[40th Year of Foresai, Upper Fire Month, Day 17]

I’ve made a severe mistake; no, several severe mistakes. This string of errors may bring me to my end swiftly. Letting myself get dragged along by Keveleos like a pauper dashed under the wheels of a hauler. By the will of the dice, what possible chance of encountering him there!? No, none of it was ill-fate. It was a complete failure of mine. I managed to avoid both the standard and heightened patrol paths, and yet I didn’t think others would be? What a fool you are Chardelon! Never in your life have you taken such a mindless course of action. One with the most grievous possible consequences. You ought to be slung from the gallows for this! I’m in waters completely detached from any reckoning or sense.

“So you’ll think he’ll take a victory next spring, Your Highness?”

“I’m sure of it. He’s gotten quite good. Quite a shame he can’t contend in higher orders though.”

By coming here, I’ve thrown away most of my options. If I exit now, it shows that I know that Barbro is after my life; in due course, a sword will lie at the flank of my neck, akin to just as before. Now I’m forced to engage in the most petty kind of talk to maintain my image, unable to advance anything. I am at the whims of this crowd, of those that surround me, and I am in total unable to dredge any progress in the mire. Petty pulls of his strings nets me nothing, acquiring no true initiative in the advent, neither in the matters of mortality nor regality. Here I am, working the bellows in the depths of a young and feckless face that has gazed upon something it should not have, and suffered the result in frustrating tepidity. I am out tools, I am out leverage.

“You believe so? I imagine many of those men are perhaps more grizzled to the sport than he, Your Highness.”

“Even if so, I still wish he had the opportunity to try.”

I am not only out leverage, I have thrown it out. Had I screamed and run, Climb would have followed in tow. Even if they had done likewise, I could have slipped through the third secret passage and been quite literally afield of Valencia. Who knows what we could do next. Run? It would be a true flight. Once more I connive to ruin myself, but there ought not to be a lossless escape from this night. Not at this rate, anyway. Climb is no longer by my side, but could I have done anything else? Those around us seem to think he’s in a state incapable of combat, but to bid him away is something else entirely. It's my only course. Perhaps Father is already lost in the past. Wait, I’ve leapt past something. The third ‘scape. The third passage of seven on this floor. The congruity again.

“Ah, forgive me, Your Highness. I catch your meaning now. You think he would enjoy it?”

Her mind ground to a halt. Renner’s anger paused itself, leaving nothing spinning in her soul but the foul residue of spent emotion. Her conversation with the count whose untimely intervention had so vexed her seemed to fade away. She lost her presence in the world entirely, her undonned feet lifting from the ground as everything around her slipped into the unlit glare of the color when no attention could be drawn. She was beginning to feel unnerved.

That’s… four times tonight. Four times I’ve marked those two numbers as a pair. Never reversed, never in any other order of coming. As if there is a cause to it.

“Your Highness?”

As if. As if many others haven’t met the same numbers tonight, and as I have not different ones. Ah! In addition to achieving the vaunted status of dullard, I’m slipping to outright delusion as well. What a wonderful fate! I am a woman made of plaster; hollow, substanceless, and in every way fragile. What’s next? A loonish galavant through the halls bare? It's certainly unbecoming of Princess Renner, but of I? It is a thing befit to me as if etched in the stars themselves. I suppose it's best that this final breaking of my form happens this night! At least this way, my brother now has actual cause for his acts. Who can object to him taking a sick little girl and burying her?!

“Are you ok, Your Highness?”

Renner wanted to scream, not the ones she had issued from earlier fright or from petty deception, but one born from an absolute and true rage. This was too much to suppress, her visage never truly put together. It manifested as a shudder in her form, her face twisting into a more anguished look.

I cannot let myself slip into disorder. I refuse to, not in the wake of a rally. If I am to hate, then I am to hate my enemies. If I am to hate, I am to hate what is vile, what is wretched. I am to hate him. I am to hate King Andrean. I am going to hate him. I am going to wrack you, brother-dearest.

“Your Highness, perhaps we get you to a side room.”

Renner had the wherewithal to nod, but this was instinct alone, not an intentionally constructed behavior of hers; a low reversion to a simple protective act.

