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“It’s safer to be subtle,” you say. You’ll sneak your way in through the gardens and avoid the Venatori as much as possible. Besides, you’ve always wanted to see them.

The grass is soft as you step onto it, all the better for muffling your footsteps. You can tell it would be jewel-green in the light of day, but by night it’s a deep, rich teal carpet dotted here and there with trees and shrubs and flower beds arranged in artistic patterns.

“I used to come here as a boy,” Dorian says. “My parents would bring me here in between apprenticeships when they had business—or simply wanted to be seen. I used to love seeing the exotic flower specimens they’d brought in since my last visit.” His voice takes on a tone of some irony when he says, “In retrospect, they might have known I’d turn out the way I did.”

Tarquin says, “Ashur and I once came here at night and—” but Ashur reaches out, almost casually, and clamps a hand over Tarquin’s mouth.

“Let the boy talk!” Dorian demands.

“Don’t encourage him,” Ashur replies.

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