Darlac went on making friends.

This time, she singled out a young man wearing white, gold and light blue priestly garments, sitting alone at a long table, his head leant on his elbows, completely zoned out and pretending he wasn't there at all. This strategy might have worked against anyone else but an angel-blooded aasimar. Darlac immediately felt her energy resonate with him, as if she'd found a long-lost relative. She settled down beside him.

"Excuse me," she said softly.

The youth flinched awake from his reverie, and looked at her. His eyes were normal human eyes, without the otherworldly glow Darlac's own eyes had. His hair, long, silky and blond, didn't have the typical metallic sheen of Darlac's curls, either. Still, she was quite certain that she found another celestial-blooded person... and now she was a little clueless about how to proceed.

"My name is Felicia Darlac, paladin of the Inheritor, vice-captain of the Varnling Host. Darlac for short."

"Nice to meet you, Darlac. I'm Tristian, cleric of the Dawnflower. I'm with Baroness Guelder's companions."

He seemed reserved, distrustful... or maybe just shy, unused to being approached by ladies. Darlac felt a little sorry for him. With these looks, he wouldn't be able to enjoy undisturbed solitude for long at any ruler's court. Then again, exposure to conversation with ladies might help him push his limits. So Darlac cut to the point.

"Now, the reason why I approached you... This will sound like a lame pick up line, but I swear it isn't. I sense that you and me, we have something in common, in terms of ancestry. You don't happen to know about an angel among your forebears, do you?"

He blushed to the tips of his ears. Darlac didn't understand. She couldn't make it any clearer that she wasn't flirting with him, or could she?

"Among my forebears?" he muttered. "No. I don't think so."

However, Darlac couldn't unfeel what she felt. Perhaps he just didn't know about it. After all, Darlac herself couldn't pinpoint her angelic ancestor, either. She knew that Mendev, her family's land of origin, had given many aasimar to the world due to frequent interactions between angels and humans during the First Crusade, sometimes even without actual sexual intercourse between mortals and heavenly beings. Maybe Tristian was carrying the imprint of a similar encounter. She craved to learn more.

"Where do you hail from?"

"Qadira," he said tersely.

Another uncanny parallel. Both Darlac and Tristian came from the region most central to the worship of their respective deities. However, Darlac's quick check on her knowledge of the world raised further questions.

"You don't look like someone from the south," she remarked.

"True. My parents were not from there. They were travelling through Qadira when I lost them."

"Oh. As in they died? Or is it just that they let go of your hand in a bustling bazaar and you ran off and lost your way?"

"Erm... I think both. I suppose they must have died at some point, because they never came to find me. I was raised in a temple of Sarenrae by the mercy of her priests. But I don't think my story is a particularly interesting one... By the way, have you met Guelder yet? If not, I'd be happy to introduce you to her."

He rose and led Darlac to the very end of the long table, where they found the baroness herself, with her leopard by her side. The beast immediately focused on the newcomer, and measured her up with a curious rather than menacing gaze. Darlac was, however, distracted by the baroness's conversation partner.

The elf lady was chatting with a young man at the end of his teens. The youth's white hair and disproportionately wide mouth struck Darlac as familiar. She had to do a little research in her mind to locate where she knew him from. Then it all clicked into place, and a surge of memories washed over her.

There was no love lost between Felicia Darlac and Lander Lebeda. She would never forget how her faithful steed had given his life to rescue this little piece of work from his kidnappers. She couldn't help but feel an irrational, childish grudge at the young man for the suffering and death of beautiful Midnight, which had put an end to her riding career.

"An interesting offer, Lander," said the baroness with an amused smile. "So you say I should refuse a promising young Swordlord, as well as an astute old diplomat lady backed by the sister of your king, and instead I should take an emissary who does not even deign to introduce himself with a full name. Well, I will carefully consider all the pros and cons, and get back to you in case of a positive answer."

Then she noticed Tristian and Darlac standing nearby.

"Baron Varn's second-in-command, am I right?" she said, measuring Darlac up with a slow blink. "Please join us."

"Your Grace," said Darlac, slightly bowing her head. "I see you've made the acquaintance of young Lander Lebeda. Curiously, of all three freshly inaugurated rulers, he chose the only person from outside Brevoy to offer his services to. Perhaps because the other two already know him all too well."

"Have we met before?" asked Lander suspiciously.

"That's a good question, young man. Now, if you please, let me kidnap Her Grace for a moment."

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

The young man opened his mouth and closed it again, then saw it better to vanish among the guests. Darlac's presence must have hit him as an unpleasant surprise, even if he couldn't remember who she was, which didn't improve the paladin's mood at all. She thought her looks were distinctive enough for people to remember, especially if she'd risked her own life to save said people's asses.

