, and estate priority schedules.”
A pause.
Yselle set her tea down. “Those records are not all held by my office.”
“No,” Dara agreed. “Some are held by the estates benefiting from the delays.”
Silence.
Soft. Civilized. Sharp enough to cut silk.
Yselle studied her.
Dara held her gaze.
Unlike Halvern, Yselle did not shrink. Unlike Rooke, she did not flare.
She simply recalculated, and that made her more troublesome.
“I can provide what my office holds,” Yselle said.
“And request the rest.”
“Requests can be refused.”
“Then I will know who refuses.”
A slight pause.
Yselle’s eyes warmed again.
This time, not with pleasure.
With reluctant respect.
“You are more patient than I expected,” she said.
Dara took a honey cake. “I’m not patient. I’m sequential.”
Cai snorted from somewhere near the curtain.
Yselle did not hear him, of course.
Dara continued, “First, I learn the shape of the delay. Then I decide where to press.”
“How methodical.”
“I enjoy efficiency.”
“So I have heard.”
They regarded one another over the tea table, two women in silk, surrounded by sweets, discussing water rights as though they were embroidery patterns rather than the quiet control of land, crop, and hunger.
Dara reached for the chilled jade tea again. “I will not dismantle agricultural systems blindly.”
“That is wise.”
“But I will not allow complexity to be used as a curtain.”
Yselle’s expression softened. “Sometimes curtains exist to keep harsh light from damaging delicate things.”
Dara smiled. “Then we will open them slowly.”
A long silence followed before Yselle lowered her gaze first. Not in surrender. Never that. But in acknowledgment.
“I will send what records I can access.”
“Tomorrow.”
“That may be difficult.”
“I didn’t ask whether it was easy.”
Yselle looked up again, and there it was—the faintest edge of irritation, finally.
“I will send them tomorrow,” she said.
“Thank you.”
Grace stepped forward smoothly to offer another small plate of desserts. Yselle accepted a sesame sweet. Dara took another piece of popcorn chicken.
They ate in polite silence for several moments.
It would have appeared peaceful to anyone foolish enough to mistake stillness for peace.
After a time, Yselle spoke again. “My lady.”
“Yes?”
“A word of advice.”
“How generous.”
“Landholders do not move like merchants or officials.”
“I noticed. They move slower.”
“They move deeply,” Yselle said. “Roots are harder to cut than branches.”
Dara considered that, then nodded. “Good.”
Yselle’s brows lifted slightly. “Good?”
“If roots are the problem, then I know where to dig.”
For the first time, Lady Greenmoor’s smile faded completely—only briefly, but enough.
Dara filed it away.
The meeting ended without raised voices, threats, or victory. Yselle rose, curtsied, and smiled once more.
“I look forward to working with you, my lady.”
Dara stood as well. “As do I.”
They both knew that was not entirely true.
Or perhaps it was.
Working with someone did not necessarily mean cooperating peacefully. Sometimes it meant learning precisely where to place the knife.
Lady Greenmoor left with the same elegance with which she had arrived. Marek opened the door for her without speaking, and she passed him with a glance that took in the eye patch, the scars, the stillness, and the warning behind all three.
Then she was gone.
The door closed.
For a moment, the room remained quiet.
Cai drifted down beside Dara’s shoulder. “You didn’t win.”
Dara lifted the jade tea and took one final sip. I didn’t need to.
Bernard looked toward the closed door. “She is careful.”
“Yes.”
Elowra adjusted her spectacles. “And she knows more than she said.”
“Of course she does.”
Dara looked down at the reports—the irrigation complaints, the repeated delays, the estates that always seemed to wait less than others.
It was not careless, not obvious, and not easy.
Her fingers tapped once against the glass. “This one will take longer.”
Cai sighed. “Does that mean more tea?”
Dara looked at the remaining jade tea, then the desserts, then the popcorn chicken. “Yes,” she said. “Obviously.”