Ravnvaldr Gate was an enormous brass hexagon set into the side of the crescent-shaped canyon that shared its name. We were in luck. There was a small party of dwarves outside waiting for us. If we hadn’t been lucky or prepared then it would have meant a long cold wait while someone inside got around the checking the peephole. Ravnvaldr gate wasn’t always manned during the coldest season.

Anwyn dwarves didn’t have a lot in common with the High Fantasy ideal. They were shorter than elves, yes, but so were humans. Living underground meant they hadn’t evolved with much need for melanin so they were uniformly pale; pale pinkish skin, pale yellowish hair, and pale blueish eyes that reflected the light. It made them easier to see in the dark at least.

Aster brought the lead sleigh up to a graceful halt in front of our chief greeter, a dwarf I knew well. He stomped up to the side of the sleigh and held up a broad hand to me.

“Alessandra. You’ve gotten bigger.” He said without ceremony, speaking Arlese, and jerked his head in the direction of Markham. “Who are they?”

“I’d hope so. I was fourteen the last time we met.” I let Prince Ylem lift me down from the sleigh. Dwarves were often terse to the point of rudeness unless they were talking about something they had a vested interest in.

Ylem was a statesman so he had more patience for meaningless courtesy than most. Even so, the fact that he deigned to greet us at the door rather than just leaving it open so we could find our own way inside was a great compliment.

I gestured towards the sad band from BIR as my guards helped them disembark the sleighs. “May I introduce Elliot Markham and Angie Devereaux of the Bureau of Interplanar Relations? I believe you invited them to visit.”

Ylem squinted at Markham and then looked back at his people. One of them shrugged. Another nodded. “The ones from beyond the new Veil.” They said in Arlese.

The Veil leading to Earth had been present and stable for over seventy five years. It said something about the Dwarves that they still considered that ‘new.’

“Oh, them.” He turned back and gave Markham a once over before addressing him in perfect English. “Wasn’t expecting you until Summer. Stupid time of year to travel. What were you thinking? Well, we’ll find you some space.” He looked back at me, switching back to Arlese. “You might have mentioned you were bringing stowaways.”

“It was serendipity.” That was a fib, but if I took responsibility for the delegation then I’d be stuck with it and them forever. My charity was at an end. “My party encountered them near the Gate and they bargained for a ride.”

“Nosey nurse.” He chided me, although not without affection. “You should have put them back through if they couldn’t make it alone. I’ll expect you to take them away again when you leave. I’m not in the business of child-minding.”

“I suppose I could…” I said, placing the tip on one finger on my bottom lip as I made a show of considering it. “...but you’ll have to make it worth my while. They’re your guests.” I would anyway and he probably knew that, but dwarves never did anything without an eventual payoff and if you wanted a fair deal from one then neither did you.

“Yes, yes. Here, walk with me and tell me the news from Harou. My porters will see to your things.” He tucked my hand firmly into the crook of his elbow. I got a brief glimpse of Markham’s livid expression as Ylem walked us inside ignoring him entirely. I also noticed the unenthusiastic dwarven lady making her way in his direction and understood in that moment the hierarchy of Ylem’s concerns.

The human delegation was a novelty at best, which explained his disinterest in making a good impression and maybe why the invitation had been so thin on details. Ravnvaldr Keep and Clan Harou meanwhile were old allies and very nearly friendly. I was the first and only daughter of Duke Harou. I rated Ylem’s personal attention.

I probably also made a useful tool to see how Markham handled being ignored.

“Games already?” I murmured to Ylem. He snickered and patted my hand.

“Just curiosity, my dear. I’ve known two humans until now, but you’re more elf than anything else and your mother hardly counts anymore. I wanted to see how the original stock compares. So far…” He shrugged. “…eh. Maybe they’ll turn it around.”

Bingo. He’d withheld information from Markham on purpose.

Now he knew that the humans either didn’t have access to reconnaissance about Jorgumandr that he didn’t provide or hadn’t bothered to use what they had. That would put the Bureau at a disadvantage when they wanted to talk about things like trade and tourism –not that Ylem was braced for what a human would consider ‘tourism.’

I had a brief vision of chartered troll hunting trips and closed my eyes. Humans loved big game and there was no bigger, meaner, guilt free game around than trolls, except maybe the giants. Maybe dwarves and humans had something to offer each other after all.

Ugh, no. Enough of that.

