As Gideon entered the dining hall, a sea of rats turned towards him, eyes wide with the promise of dinner. A dinner he was sadly not carrying. They turned away, and the hall filled with countless voices again.

Thankfully, Clonk and Ondine had begun to bring dinner now that Grimsby was focused in the kitchen, and a few rats at the end of the hall had already been served. Sitting in the far corner, Melissa was devouring a steak while attracting wide-eyed stares from the rodents at her table.

Ondine passed by Gideon on her way back to the kitchen, and he motioned to her, whispering, “Make sure everyone near Melissa gets fed quickly.”

She smiled and nodded, then floated through the wall.

Gideon turned to the nearest table, where Rathe and Juniper were sitting. “Good evening,” he said. “Sorry for the delay.”

“Are these … rats?” Mariel said from behind him as if she didn’t believe what she saw.

“I’m sorry, Lady Mariel, but your unexpected arrival coincides with our new employee dinner,” Gideon said.

“New employees?” she asked, looking around the room with fascination and disgust.

“Good evening,” Rathe said, his voice echoing in Gideon’s mind. “Please don’t worry yourself on our account. We’ve been quite content to sit here and enjoy the lovely atmosphere.”

A couple of the nearby rats began to squeak upon hearing this, and Gideon wondered how content they had been. But at least dinner was getting back on track now.

Gideon looked over his shoulder and realized Lady Mariel was staring at Rathe with a look of shock. She must have been able to hear his projected thoughts, too.

After a moment, she shook her head and walked away, sitting near the center of the room at one of the smaller, unoccupied tables. Gideon, noticing most of the other seating was already taken, realized he would probably have to sit near her.

Uncle Kelvan floated up and hung himself on the center of the far wall, where he could watch the proceedings. Gideon hadn’t expected him to attend tonight. He wondered if Lady Mariel’s presence had anything to do with it.

Gideon turned back to Rathe and Juniper, trying to smile despite the awkwardness he felt at their two unexpected guests. “Well, thanks for being here.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” Juniper said happily. “But where’s Silvari?”

Gideon looked around the room. There was a sea of rats, Uncle Kelvan, Lady Mariel, and Melissa. No orcs, however.

“If she doesn’t wish to come,” Rathe said, “that is her right.” His staff was leaning against the table next to him.

“But she said she would,” Juniper cried. “Maybe she’s late. You know how bad she is with time, Pa.”

Rathe’s nose twitched, and he chuckled. “She will be here when she wishes to be. There’s no need to worry.”

Gideon left, hurrying to the kitchen to check on things, only to find Sir Clonk and Ondine waiting impatiently for Grimsby to plate more food for them to serve.

“You know,” Gideon said, “maybe I can help you—”

“No,” Grimsby replied.

Sir Clonk looked at Gideon and shook his helm. “I offered as well. He said I wouldn’t do it right.”

“He wouldn’t,” Grimsby said, grinding his jaw. “Neither would you, Gideon. Look.” He held up his most recent plate. He’d arranged cubes of steak next to sprigs of asparagus on a bed of wild greens. The meal was drizzled in a dark, rich sauce Gideon didn’t recognize, but the smell—as Grimsby brought the plate closer to Gideon, a savory aroma made his mouth water. The vegetables were perfectly balanced around the meat. In response to Gideon’s stare, Grimsby pushed the plate into his hands. “It’s art, Gideon! Take it already.”

“It’s for me?” Gideon took the food carefully, trying to hide his appetite.

“It is now,” Grimsby said.

“We should probably feed the guests first,” he replied, though his stomach growled.

“Well, that’s a human portion, so if not you…”

Gideon sighed. “I’ll take it to Lady Mariel.”

Grimsby cackled and turned back towards the counter. He quickly dished out a few much smaller portions onto saucers, then handed a tray of them to Clonk.

When Gideon returned to the hall, the rats’ eyes darted towards him, a hundred tiny black suns trying to decide if he had brought anything for them. But a moment later, they noticed Clonk and Gideon could feel a wave of excitement ripple through the crowd. Everyone watched the armor’s footsteps to see where he was headed.

Gideon, in comparison, was now ignored by everyone except Lady Mariel. He crossed to where she was sitting and set the plate on the table before her. Then he took a nearby pitcher of ice water and poured her a glass. “Dinner is served,” he said. “Anything else I can bring for you?”

“Yes, you can join me and your Uncle. We were just having a lovely discussion, weren’t we, Lord Kelvan?”

Kelvan scowled from within his mirror. “If you can call it that. You ask too many questions, Lady Mariel. Far too many.”

Mariel’s eyes turned past Gideon to where Clonk was serving saucers to a table of cheering rats. “I can’t help but be fascinated by that one, Lord Kelvan. A perpetual arcana.”