So it shall be, ordo ex anathema. I turn the mill again - round and round evermore - it is time to process. Significant violence tonight, not hard to guess at the words those Counts shared. Everyone else seemed to, at least. Death and death and death again, and perhaps a little more at the flank of reason. Rochefort is jockeying for face. A play made blatantly, too. Actively denying Keveleos at rescuing a second of the royal family is completely unsubtle. At least he had the wherewithal to use my theater to his advantage. Though, perhaps tonight is a night to drop blades in favor of bludgeons. Even the most kegborn of moves here is correct. If your men waylay an innocent - which has undoubtedly already occurred - you may simply claim panic as cover. Doubly, you may believe it. The honest men of the Kingdom will know motes of rot tonight, blemishes on porcelain souls fired ever so delicate, alabaster, and useless. Inaction is the worst possible move.

Keveleos took a tentative step in the direction of the side room Climb had not entered. Renner let herself be drawn, the last of her thoughts ringing to and fro inside her mind. Keveleos, seeing the Princess following his request, took further steps. Renner brought herself along with him, keeping her head low and eyes watered; this was half an act, a third genuine turmoil, and a sixth wanting to shield her eyes from the stabbings of candle flame. Though her cropsickness waned from its previous zenith, even the sub-brilliant made her wish to slink into the dark.

A new everpresent warning to myself, halts are to be harked and harangued. My shell is intact; my ire aids to that end. To the point of appearances in general, the wise will wear their stains, not claiming a nocturn glory, but of terrible loss. It is better to come unto the dawn vivisected, not victorious; at least in the sense that points can be twisted finer into the enemy. Those with societal acumen will know this. The best will do both. It will perhaps be a scorecard of opinions here. Of course, those actually damaged will know their scars lit by the light of the sun, though it shouldn’t be too hard to stake forward-creeping goals regardless. Again, honest men know the best of this; they’ll catch benefit in droves, and do it none-the-wiser. I should net myself some advancements, if father still lives, that is. Everything frays beyond that point. If I spring aloft, will it be a glide overtop the thickly-inked lines of cartography?

Keveleos reached the door and opened it for her, holding it ajar as she passed through. This was a second, smaller sitting space. It was unlit, the window on the flank doing little to illuminate the room. It peered into the night, and Renner found her gaze drawn to it. This was no true fascination, simply a place to rest her vision. Keveleos hesitated on shutting the door, not wishing to stop the intrusion of the light of the outer space.

It depends on his willingness to persecute my death. Does he possess a madness of composure or of sense? Not “or,” neither “nor,” but “and.” That answer requires no soothsaying, my contemporaries in blood will find without difficulty. Ah, the murder of me - be it a verily-held maladiction or a classical madness - will see his name listed under liabilities on the ledgers of his allies. Of which, I will need to investigate the grip of that polydactylic hand on the present nadier, and construct a list of who’s and why’s. I am distracted, there is a thread to spin prior. The case of flight. Perhaps I find cause and love among the people. Would they help? Most certainly, I am a… ah what’s the term. A “popular” princess? Strange phrasing, but it's true. I am, in a way, of them; my mask is one that bears forth word of their needs to the court and courtiers. I ought to find a true base, a foundation to slip under and huddle in. Would they be of help? Uncertain. The huntress digits would be two, and in their extension, account for many.

Keveleos produced a flame in his hands, something born of an object in his hands. Renner didn’t have the willingness to care for the details, though that he bore it on his person at all hung in the rear of her perception - that he would spring a light himself. Another point of efficacy in his column.

Would there be two? Can the agents of Assassination and Security work in tandem? A fissure, but betwixt whom?! Evileye, if I die tonight, may I curse your name eternally from the depths for so holding those gates of yours shut. She mentioned that Banking’s head was killed, shame we can’t pin a name to him. Still, if the basis for that was breaking faith with divisional heads, the only reasonable act is decapitation and substitution of the neck up. If my brother is an illfit copy of our father, perhaps there is disorder there too. “Reformist and Traditionalist,” what a turn of phrase. To catch progression as the fault line. Another strange twist to throw on the pile. Soon I may sweep the lot of them onto the street, pack them down with all the unspent stomps I have brimming in my form, and use it as pavement. Maybe then my brother’s men will run me down in horse-drawn carriage, rather than stagnating in the quagmires of a rainstorm. In that, true luster can be named.

Renner stifled a laugh, killing it in her gullet before it could escape into the room, emitting only its ghost in the form of a sigh. Light in hand, Keveleos shut the door and lit a candle affixed to the wall. It did not truly puncture the dark, though she felt compelled to give a little response.