I wasn’t about to hand Markham that kind of plum. Maybe I could test the idea out in Harou territory once Brinkerman got back. There were plenty of nuisance predators out there less nasty than a troll to use as proof of concept and if I could get that market off the ground it would save our land keepers no end of trouble during Cull month. I filed the idea away for later.

“There’s a dangerous expression.” Ylem commented, bringing me back into the moment. “Did you know you look like your father when you’ve thought of something nasty?”

I blinked, thinking of my dad’s slow half-lidded smile full of teeth. “I do not.” I said and hesitated. “Do I?”

“Like you’re his own flesh and blood.” Ylem patted my hand. “I’m going to enjoy this visit.”

I had a vague recollection of the apartments the Prince Ylem kept for visiting dignitaries from when I was shadowing my dad as a teenager. The rooms Ylem assigned to me were either the same ones or very, very similar.

The bedroom was in the elven family style, which is to say it contained one enormous bed and nothing else. Everyone would sleep there together either at the same time or in shifts depending on how paranoid Aster was feeling. The rest of the space was a long room lined in thick rugs with big cushions on the floor to sit on.

An elven settlement would have fifteen or twenty dwellings like that all built around a single longhouse where everyone cooked and ate together. The Keep at Red Harbour was built to be a fortress, but still followed that same concept. Here we had a little cook corner in the dwarven style, which was a deep stone basin of superheated hot spring water carved out of the wall and fed by the same network of pipes that heated the interior of the Keep. Burning anything this far underground was risky at best so dwarven cooking was a unique experience. There was a pot of sand suspended in the hot water. The water itself was too hot to use or even touch. Instead you stuck long handled pots into the hot sand and cooked that way; a bit like turkish sand coffee.

Efa and her assistant got straight to work unpacking as Aster poked around looking for false walls or spyholes. I’d been running on adrenaline and about two hours sleep so I found a spot in the sitting room and closed my eyes, intending to catch a little catnap only to wake later with Kayt gently shaking my shoulder. I blinked at her, trying to focus on her little heart-shaped face as it blurred in front of me.

“It’s time to dress for dinner.” She held out her hands to help me up, which I was grateful for. I hadn’t undressed before nodding off so I felt a lot like Randy in his snow suit.

“I’m sorry.” I caught myself on a yawn. “I didn’t mean to sleep.”

“Well, I meant to let you.” Efa replied. She bustled up and inspected my face. “Your tone’s improved a bit. A little wash will help. Kayt, help Lady Alessa clean up while I set out the kit for this evening.”

‘Helping’ me wash was a misleading statement. I wasn’t meant to be an active participant, which suited me fine at that moment. I’d learned my lessons about fidgeting and trying to do things for myself when Efa and I’d been apprentices together. Kayt probably wouldn’t smack my hands with a comb, but like her mentor she had her own process and wouldn’t have thanked me for getting in the way.

She stripped me out of my travel clothes, wrapped my hair up under a silk scarf, and attacked me with a damp and perfumed wash cloth. Efa swept by to deposit the underthings she’d picked out and Kayt did the necessary work of getting me into them. Stepping into loose linen trousers and a soft woolen tunic underscored the feeling I’d been having all day of being home at last after a long stay on the moon. I stood still as Kayt circled me, adjusting my tapes here and there, making sure everything lay smooth.

“Acceptable.” Efa declared from the other side of the room. “Captain Aster and Maeve will be on duty tonight. You may help them with their hair and anything else they need. I’ll take over from here.”

“She reminds me of you at that age.” I commented as Efa approached me with the pale gold foundation skirt she’d picked out of the copious pile of luggage.

“Don’t insult the girl. I wasn’t allowed anywhere near an adult’s toilette until I was in my twenties.” Efa popped the skirt over my head. It was narrower than I remember the fashion being, floor length and high waisted with a panel of pleats in the back cinched in with a broach behind the knees. The top was a sort of peacock colored slub knit sweater belted with a silk scarf that tied in the front and fell down to my knees a pleasing fan of blue and gold.

“Is this a new fashion?” I asked.

Efa mm-hmmed at me as she adjusted the waistband up my torso until the hem of the skirts fell down straight to the ground and the hem no longer creased on the floor. “It’s influence from the Water people. Lady Catherine hosted three of the Triton’s daughters for the summer and they brought a seamstress with them. Kayt!” She barked over her shoulder. “Make a note for me to take up the gold silk tweed. It’s too long.”

