“Finally, a proper bed!”

The room they shared was compact and modest, but insulated from the boisterous sounds of the saloon below them. Two beds, one for Saffron and the other, decided by the throw of the dice to be Maarko’s.

“Suits you better, you being ancient and whatnot.” Dayne ribbed him.

Maarko waved a hand at him and plopped down on the soft quilt covering the mattress. “I think that floor will handle you both perfectly fine.”

“Alright, that’s enough from you two. Now, quiet. I have to report in.” Saffron pulled the device from her bag and placed it on an end table.

She huddled with the Dialspeak wrapped around her hair and focused on her words in her mind. She delivered her brief to the Director.

So, we confirmed our suspicions regarding Belarian Cross. Tetathay’s voice echoed in Saffron’s brain.

It appears so, but only that Marcrumm might be at Brightbane Keep, which is where she is. We don’t know for sure he is a prisoner or willingly working for her. Saffron held both hands on the side of the crown as she thought about her words. The gems in her palms radiated warmth, which this close to Coldhel was a delightful sensation.

Agreed. What is your next step?

So, that’s another reason I’m contacting you. Cross is holding a party tomorrow evening at the Keep. It’s kind of high-society, well-to-do affair. This may give us enough of a distraction to find out what is going on in there and, if possible, pull the mage out. She waited for a response.

What do you need from me?

I need a cover story and, if workable, an invitation. Can you help with that? Saffron knew it’s a long shot. Socialites rarely invited drow to fancy parties. Especially those that Sills host. Most especially, an event that Belarian Cross is part of. Her hatred for the drow has been public ever since the shadow elves pulled themselves out of the caverns and onto the surface.

Perhaps. Times are changing for our people, and politicians love new constituents, even among us. Let me reach out to my father in Vilsomme, Duke Solist Thangalier, and perhaps he can send an envoy to meet. It isn’t far from Fontenot Park. Where are you staying? The Magistrate’s tone was solid and filled with confidence.

We have a couple of rooms at a place called Hooky’s Saloon in the middle of town. It’s a dive, but strong cover. The people here aren’t receptive to Cross’ soldiers, if you get my drift.

Wonderful. In the meantime, you need to go shopping. You probably shouldn’t show up at a party in your leathers!

Yes ma’am. It’s a logging town, so I don’t know what kind of finery they have, but I’ll make do. A chuckle forced its way from her mouth as she squeezed her eyes tighter.

Sounds good. You’ll hear from me soon. Get your plan together.

Of course, mum. Saffron lifted her hands away from the device and could still sense faint traces of the heat resting on the imprints of her palms. With her connection ended, she turned to her men, who sat staring at her while she removed the brass crown.

“That was weird.” Maarko sat on the edge of the bed and leaned in close to her.

“What’re you talking about?”

“So, were you chatting to her in your head? Like, with your mind? Your eyes rolled back and your lips moved, but no sound was coming out.” The mature drow remained flabbergasted at this marvelous machine. “You could hear her?”

She smiled. “Yeah, it’s like she was in my thoughts.”

“Can I try?” He reached for the Dialspeak and she smacked his hand away.

“No, you may not. Besides, do you know anybody that has one of these? Do you know anybody outside of our group?” She placed the device back in her satchel.

The others joined in with laughter. “Hey! I know lots of people!” Maarko counted to five on his fingers. “Anyway, what did she say, er, think? Whatever.”

“I’m going to go to that party as an envoy of Vilsomme. Dayne? You and Thulaeth scout ahead up the mountain. Get as close as you can to the Keep.” They nodded and started putting their winter gear on. “Grab those white blankets and do your best to stay out of sight. Two drow in a snowstorm sounds the beginning of a bad joke!”

Maarko watched them with a bewildered look on his face. “Hey! Why can’t I go?”

She placed a hand on his knee. “Because I could use your knowledge to help me with my cover story. Besides, the last crap I need is an old lurker like you breaking a hip in the snow.” She gave his leg a squeeze, while Dayne and Thulaeth grinned.

“Aye, you need to respect your elders boys!” Maarko shot his two comrades an evil glare.

“Now, both of you get going and try to return as soon as possible. Before dark, if you can. We’re going shopping. I have to get some better clothes.”

Dayne finished strapping his weapons on. “Hey Maarko, maybe you can pick up a nice blouse while you’re out.” He and Thulaeth patted him on the back as they left the room.