“Count?”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“Could I bid you to keep us in the dimness? I am of a cropsickness.”

“Yes, Your Highness. Do you wish-”

“There’s no need to extinguish it, I just have taken my fill of flame already.”

Then, the side of progress, and the side of stagnancy. Banking’s only credible threat would be Narcotics. They perhaps catalyzed this change. How not? Power to rip institutions custom from custom could only belong to them. Slavery almost entirely in that tiding, too weak by my hand to do anything but sink into the depravities of dustborn euphoria. That drags along Gambling, that pair runs too flush. Actually, it may have been they who leapt first into his arms. Ah, no, her. There is that oft recounted story among the enforcers that their leader is a woman.

Renner worked her way to a seat facing the door, setting down with a typical fanfare. Tugging her dress slightly to do so, she realized the depth of fouling. Doubly so for her appearance. Her hands went to her sides, realizing she bore no tools for its maintenance.

My hand mirror. In my room still. Shame.

Renner began to brush her hair lightly, detangling what hair she could with her fingers. This was not an easy process, many threads caught in knots and other loops. With steady pace, she worked it, pulling a few of the larger twists free.

Who else is lost to the haze of Laira dens? Who isn’t? Most certainly the pinnacle himself. There was no news of an end brought to that baleful capstone. Who passed contracts to whom? Assassination and Security seem to run affowl of eachother’s demenses. Both know their trade only as wetwork that only differ in the details. Not enough so for that head of gambling, “P.B.”, though, he seemed content to interchange tasks between them. Those initials are suspect; they had the gall to shift Barbro’s name by one case and call it encryption, then I find it likely the leader contented himself with a weak obsurant over his own. Would have been swifter and stronger to make a fake wholly. Assuming foolishness in that, its signs bleed to other things. Requests for Assassination dwindled near the end of the stolen period, an unsubtle icing-out. Thus, I may count Security as the arm of the Reformists, and Assassination in turn for Tradition.

Keveleos spotted her attempts at self grooming and started. He swiftly broke back to her side, having been fussing with an object on his person Renner did not distinguish. She felt his discomfort pointedly, pouring over into his voice with little regard to its shielding.

“Your Highness, do you want a comb?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you.”

Par-half left unaccounted for, but Slavery has likely been shattered beyond consequence, and who can speak of efficacy in Larceny or Smuggling with a planed tone? There is a critical observation here; Assassination and Security stand at odds. The question then becomes simple. My brother is in league with Gambling, Gambling is in league with Security, Security is opposed to Assassination; an act of advancement for an Andrean must surely be opposed by the other side. The murder of a king is not a thing that comes without many hands - Gazef’s very existence compounds the problem tenfold. The chance of this slipping under the notice of their other kin is laughable; their rivalry is being played out here and now in the palace. Violence has not only snapped into being between gallant knight and wicked skulk, but between every stroke of the sickle-born themselves, and not only those bound by vital contract.

Keveleos fished his pockets for a moment, snatching one from his flank. He took a moment to remove stray hairs of his from it, and spared another for inspection, before handing it over to her. She took it with little ceremony, feeling that she could play at herself a twip straighter. She began to work on her hair, pulling free a knot that had eluded dissociation. Seemingly satisfied, Keveleos took a few steps and sat down across from her, interposed between her and the exit. Renner kept her face static, doing her best to quell her growing curiosity in his actions.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Why are you making your vigilance here, and not dedicating one of your men? Ought not those adjoint this room to see your presence? Perhaps a better impression on my father, but surely the third princess deserves not such material dedication in a time such as this. Ah Alec, you’ve run flush too and overflew every line I’ve marked in the dirt, haven’t you? That little play with Rochefort’s ear, clearly implying the presence of Surshana’s take without saying it explicitly; a low proclamation of great acts without those around us having the wherewithal to spot your dishonesty. You’re vulpine, but I’m absent a grander description of you. I did mark you as being in the company of that syndicate earlier - no other way to make sense of your attempted acquisition of an Aindra’s aid - though there’s so much left unfixed.

Obviously having men at arms is not suspect at a general council. Still, to come to the third floor and try and rescue the Royals silver-a-bundle is certainly a-

Renner’s mind touched upon a seam, something she had missed in the earlier part of the eve. She realized her meeting with Keveleos in the corridor was not simply her mistake. That there were inconsistencies and knots in its make.