Darlac, on the other hand, introduced herself by full rank and name, like she always did. Guelder had the decency to take the hint and not call her by her first name, which she preferred to reserve for her close family and intimate encounters. In exchange, Darlac didn't inquire why the baroness was called by the name of a shrub. The fact that Guelder refrained from asking what a beautiful young lady like Darlac was doing in a mercenary brigade, or from commenting that meeting an aasimar was supposed to bring good luck (which was not true), was also something to be appreciated. Instead of such platitudes, the baroness seemed to be genuinely paying attention and making mental notes of everything she heard. This woman was a rookie in the higher circles of society, and wasn't disturbed by this fact at all. She was friendly, calm and composed, without any sign of self-consciousness.

Darlac asked her about the heroic deeds that had earned her the title. Letting people tell their stories was a great way to capture their character.

"I defeated a bandit leader tormenting the land and its people," said Guelder. "He was a broken man, perhaps beyond repair, and he sowed suffering wherever he went. I have no regrets for killing him, but I do wish there had been a way for him to find redemption."

"A noble way of thinking, Your Grace," acknowledged Darlac. "Even if you know you can't save everyone, it's always hard on your heart."

Continuing the conversation, Darlac got the impression that the baroness was actually a decent person. Perhaps Nightvale would be a neighbour Varnhold could get along with just fine.

It was then that she caught the sounds of a heated dispute between the captain and Cephal Lorentus, his other right-hand person, free from moral scruples and all too comfortable with political intrigue. This was not the first time and probably not the last when Darlac had to actively intervene. Sadly for her, by bringing the baroness along, she chose the wrong way to interrupt their quarrel. Soon enough, the wizard shuffled away, muttering under his breath:

"Asmodeus help me. Enter a new pair of tits and the world ceases to exist. Then again, she doesn't even have tits worthy of mention. Oh well..."

Darlac, gradually getting reduced to the role of a fifth wheel, and reluctant to listen to the story of the Noose the ninety-fourth time, followed Cephal's example, and chose to vent her frustration by striking up a conversation with Hannis Drelev. Now that Darlac had heard the story of the Stag Lord's defeat, she was itching to learn how Drelev had gained his title. She was surprised to find out about his utter lack of any notable achievement that could explain his promotion. Unsurprisingly, Baron Drelev didn't like his soft underbelly being tickled. But Darlac doubled down on the topic, balancing between playful banter and serious indignation, and drifting towards the latter. Tonight's insults and injuries were burning her ego like hot iron. People thought she was a golddigger, just because she was young and pretty and dressed for the occasion, while Hannis Drelev had been granted a barony for nothing and even got away with it?

"At another time I would have whipped you for your insolence. Personally. For starters. And you know what? Maybe I will."

This was too much, even from Drelev. Darlac turned pale with fury. A spell was taking shape in her hand, soon to be followed by an unarmed strike. She was tall, heavily built and forged in the heat of battles, so an enhanced slap or punch would surely have sent the offender flying over the table. Dismal silence spread in ripples around her, broken only by the soft growl of a beast. But before she could cast her spell, she was interrupted by a familiar touch on her shoulder, calming and supportive at the same time. Guelder, too, appeared by her side, her pupils narrowed into unsettling vertical slots.

"Baron Drelev," said the baroness softly. "You said to me earlier that your politeness had to be earned. Well, I regret to inform you that you are earning something entirely different for yourself. Isolation. Go on like this, and you will have nobody to rely on in times of trouble, when your arrogance will be insufficient to keep your head above water. Do you really want to alienate your potential allies, just to pander to your twisted idea of self-esteem?"

"I refuse to be patronised by an upstart nobody like yourself, Baroness," he spat.

"That will be enough, Drelev," joined in Maegar Varn. "You seem to be eager to provoke a duel, and I'm inclined to grant your wish."

"No," said Darlac. "Don't you dare make the challenge in my stead. This is my fight."

"My lords and ladies," said a voice behind them. They saw with surprise that Lady Jamandi herself entered the fray. "Loath as I am to stop a duel from happening, I must ask you to settle your issues peacefully. The journey leading up to this night began with bloodshed in my mansion, and I will not have it end in the same way."

"Thank you for your intervention, Lady Jamandi," smirked Drelev. "I would hate to publicly humiliate this gorgeous young lady. And also her baron who prefers to hide behind his paramour's skirt."

"Now you've gone too far, Drelev," growled Baron Varn, slipping a pair of daggers from his sleeves into his hands. But before he could act on his emotions, Guelder's hand clasped around his wrist. The baroness almost invisibly shook her head. The captain exhaled and stood down.

"Next time you won't get away," he said. Then he grabbed Darlac's wrist and left the dining hall.

Darlac fought back the tears of rage and humiliation. Of course, it would have been a bad idea to start their rule with a duel. It was a stupid situation, one that she'd brought upon herself. Still, it galled her how easily the baroness had defused the conflict. How could she have this kind of influence on the baron after such a short acquaintance? And how dared she intervene in a matter affecting someone else's honour? Darlac could tell this woman was much more trouble than Hannis Drelev on the opposite side of the map would ever be.