Soon, Saffron and Maarko walked out of the saloon and into an inch of powdered, pristine snow covering the ground. The temperature had dropped about ten degrees since they arrived and the sky was thick with gloomy, oppressive clouds. Snow crunched with a delightful rhythm under their dark boots as they stretched their cloaks tight against their bodies. The drow-weave held up against the violent winds.

“I’m missing the heat of that desert, y’know?” Maarko grumbled as he pulled his fleece-lined hood over his pointed ears.

“Yeah, a little. Let’s go see that guy we met this morning. What’s his name? The fella with the furry clothes?”

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“Jack Sloan, Sloan’s Mercantile. He said go straight up the road. He also told us to watch out for wolves.” At that moment, a chilling howl in the distance caught their attention. Empty streets greeted them, except for a few men on horseback.

A man rode over to them. Saffron saw a gold badge on his black coat and a crossbow held in one hand. He had a fat wool scarf covering his face, which he pulled down to talk to them. “As I live and breathe! Shadow elves, huh? Heard y’all were in town.”

Saffron looked at him. “Seems that way, marshal. Can I help you?”

The man tipped his brown tri-corn hat. A thick fog of steamed breath blew from his mouth. “Deputy, actually. You folks might need to stay inside. The snow brings the helwolves out.”

“Oh, yeah?” Maarko's inquisitive mind soaked up information like a dry sponge.

“Yeah, big mean bastards! They’ve been migrating from Coldhel to the south. Looking for food, most likely. You don’t want to find yourself on the business end of them jaws, I can tell you.”

“Thank you, deputy. We’re going to Sloans. Is it far?” Saffron crossed her arms over her chest to keep her body warm.

“Naw, a few buildings up the way. You all stay safe, y’hear?”

“Again, thank you.” They watched as the constable rode off. “Boy, these helwolves must be serious business, huh? You ever heard of them?”

Maarko shook his head. “No, but I’ve never traveled this far north.”

“Well, I hope Dayne and Thulaeth keep a lookout for the beasts.” She pointed to a white building nearby. “There it is! Let’s get out of this cold!” They tapped and stomped thick clumps of snow from their boots on the wooden porch and opened the door to the mercantile. The jingle of bells clattered against the wavy, frosted glass.

The room filled with the smell of fresh-baked cookies and mint leaves. Shaking the chill would be easy for them in the warm air and homey atmosphere the mercantile offered. They looked up and saw the smiling bearded face of the man they had met earlier. “Hey my drow friends! Remember me?” He wasn’t wearing the fur, but a thick brown wool sweater that might have been a size too small. Cozy would be a proper word for the way it clung to his heavy frame.

“Hi Jack!” Maarko grinned back at him. Saffron lowered her hood, spilling snow that had collected in the dimples of the soft leather. It melted as it gathered in liquid puddles on the worn wooden floorboards.

“Whew, you folks must be brave or stupid if you go walking out there in the snow! Those helwolves would eat you, throw you up, and eat you again!” His hands rested on his broad hips and he gave a chuckle that made his rotund belly bounce.

“Yeah, so we’ve been told.” Saffron stepped up to the counter and looked around. Stocked shelves of food jars, dry goods, and hunting supplies lined the walls. In the back corner, she could see a table loaded with boots, gloves, and heavy coats. “Say, Jack, this might be a tall order, but I’m looking for a nice outfit to wear to a party tomorrow, but I forgot to pack a proper ensemble.”

“Whew. Yeah, we don’t carry a lot of fancy stuff here. Mostly hunting and working type clothes.” He tilted his head. “Sarah! Can you come down here?” He looked back at Saffron. “That’s my wife. She’ll have some ideas to help you.”

The thumping of feet on stairs caught both Saffron and Maarko’s attention and they turned to the nearby staircase. A lovely young blond woman with a tint of azure skin glided down, dressed in a modest but form fitting dress. Tied around her waist, a blue apron had a thin layer of flour dusted in the weave. “Yes baby? Oh, customers!”

Saffron could see the dark tips of elf ears poking from the strands of blonde hair. She took a leap. “Are...are you a drow?”

Both Jack and Sarah laughed. She opened a brooch around her slender neck, revealing a portrait of a shadow-elven male and human female. “Half. My father was a full drow.” Suddenly, Saffron realized why Jack had been so pleasant with them when they had first met. It was comforting to meet humans who had such a cheerful disposition for shadow elves.