Wait, that junction there, why did he turn round? Why not push forth and seize greater victories in my brothers, or father? Was it a tactical determination? For it to be, he must not think himself capable of such penetrative power as required with me in tow; but Climb was by my side. His vitality was capable enough to let him continue as bulwark and battle-fiend, that satisfies the need for my protection. Surely he anticipated being able to push through to my father, unless why ascend at all? Such an act only figures if this was a coordinated act in which we were snatched from the jaws of our assailants, in which victories were won piece by piece, but that entire line of action falls apart when you consider that we were brought to the company of disordered men. He went for me first. He was satisfied with retrieving me and only me.

Renner’s thoughts seized and shuddered, and she sensed that she had found the threat that would unravel the entire tapestry that had woven in her mind. She became confident that she would weave it anew.

Why? Why not save Zanac, why not save father? He came to the quarter-bearing wing with me in mind. He’s treating me as an asset, though the acts that transmuted me in the eyes of commoners, and gilded me in the eyes of nobility certainly run afoul of Eight Fingers. I did after all, persecute a campaign against slavery and Slavery, though I did the latter without- No, not afoul of Eight Fingers, for there is no unified hand, but of the Reformists.

Earlier qualia of shock swiftly faded, an overwhelming sensation of cold cutting through her previous buck. Her thoughts began to collaless into a grander understanding, weaving them thread by thread into a new embroidery.

That rivalry is finding itself not only played across the floors of Valencia in general, but in the walls of this very room. Count, you have clicked into place. You number among the Traditionalist divisions. You support my actions planely because I place pressure on your enemies. You number high among the Traditionalist divisions. You came to this council prepared for violence. You number wise among Traditionalist divisions. You came to seek defenders through me, knowing I could bear your request without risk to you. Extraordinarily desperate, yet you had total foreknowledge that an Adamantite team would be the only thing for your needs.

In a simple sense, he was serving to safeguard his assets, of which I am one. He was forced to this play by the coming death of my father. I am a tool, and the continued survival of The Golden Princess is something that can be used as a leverage against the return of the slave trade. I am not blunt, but a pointed tip that can be used to jab the eye of his rival. Though, he likely did not expect to see a threat come to my person directly. Seeing Climb injured, and I steeped in his blood, seemed to leave him non-linear.

Who gains what from this? Bolloupe or Lytton attains a near total victory in their realm, a complete subordination of their puppet. I feel it is likely Bolloupe as gamemaster, though I cannot say for certain, and would not hazard it now. Irrespective of the identity of the actual schemers, that whole political flank benefits as a body. This is to be felt to the foundations of the land, well, of the nobility. Many of all strata will suffer. Broader truths reveal themselves in the wake of its coming, whoever takes what bounties.

Then, to the matter of Baharuth. Their actions are known. The conspirators predict a swift war in the east, one that will begin to take form immediately after the sun burns off the dews tomorrow. This can rally and direct the anger of the people to threats foriegn. So the story will be that hands from Arwintar arranged Father’s end. Do they expect to win? Doubtful they would, El-Nix would make his the height of his might known. Legions to come crawling across the plains with every manner and method of siegecraft; weapons and arcanists to make their place in the lore. Ceed E-Rantel? If that’s the only concession required, yes.

There will be another war. Flares across the nation. Factions are soon to shift; both will choose to proclaim theirs as the true King. Andrean will be marked a new Royalty faction, a twisted mirror of the old; Valleon the new counterbalance. Bolloupe and Lytton against the rest. The rest that can stand in the first place, that is. Blumrush can simply be paid to that course, and if Jircniv is as cunning as I suspect he to be, I doubt that money will need to come from the war coffers of our marquis. Urovana will become mired in his own demesne, Theiern need to be kept for domestic cause. Urovana will be hollowed out by that man’s rage, a structure fit to collapse. Vellen will not break faith with Vaiself, his men will stay by Barbro. Other lords are perhaps less consequential; Helgrave would stand by what remains of the old Royalty. Raeven is the dark horse, and will side with Pespea, but they will stand two against two, or perhaps three. Re-Estize is to grind itself to bits.