I frowned. “What do you mean ‘too long?’” I asked because I didn’t see any reason to alter my mother’s wardrobe and was shushed. Efa’s attention was on picking out jewelry and that could be a landmine in dwarven fashion so I stayed shushed. The line between the statements ‘I didn’t see a point in dressing up’ and ‘I’m deliberately outdressing you’ rested on the edge of a knife and I didn’t care to fall on either side of it.

For once, my hair was the shortest part of getting ready. We didn’t have time to redo my braids, which had become a frizzy mess as predicted so Efa pinned them around my head and wrapped them up under a gold scarf tied to look like a flower at the base of my neck. After a moment’s thought, she pinned a lapis lazuli brooch to the scarf where it would rest against my forehead. We were just finishing up with enough makeup to make it look like I’d had a full night’s sleep when a page arrived to take me to formal supper.

An informal meal for the rest of my household waited on a swaddled cart in the corridor. The last time I’d been to the Keep I’d been one of the people eating in the apartment while my parents attended the big dinner downstairs. I couldn’t tell if that past me was excited or terrified.

Ylem’s feasting hall was one level down from the apartments for visiting dignitaries and smelled a bit like a sauna due to its proximity to the kitchens. Dwarves didn’t have social castes exactly, but only Ylem’s family and the uppermost echelon of artists, entertainers, and civil servants were invited to the Prince’s feast table. Everyone else ate at the Guild Halls or in public eateries. Dwarves rarely cooked or ate in their homes; only if someone was disabled, ill, recovering from illness, or in mourning, really. Even then those dwarves would receive meal service carts like the ones provided to visiting dignitaries. They considered cookery a craft just like blacksmithing, woodcarving, and weaving thus it was left to trained professionals unless there was no other option.

I entered the Hall flanked by my guards, who were resplendent in formal dark grey uniforms with gold pauldrons displaying the Clan crest and ornate blue aiguillettes draped over their arms and pinned to their chests. Kayt’s touch could be seen in Maeve’s elaborate braided crest and the faint touch of makeup enhancing the tattoos on the shaved sides of her head. Aster’s hair was slicked back and she’d exchanged her headband for a more formal gold demi-mask that covered her forehead and cheeks. A matching captain’s stripe had been painted over the mask where it covered the one on her face.

The table itself stretched out further than my ability to see; a dazzling arrangement of fairy lights and covered trays. I didn’t even pretend to know where I should sit and let the page guide me as was correct and respectful among the dwarves. I ended up fairly close to Ylem himself --in that I could see him, but there was a solid barrier of courtiers and family members between us.

He must have been worried that I’d try to talk business during the meal. Even my father forgot that one on occasion, but fat chance of that happening tonight. My appetite had woken up and I wasn’t going to be much good for conversation until I’d gotten some food into me. I hadn’t eaten anything so far that day except half a ready-made salad, some peanut butter, and Kayt’s crackers.

Maeve went to sit against the wall. Aster stood behind my chair and pushed me in. I looked over my shoulder, suddenly blank on one particular point of etiquette. I couldn’t remember when my guards ate during official functions. “Are you and Maeve going to be alright? This could take a while.”

“We ate from the supplies while you were asleep.” She replied, just as quiet. “We’ll rotate; a quarter hour on and a quarter hour off. I’ll touch your shoulder when we change.”

“Thank you.” I breathed out my relief. That did make sense. Their presence was largely a statement, but if I did need their help then they shouldn’t be footsore and stiff from having stood at attention for two hours.

Aster hmmed thoughtfully. “There’s an unhappy face a quarter turn to your right.”

I looked and about two thirds of the way down the table, well out of Ylem’s sight, was Markham, Amos, and Angie. The others likely had a dinner cart of their own. Angie had no attention to spare for me. She was at a faerie kingdom feast and nothing was about to harsh her buzz. Neither did Markham, who seemed unconcerned by the potential slight of being seated below his former intern. Instead he was making a leisurely examination of the length and breadth of the hall. I couldn’t blame him.

Ylem spared no effort to impress. The cups were made of faceted crystal set in gold filigree. The porcelain plates were so thin you could see light through them, but I knew from experience that something about the glaze made them so sturdy that they’d dent the table if you dropped one. The utensils weren’t too alien for a human either. We all had a knife and a sort of teardrop-shaped spoon that served as a very upmarket spork.

Amos was on the far side of Angie. I was surprised to see him at the table at all. He was technically support staff, but office scuttlebutt had it that Markham was very dependent on his aide. It might not have even occurred to him to leave Amos behind.