“Um, what?” Gideon asked.

“She means Clonk is magical, but he doesn’t feed on mana crystals. He runs forever.” Kelvan stroked his beard thoughtfully. “Don’t look at me. He came with the castle.”

“We’ve never been able to create such a device,” Mariel said in wonder.

“He’s not a device,” Gideon said carefully, “and I didn’t think such an invention was even possible.”

“It’s not,” Kelvan replied. “Energy isn’t free. He must feed on mana somehow, even if the mechanism is not obvious.”

“I thought he was a bound spirit,” Gideon said, but Kelvan and Mariel seemed to ignore him, their discussion already moving on.

“You’ve never taken the time to identify his mana consumption mechanism?” she asked, shaking her head as if it were a foolish mistake.

Kelvan’s eyes darkened. “If you can convince him to sit still long enough to read the runes on the inside of his armor, which is extremely difficult, then I think you will find, as I did, the script they are written in is completely incomprehensible.”

“At a glance, I recognized a few glyphs found on other artifacts. Dragon War era, or earlier. But we’ve never been able to translate those scripts,” Mariel said, and Gideon raised an eyebrow. So she’d checked Clonk, too. Mariel shrugged her shoulders and began to eat.

Gideon was grateful for that. It kept her from talking for a while.

Soon, Ondine brought a plate for him, and he eagerly set to his meal. After Clonk carried in a few more trays of saucers for the rats, everyone had been served. Soon, the hall was filled with the sounds of cutlery and chomping teeth.

You could tell a meal was good when no one felt the need to speak.

With each mouth-watering bite, he felt a sense of gratitude. Gratitude that he had such food to eat, and that he could eat it in this lovely place.

And it was lovely, he realized—he had been so focused on cleaning up the dining hall that he had barely glanced at it when they’d finished. But the room was well-lit by the lamps, and it looked immaculate.

The tablecloths were clean and crisp, and the walls were covered in tapestries and oil paintings of long-lost Kastorus relatives. For a time, Gideon was almost able to forget about Lady Mariel and his problems beyond the castle.

But Mariel, somehow able to resist the food, set down her fork and crossed her hands gently on the table. “So tell me, Gideon, about this Mortimer Rook. What did you do to draw his eye?”

“What do you mean?” Gideon asked. “I told you. I stopped paying my loan.”

Mariel took a bite of asparagus, nodding appreciatively before continuing. “Is that all, I wonder? For a moneylender to have such a vendetta against you?”

“It’s not that simple,” Gideon said, shaking his head. Don’t tell her you committed a crime, he thought. “He has a son who goes to Falconridge. He needs the money to pay—”

The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Wait,” Mariel said, staring at him aghast. “No wonder you don’t wish to consider our institution. You think a thug’s progeny would be allowed entry?” She laughed. “I assure you, there are no such children at Falconridge.”

“Well, my source seemed pretty sure—”

Mariel raised an eyebrow. “Is this the same source who told you about a warehouse? The one that has already moved?”

“Something like that. Listen, they did seem very certain that Rook’s son—”

“Please, Mr. Moody,” Mariel said, her eyes glaring at him. She picked up her napkin, tossed it onto her only half-eaten plate, and then reluctantly pushed it away. Gideon cringed at having to explain this one to Grimsby. “There are no Rooks at Falconridge. My offer to you wasn’t an empty promise. I’m on the school’s admissions board. I help oversee every applicant. Someone like that would never, ever get in.”

“How can you be so sure?” Gideon asked. Jory Mardok, one of Rook’s henchmen, had seemed certain that Rook’s son was a student at Falconridge. “He might have used a false name.”

The memory of being in the EnviroCharm vault flashed through Gideon’s mind. Like all fathers, Jory said, Morty Rook wants his son to have a better life.

Not all fathers, Gideon thought, both then and now. But the pain came and left in an instant. He felt a little more acceptance, perhaps, than before.

“There’s no way the son of a man of such ill repute would have been admitted to Falconridge,” Mariel continued. “We never would have allowed it.” She looked at him almost guiltily, then down at her plate. A sigh escaped her. She pulled off the napkin and took another bite. “This is quite actually sublime. Unbelievable. I shall have to pay Grimsby my compliments.”

“What do you mean,” Gideon said carefully, “that you never would have allowed it?”

“We do a full background check. Interview the applicant, the family, friends of the family, friends of friends of the … you understand. Statements from witnesses are taken by blood oath. Before a final admittance offer, all of the family’s finances are audited.”

“You go that deep?” he asked, shocked.

“Of course,” Mariel replied and took another bite of steak. “The wizards trained at our institution do not merely learn magic. They become part of the Acretan elite, future politicians and intelligentsia, the scholars, artists, and leaders of tomorrow—”

“That’s a good slogan,” Gideon said. “Is that on the admissions pamphlet?”