Dates? The fourth of the middle wind was when Brother made his departure, he made his scheme in that window of time. The twenty-eighth of the same was his return. In that time, he met with those who lord over the Sunlit Scripture, Bajan, and Harlink. They scoped and marked the villages of Usamsara, Delkirk, Carne - and likely the next in sequence, Rellenue - and they prepared the messages necessary to be sent later at the time of the plot on Gazef. Other things, the changing of money; my name given as promise to Harlink. Barbro returns, Jonque in tow, as well as others. Ah, if only I had thought to mark the rest of his retenue at the time. My gatherings have been slipshod.

What of the sword? Was it given freely to brother-dearest by Slane as assurance, or maybe a way to back his claims of combat with the Empire? If he knew, then what a laced gift that was to father. Intentional, or without bated meaning? Barbro, description of you eludes me. If I had your lifeless body and a scalpel, I would make a thorough investigation. Maybe then I could divine what you are. A matter, but one I am of no capacity to sleuth.

She had unwittingly burrowed her face in her hands, even the meek light of the candle flame too much to bear for her headache. She looked up, and saw little had changed. Keveleos, for his part, had remained in his seat. He had leaned forward, fiddling with his hands. If he had done anything, there was no evidence of its coming. That he had remained so unmoved as the woman across from him laid him bare in her mind was something that Renner found perfectly in keeping with the way of the world, but none-the-less dryly humorous.

In order, then. Lytton, Bolloupe, or both make the decision to fabricate a king from my brother. They court him, promise him the throne, and their support in the turmoil after its seizure. They court allies: Eight Fingers and Slane’s underhands. From Eight Fingers, they wrench the murder of my father. From Slane, the murder of Gazef. Barbro secures Bajan and Harlink, and stages the borderlands for violence. Both in money, and in my hand. Slane assures him, hands off a blade as their word. They let things brew, pieces moved into place. Then, the days of violence. The pair are run through, first Gazef in the hinterlands, then my father in the wake of those events. Barbro ascends to a paper crown, a boy haloed by it a second time in sequence. Zanac slips into obscurity, the rest of the Royal faction fractures. The Kingdom falls into a degenerate state, House Vaiself robbed of all providence and agency, with a Nobility that has secured complete hegemony.

It would have worked cleanly, but the luck of the Greed Kings kept Gazef from his death at Carne. Everything slipped. Coin had already changed hands, but to attempt with the Warrior-Captain no further to the grave is risky. To still chance against him means they have a way to separate, disable, or destroy him. Barbro had Teloran come for my head, so he was certain this had already happened.

They may still snatch victory, or they may already have. To think my brother could now be sitting on the throne is disquieting. Exiting the city is the only option. The east gate has had its chief replaced, but he is also an Eight Fingers man; it should be possible to secure logeless passage. I must make my leave and do so with haste, but Climb is in the care of a physician. He must be borne away at my side. I refuse to leave my puppy behind in a flaming house. He is an ultimate cause, an ultimate goal; he is mine and he will remain mine as long as I live. I will keep him. Teloran’s work on him was thorough, and I cannot drag him with me until he is mended. Climb is absolute.

“Count Keveleos?”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

Thus, I act to gain passage, and to land a retaliation on my brother.

“Do you think we will need to secure an egress?”

“Of the palace?! No, of course not, your-”

I need a face. I haven’t had one prepared for such a novel circumstance, I never expected to be sitting across from one of the syndicate men. The one I use for Lakyus? It’ll have to do.

“Ah, I apologize, Count, my words were unclear.”

“No, not at all, Your Highness, though I’m still unsure-”

Let me cut through these words, strike a concession from you. If I am to flee, I am to leave with a parting blow. One to wrench a little more coin from your hands brother.

“Re-Estize is burning.”

“What?!”

“House Vaiself too.”

“Your Highness. I don’t believe I understand-”

“We both know the comings of tonight.”

“I would not be so dour, this disturbance is only temporary, things will return to a safe procession-”

“So I ask of you a task.”

“A task? Of course. What is it, Your Highness?”

“Halt the payments to my brother, and as long as they remain stopped, Lady Aindra will only strike Narcotics, Gambling, and Slavery.”

Keveleos face twisted into confusion, and then after a moment, turned solemn. His hands, him having continually rubbed them clasped, ceased to move. The room was robbed of noise, only faded and distorted chatter of the nobility ebbed in through the door. The character of his eyes changed entirely, the worry borne in them cooling into what seemed to be a cold anger. Nine seconds passed, the flickering shadow of the room returning to a stillness as the lone flame was freed from the battering of air. He stayed silent, finally closing his mouth. He blinked once, then two times in sequence. When it became clear he would not respond, Renner let herself continue.

