"The loss of Mariabronne, and Gareth's relative, Ellery, would attest to that."

"To say nothing of Canthan, a high-ranking wizard in the Citadel of Assassins."

The blunt statement gave Riordan pause.

"Surely you suspected as much," said Wingham.

"There were rumors."

"And they are true. Yes, my singing friend, there is much more for us—for you—to unravel here than the simple defeat of yet another Zhengyian construct. Fear not, for I will not hinder you. Far from it, for the sake of Palishchuk and all of Vaasa, my hopes lie with Riordan and King Gareth."

"We have always considered Wingham a valuable ally and friend."

"You flatter me. But our goals are the same, I assure you." Wingham paused and looked at Riordan slyly. "Some of our goals, at least."

At that surprising comment, Riordan let Wingham steer his gaze across the way to Arrayan.

Riordan gave a laugh. "She is beautiful, I admit," he said.

"She is in love, and with a man deserving of her."

Riordan glanced at Olgerkhan, who lay under the table curled up like a baby, and laughed again. "A man too fond of the liquor this night, it would seem."

"With the help of a few well-placed coins and better-placed compliments," said Wingham.

Riordan sat back and smiled at the perceptive half-orc. "You fear for Arrayan's reputation."

"A charming hero from King Gareth's Court…"

"Has come to speak with her, as a friend," Riordan finished.

"Your reputation suggests a bit more."

"Fair enough," the bard said, and he lifted his glass in salute to Wingham. "On my word, then, friend Wingham," he said. "Arrayan is a beautiful woman, and I would be a liar if I said otherwise to you."

"You are a bard, after all," came the dry reply, and Riordan could only shrug and accept the barb.

"My intentions for her are honorable," Riordan said. "Well, except that, yes, I have indeed played it so that she is… less inhibited. I have many questions to ask her this night, and I would have her honest replies, without fear of consequence."

He noted that Wingham stiffened at that.

"She has done nothing wrong," said the half-orc.

"That I do not doubt."

"She was unwittingly trapped by the magic of the tome—a book that I gave to her," Wingham said, and a bit of desperation seemed to be creeping into his voice.

"I am less concerned with her, and with Olgerkhan, than with their other companions, those who made it out alive and those who did not," the bard assured the half-orc.

"I will tell you the entire story of the book and the creation," Wingham replied. "I would prefer that you do not revisit that painful experience on Arrayan, this night or any other. Besides, since she was in the thrall of powerful and manipulative magic, my observations will prove more accurate and enlightening."

Riordan thought it over for a moment then nodded. "But you were not with them inside the construct."

"True enough."

Riordan set his glass down on the table, and slid his chair back. "I will be gentle," he promised as he stood up.

Wingham didn't seem overly pleased by it all, but he nodded his agreement. He didn't have much of a choice, after all. Riordan Parnell, cousin of Celedon Kierney, friend of Gareth and all the others, was one of the seven who had brought Zhengyi down and had rescued the Bloodstone Lands from the hellish nightmare of the Witch-King.

The celebration was fine that night in Bloodstone Village, as well. Though many had little idea of what had transpired in Vaasa to warrant such a ceremony, or a knighting, the folk of the long-beleaguered land seemed always ready for a celebration. King Gareth told them to eat, drink, and make merry, so make merry they did.

A huge open air pavilion was set up on the front grounds of Castle Dragonsbane, to the side of the Palace of the White Tree. A few tents had been set about, but most of the people preferred to dance and sing under the stars that clear, dark night. They knew they wouldn't have many such evenings left before the onset of winter's cold winds.

For his part, Jarlaxle wandered in small circles around the table where Entreri, the hero of the day, sat with Calihye and some of the lesser lords and ladies of King Gareth's court. Every so often, Friar Dugald would wander by, offering a mug in toast, before staggering off into the crowd.

Many, of course, showed great interest in the drow as he glided about the perimeter, and he found himself tipping his hat almost non-stop. It was a practiced gesture, and one that served well to hide the truth of Jarlaxle's attention. For with a wave of his hand and a call to a small silver cone he held tight in his palm, the drow had created an area of amplified sensibilities, from himself to Entreri and the half-elf. People strode up before Jarlaxle and addressed him directly, even loudly, but he just nodded and smiled and moved along, hearing not a word from them.

But hearing everything said between Entreri and Calihye.

"I have no desire to winter in the tight confines of the Vaasan Gate," Entreri said to her, and from his tone, Jarlaxle could tell that he had spoken those very words several times already. "I will find work in Heliogabalus, if it suits me to work, and enjoy fine food and drink if not."

"And fine women?" Calihye asked.

"If you would accompany me, then yes," Entreri replied without hesitation.

Jarlaxle chortled upon hearing that, then realized that he had just confused, and likely insulted, a pair of young women who had approached him.

With an offer, perhaps?

He had to find out, so he abandoned Entreri's conversation just long enough to recognize that the moment had passed.

"Your pardon," he managed to say as the pair turned their backs and rushed away.

With a shrug, Jarlaxle summoned the cone again and tuned in.

"… Parissus has unfinished affairs," Calihye was saying, referring to her dear friend who had been killed on the road to Palishchuk—a death that she had initially blamed on Artemis Entreri, and for which she had vowed revenge. It seemed that she had entertained a change of heart, Jarlaxle thought, unless she planned to love the man to death.

Jarlaxle smiled and nodded at that rather discordant thought. For some reason, he found himself thinking of Ilnezhara, his dragon lover.

"I am bound to her by years of friendship," Calihye continued. "You cannot deny me my responsibilities to see that her final wishes are carried out as she desired."

"I deny you no road. Your path is your own to decide."

"But you won't come with me?"

Jarlaxle couldn't help but smirk as he regarded that distant exchange, how Calihye gently placed her hand on Entreri's forearm as she spoke.

Ah, the manipulation of human women, Jarlaxle thought.

"Jarlaxle has been my friend for years, as well," Entreri replied. "We have business in Heliogabalus."

"Jarlaxle is not capable of handling your affairs alone?"

Entreri gave a chuckle. "You would have me trust him?"

Jarlaxle nodded his approval at that.

"I thought you were friends," Calihye said.

Entreri merely shrugged and looked back to his drink, set on the table before him.

Jarlaxle noted Calihye's expression, a bit of a frown showing around the edges of her mouth. As Entreri turned back to her, that frown disappeared in the blink of a drow's eye, upturning into a calming, assured smile.

"Interesting," the drow muttered under his breath.

"What is?" came a question before him, one that had him nearly jumping out of his boots. Before him stood a group of young men, boys actually, all of them staring at him, sizing him up from head to toe.

All of those stares reminded Jarlaxle keenly that he was out of his element, that he was among a suspicious throng of lesser creatures. He was a novelty, and though that was a position he had long coveted among the drow, among the surface races, it was both a blessing and a curse, an opportunity and a shackle.