Mariel scoffed. “My point is, if a student comes from a questionable background, we need to know. Any outstanding debts or other points of leverage. Blackmail. Lustful tendencies. The slightest hint of derangement.”

Kelvan began to laugh from within his mirror. “I’ve never met a wizard worth their salt that wasn’t at least a little deranged,” he said.

“So if someone’s father had gambling debts,” Gideon said, “or was a crooked moneylender, I mean. You would deny them admission based on that.”

“Not an automatic rejection, necessarily,” Mariel said. “But they would be under fierce scrutiny. No one like that is currently enrolled in our fine institution. If this is why you declined my admission offer earlier, I simply must—”

“That wasn’t the reason,” Gideon said.

“I assure you, I will take your claims seriously,” she replied. “They will be investigated.”

“Even though no one could have possibly evaded your detection.” Gideon took a bite of steak, and the taste of it was almost enough to make him forget this troubling conversation.

But not quite.

Mariel smiled. “Yes, I’m glad you understand.”

Perhaps she had missed his sarcasm, but he was in no hurry to correct her.

----------------------------------------

A while later, as Gideon scraped clean the last of his dinner, the entrance to the dining hall creaked open. The rats began to whisper and squeak as Gideon turned to find Silvari hunched awkwardly in a doorway too small for her, with one giant green palm raised in greeting.

She carried a leather case on her shoulder, similar to the one that carried his staff. But hers was shorter and broader.

“An orc, too?” Mariel whispered. “Gideon, I must question—”

“Please excuse me,” Gideon said, rising from his chair and placing his napkin neatly on the table. He waved to Silvari, beckoning her to come inside.

The orc’s eyes flashed between Gideon and Mariel, and then she turned and stepped out of view. With a sigh, Gideon moved to follow her.

As he emerged into the dim corridor outside the hall, he had an intrusive thought that Silvari had decided to kill him after all and was simply luring him outside.

But looking around, he realized she had walked towards the great hall at the center of the castle. He watched as she disappeared around the corner.

A vision of Silvari swinging a battle axe at his face flashed through his mind, but he shook his head and pushed forward. When he entered the great hall, he found her sitting on one of the high-back chairs next to the dead fireplace. She didn’t look at him.

They hadn’t cleaned this room yet, and Gideon waved a cloud of dust away from his face. Silvari opened her case, removed it, and folded it neatly by her feet. The whole process seemed smooth and practiced. As if by magic, she now held a mandolin made of cherry-colored wood with a rounded back.

The instrument seemed too small for her, but she nimbly plucked at the strings using a pick while her other hand tuned them, her fingers surprisingly deft.

“Take a seat,” she grumbled, and Gideon realized he had been looming near her, staring awkwardly. His brain was still processing what he was seeing.

He took another chair by the fireplace, trying not to cough as he kicked up another cloud of dust. A few moments later, she plucked each of the eight strings in turn, then made a pleased grunt. She set the mandolin carefully in her lap, then said, “I came here to audition.”

“Audition?” Gideon asked, looking down at her instrument. “I thought I was hiring you to work security or as a bellhop.”

Silvari chuckled, a strange sound to Gideon’s ears, deep and echoing in the vast room. He realized why she had come out here. The acoustics were much better than in the cramped, noisy dining hall. “No, not security. I don’t do that kind of thing.”

“So, this is the axe that Juniper mentioned,” Gideon said.

“What did you think it was?” Silvari replied and grinned wide, showing her tusks. Then she grew serious and lifted the mandolin gently against her as if cradling a child. “This one is called Over the Mountain.”

Her fingers plucked at the strings, and soon, the great hall was filled with a haunting melody. The sounds washed over him, bringing him suddenly to the present. He grew cold and began to shiver as if the song were a chill wind.

Silvari began to sing. The song was in Orcish, a language he didn’t know. But the words layered over the mandolin, mingling until both her instrument and her voice were lost amidst each other.

He realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to exhale. During the song, Gideon thought he felt another presence enter the hall, but they stood at the periphery, patiently waiting.

The song reminded him of his mother, holding him in her hands. It reminded him of saying goodbye to her. It reminded him of Yevette, his oldest friend, and how he had never said goodbye. They had only faded away.

After the song, Silvari placed her mandolin back in its case, and the hall was silent other than the distant howling of the wind. The storm had started, just as Mariel had promised it would.

Gideon tried to wipe a tear from his eye without being noticed. “That was beautiful,” he said.

Silvari gave a curt nod. “Thank you.”

“Not security, then,” Gideon said, grinning. “Fair enough.”

“I refuse to do menial labor. But I’ll play, if you need a musician.”