“Release my Climb to me, and he and I are to immolate ourselves in the blaze. We’ll alight on the billows of smoke, curl into the night, and by the dawn, have been blown free by the winds. Do you accept, Counselor?”

Keveleos was stock-still, his visage frozen in its previous state. A following fourteen seconds passed, before he finally gained any of dynamism back. He drew back into his chair, turning his head to look out the window. His eyes remained unmoving, not seeming to trace a path across the stars, merely gazing into the darkness. Renner struggled to keep herself in a similar state, gaze fixed on him. Her heart pounded, her entire body running flush.

The dimness of the umbra is protective; the black of thickly-bodied fumes shield me, else I fear he might turn back and crack the bulwark of my mind. I must rend his confidence. I must present myself as antithetical to his goals if he does not bend to ascent to my offer. Of any wall of Valencia, he is the only one I am capable of tearing through. Ah, you are my only chance here. I can leave Barbro with a wound here. The payments flit from the new-hands. Then, forcing the halt of them has two outcomes. One, divisional war. No matter. Their death and violence will barely be noticed over the din of battle between houses upright. Any blood they spill will simply serve to add to the mere, the flow only remarked as another trickle from the fonts of Baharuth’s and Bolloupe’s reap. A war in triplicate, or rather, one besetting two. Two, a false peace, though I doubt it would hold. Keveleos, you draw the moment out. Free me.

Keveleos’s mouth fluttered, then opened. He had found his words.

“Do you bear other terms?”

“No. What I spoke was the extent.”

“Concessions?”

“No others.”

Keveleos halted again. Renner’s anxieties increased, her body tensing.

Come, grant me what I need. I beseech you. Was what I said not compelling enough? Have I not given you a clear path to wreak havoc upon your enemies? Think of the relief this brings you, the relief it brings your allies. You and your ilk are to save fortunes because of this.

“I accept. I’ll end them, and get you your passage to the dawn. Your adjutant will be ready soon; when he’s ready, I’ll bid you out, and escort you away. Can he ride?”

“Did not we just speak of his talents at the joust?”

“Yes, but can he ride and maintain it to… wherever you go?”

“I have no doubt in his abilities, Count.”

“That’s not… Fine, I’ll give you a horse, too. He’ll carry you well”

“Thank you, Counselor.”

“Why do you do this? Why collaborate with an Aindra to wage a campaign like that?”

Renner was caught wrongfooted, and she paused. It had never occurred to her to pin a “why” to her actions, and now that it was questioned, could find no response.

Ah. I should have anticipated such a query on cause. Something simple, then? “For the good of the people” or something to that effect. No, he surely has heard that before from those he’s trusted more, and would doubt them doubly if they came from me. I have already played my hand as one who hides behind the face of a dullard, a layered being. I have no earthly, or for that matter, heavenly idea what to say. Do I speak of true things? Do I speak of desire Climb, my darling puppy-dog? No, if I do so wantonly, that only turns more of my position to sand. If he knows my… feelings, for Climb, that sows only the seeds of dissent. Verity in obfuscation, I mention him not, but what desires he wells in me. Then that is an easy thing to say.

“Hunger.”

A moment of stasis, Keveleos breaking it with a shudder. Before Renner could comprehend his reaction, he gave the Sign of the Clearwater.

Why did he sign? Was there cause for it in my words?

“I’ll let you know when he’s ready.”

I must have missed a base point of conduct. Frustrating, this conversation had worked entirely to my gain up too… whatever mistake I made. Something to consolidate this before things slip away, then.

“Thank you for your understanding, Counselor.”

Keveleos seemed to jump from his seat, standing swiftly and with little of the tact he had displayed earlier.

Did I let my mask slip? If it did, I didn’t sense it. Almost certainly not. I was able to make that judgment earlier, even through the dual fog of sleep and drink, so my surety in this statement is bolstered two-fold.

Keveleos broke for the door without looking back to her. Upon reaching it, he turned the handle and pulled it ajar. Renner, expecting him to say a farewell, stayed bated. To her surprise, he walked out the room, closing the door without saying a word. Those she had primed died in her mouth, and she was left with an odd sense.

Is he… afraid?”