After they both introduced themselves, Maarko leaned in towards her. “If you don’t mind, ma’am, how did you end up here?”

“Father was a trader before the reformation and had dated my mother here. They’re both passed now, but I’ve always had a soft spot for the town.”

“Neat.” One of the few times in his life, Maarko was speechless.

Saffron moved the conversation forward. “Jack here thought maybe you could help me. I’m looking for suitable clothes for a party tomorrow night.”

“Oh, are you traveling to the Keep? I’ve constantly imagined what it must be like up there, without the despicable Belarian Cross, of course. Who are you folks?”

Saffron pondered before answering. She felt it safe to keep the ruse going in case anyone comes here and asks questions. “I’m an envoy from Vilsomme. The party was a last-minute decision.”

“You’re from Vilsomme?” A tinge of suspicion filled Sarah’s voice.

The Inspector decided she would practice her improvisational conversation. “Originally, I came from House Treche but accepted a position with Duke Solist Thangalier during the Reformation.” She waved her hands in the air. “It’s a public relations spot, kind of a whole ‘drow getting to know’ thing.”

This showed signs of satisfying Sarah’s prodding. “Sure, that makes sense, I suppose. Father used to travel from Vilsomme to here and through the elven territory. I may have clothes that belonged to my mother for you to wear.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t do that.”

“No, really. It’s ok. Come upstairs with me and we can find finery to polish you up!”

Saffron looked at Jack, who tilted his head slightly. “Well, it’ll look a lot better than a flannel shirt and hunting boots!”

“Alright then, if you’re sure. Please let me know how much I owe you.” She followed Sarah up the stairs, leaving the two men by themselves.

“Maarko is it? Would you like a sahnka?” Jack grabbed the kettle from the cast iron stovetop.

Still chilled to the bone by the arctic air, the warm drink would be perfect. “Absolutely!”

***

After an hour of waiting, Jack and Maarko had discussed politics, hunting, and the delicate operations of managing a mercantile. Running out of topics to discuss, the drow delighted hearing the patter of footsteps coming down the stairs.

Sarah came down without Saffron and beamed with a smile from ear to ear. “Are you her man?”

The comment took Maarko by shock. “What? Hah, uh, no. I’m way too old and she’s a colleague, coworker.”

Sarah pouted. “Oh. Well, close your eyes anyway! It’s a surprise.”

“Really ma’am I-”

“Please close ‘em!” Sarah put her hands on her hips and glared at him.

Jack looked over and whispered. “Do it or she won’t stop.” Maarko complied when he saw him squeeze his eyes shut.

They heard soft footsteps of who could have only been Saffron. After a few seconds, Sarah clapped her palms with a sharp smack. “Ok, you can look!”

Maarko opened one lid, then the next. He remained speechless at viewing the beauty in front of him. After so much war, battle, death, and sadness, these moments of his infallible memory that he cherished lingered. He had seldom seen his Inspector appear like this in the years he’s traveled with her. In each of the missions, quests, and duties they’ve fulfilled, her elegance at this moment left him stunned.

Saffron stood in front of him wearing a sleek white dress that gathered alongside her knees. Warm lantern light shimmered as it caught the golden elfweave threads. Sarah had taken the purple sash that the Inspector had worn and tied it around her waist, decorating it with various pieces of costume jewelry. Silvery silk gloves extended up to her elbows and lovely gold bracelets wrapped over each wrist.

A matching pale lace choker with a cameo brooch pinned fit snug across her slender neck. Pearl earrings hung from her lobes and a tight triple weave braid of her silver hair caressed over one shoulder. Her lips were scarlet, and a painted white stripe down her lower lip. Accenting her emerald eyes, broad strokes of dusky white eye shadow drifted to her temples.

Both men couldn’t speak, although Jack knew he had better compliment his wife before she noticed his jaw on the floor. “Sarah, you’re an artist!”

The delighted woman giggled with glee. She put her arm through her husband’s and gave him a squeeze. “Thank you honey, don’t go getting any ideas!”

“Oh, I won’t, but she looks amazing!”

Maarko remained oblivious to anything and everything happening around him, except for his boss. “Ma’am, you ah… look breathtaking.”

Saffron looked over her attire and twisted her hips while stroking the smooth elfweave.

“Yeah, I’m going to kill it at that party.”