“We do,” Gideon said. In truth, he hadn’t thought to hire one until now. “You’re hired. Obviously.” He stood up from the chair. “Do you want something to eat, Silvari? We were just in the middle of dinner. I can ask Grimsby to make you a plate.”

“No,” Silvari said, then hesitated. “Unless it’s part of my job?”

Gideon waved his hand. “Not tonight. It’s supposed to be a way to welcome you. That hardly works if it's mandatory.”

Silvari nodded. “I respectfully decline, then. I do not wish to break bread with your Lord and his minions.”

Does that include me? “Do you hate them?” Gideon asked. “I’m not saying you don’t have a right to, or anything, but I need to know about it.”

“I used to, but time has a way of dousing all fires,” Silvari said. “I do not hate them, but I do not wish to eat with them. Such rituals should be reserved for family or comrades.”

There was a question Gideon had been curious about but hadn’t wanted to ask. Though there were many rats in the castle, as far as Gideon had seen, there was only one orc. “Did they … kill you?” he asked. “My Uncle and Lady Ondine. For their experiments.”

“No,” Silvari said. “They brought me back to life.” She walked towards the large, vaulted archway that led back to the west wing of the castle.

As Gideon watched her go, he spotted Rathe standing in the hall, leaning on his staff. He bowed to Silvari as she passed, and she stopped next to him.

“Enjoy your dinner,” she said, looking back over her shoulder at Gideon. “But don’t trust that woman. She knows this place is special. She can sense it.”

Gideon wondered if that was true. He never would have known the Moonstone was here if Uncle Kelvan hadn’t shown it to him. “How?” he asked. “Can you sense it?”

“We are more attuned to its energies than you,” she said. “Many would seek to claim this place if they ever realized what it truly is.”

I’m not even sure of that myself, he wanted to say. But she stepped into a shadow, flitting forward, until she was gone.

“Wait,” Gideon called and began to follow until Rathe stepped into his path, raising a paw.

“You should let her go,” he said. “You made progress with Silvari. But if you push her, you’ll regret it.”

“What the hell did she mean, though?” Gideon asked. “And why is it a bad thing she was brought back to life?”

Rathe tilted his head to the side as if considering it. “I suppose forcing someone to live might be almost as bad as forcing them to die, if you think about it.”

“I guess I’ve never had to worry about that particular moral dilemma,” Gideon replied. He paused, thinking it over. “I see your point. Is she right about the Moonstone? Do you think Lady Mariel will try and take it?”

“I have no idea,” Rathe said. “She is difficult to read, Gideon. But perhaps I will answer your question with a question of my own. Why do you think the castle was built here?”

He raised his staff, and it shone with a faint purple light. Gideon realized Rathe was channeling mana from the Moonstone. It was not so different from the glowing shards of crystal used to light the undercroft.

“Why this mountain,” Rathe continued, “out of all the mountains in the Frostpeaks?”

“Well, when you act like that, you make it a little too obvious,” Gideon said. “Castle Kastorus—”

“Or, as it was once known, Castle Moonstone,” Rathe interjected.

“The castle was built here because of that artifact. To protect it,” Gideon said.

Rathe’s nose twitched, and he shook his head. “Your answer is both true and incomplete. I have always assumed this castle was built for the same reason as most fortresses.” His staff fell, and the purple light winked out. “To protect, yes, but also control. To lay a claim.” He paused. “Such claims may be disputed, from time to time.”

Before Gideon could answer, a bell rang from within the hall. It was almost time for Clonk’s Dinner Adventures. But Gideon realized he had one last question.

He knelt beside Rathe on the uncomfortable stone, and whispered quietly enough he hoped the castle would not be able to hear him. “I’m supposed to be happy, but why do I feel like something bad is going to happen? Why do I feel like I’ve brought doom on all of them?”

“You’ve brought change,” Rathe said. “The doom remains to be seen.”

“I saw it in my dreams, though.”

“Even if all falls to ruin,” Rathe said, “you must remember that it is not your fault. It never has been, and it never will be.”

“It will feel like my fault.”

“Why did Lord Kelvan summon you, Gideon? Why bring you here knowing that it would only draw more attention to his secret artifact?”

“I don’t know,” Gideon said. “Perhaps he is a fool, after all.”

“He isn’t,” Rathe replied. “Start with the right assumptions, and you’ll find your answer.”

“What?” Gideon asked. “You’re not going to even give me a hint?”

“You don’t need one,” Rathe said, then began walking back towards the sounds of the feast. “Besides, I could never convince you of an answer you hadn’t already considered yourself.”

Gideon followed him, silent for a moment, lost in thought.

“Besides,” Rathe said, twirling his staff happily, “I don’t wish to be late. I was promised a dinner adventure, and I intend to receive one!”

“You should be careful what you wish for,” Gideon said as he followed him back inside. He could only hope this dinner adventure would be less eventful than the first one.