7
SUSPICIONS
“Yes. Yes, fine.” A few wisps of hair the color of steel had drifted loose from the Grace’s severe bun and wafted in the air currents swirling through Wise Hall.
General Rohm frowned, but he knew better than to say anything. The Grace had changed the past few weeks. That much was obvious even to the casual parishioners that came to her nightly lectures. He knew some of her other advisers whispered to each other about how the war had gone on too long; that it was fraying her nerves. That weasel Heine had started half of them. Rohm had wondered at first if he’d been the one somehow responsible for the Grace’s current state, but Heine was an i***t, too stupid by far to come up with a scheme so subtle; barely smart enough to take advantage of it, though he appeared to be trying