He wasn’t quite staring at me, but his face was turned in my direction. I met his gaze, smiled, and turned away to face the dwarf seated next to me, who turned out to be Ylem’s poet laureate and we spent the rest of the meal discussing forms of verse. The food arrived as I was inexpertly trying to explain beatboxing and the conversation rolled to a natural pause.

Dwarven cuisine was an experience like no other. They did not eat grains or red meat. Fungus played a major role in their diet, supplemented by root vegetables and blind eels that lived in underground lakes below most Dwarven settlements. They had begun to import preserved fruit, dried fish, potted fowl, and spices in recent years as luxury goods. A great deal of it all made appearances at Ylem’s table.

Aster kept up a quiet report on what the other humans were doing, which was not very much as they wrestled with unfamiliar cutlery and learned the hard way that the courses changed at the Prince’s whim.

Markham learned fast to watch the head of the table with one eye to see how quickly the people there were eating. Angie and Amos took their cue from him. Fortunately for the newcomers, Ylem was in a mood to linger over his food and they only lost their plates before they finished once or twice.

Maeve and Aster swapped places just as the last dishes were being cleared away and the evening’s entertainment began. Three balladeers sang a sweet chorus about the less sweet adventures of a young elven huntress, the beautiful young people she hunted, and the one elf maid who hunted her in turn before catching her for good. Then there were jugglers and acrobats.

The evening closed with a display of illusions put on by the graduating class of a nearby school of grammary; the sort of elementary level magic you learned before specializing as a mage. Not all the children were dwarves, either. Like the elves, dwarves often accepted members of other races into their community so long as they could integrate and thrive there. A small goblin boy presented all the ladies at the head table with delicate flowers made of illusory ice crystals that dissolved into a puff of butterflies when he bowed.

I was still chatting with Toka, the poet, this time about the differences between musical theater and dwarven opera when Amos approached me. Toka paused in the middle of a question with a concerned look on his face and I turned just enough to see Amos rounding the corner of our table. His expression, even in that brief glance, was mulish.

It was bad manners by anyone’s account, but especially by the dwarves’. Mealtimes were not for business. The correct, if not particularly pleasant, thing to do would have been to send a page to request a meeting after the meal had ended.

Amos knew that because my clan’s mistress of ceremony had crossed over to do a series of seminars on the subject. They’d mostly focused on elven traditions, but she’d done a general overview on basic manners among different species of the world. She’d crashed at my place. I hadn’t been invited to the seminars, but at the time I hadn’t thought it was too weird. I already knew the thorny ins and outs of interspecies etiquette and there was nothing worse than taking a class alongside someone who already knew all the answers.

Through sheer happenstance I also noticed Ylem watching us both with a look of intense curiosity and realized that he wasn’t just evaluating the new humans. He wanted to know what behavior I'd tolerate from them.

There was a moment where I felt suspended in mid-air with deep chasms yawning open to either side of me; home and my family on one side, my ancestry -alien even to me- on the other. Then I realized it wasn’t a choice. I’d agreed to do a task for my father. I was in Ravnvaldr to represent my family and that horrible feeling of being torn down the middle drifted away.

I turned to look at Maeve, tilted my head at the incoming problem, and shook my head. She folded her hands in acknowledgement and tried not to smile.

Toka blinked as I pointedly returned my attention to him just as Amos reached us. Maeve stepped into his path and became, for all intents and purposes, a brick wall. He tried to duck around her and was gently, but firmly redirected.

Conversation dipped as my fellow diners turned to watch the scene. I noticed Angie was up out of her chair and hurrying over. Her narrow-eyed attention, however, was all on Amos. She caught him before Aster decided to intervene and said something in his ear that brought him to heel. I did not watch her herd him back to their side of the table.

“You were about to tell me about heraldic verse?” I prompted Toka as he looked back and forth between me and the dire expression on Angie’s face.

“Yes, of course, Lady Harou. Where was I…” Toka’s gaze dipped in thought before he brightened. “I was actually going to ask you about this play a distant acquaintance of mine was able to see during a trip across the veil. ‘Hamilton’, I think it was called? Does that troupe travel? Do you think they might be willing to come here?”

Aster and Maeve bracketed me like large, disapproving chaperones all the way back to the rooms, but Amos didn’t try to make contact again. Angie either had him in hand or he’d remembered his company manners. My money was on the first option. I hadn’t forgotten that nasty smile he’d sent my way as security dragged me off. People like him didn’t change easily.

Efa had the apartment in order when we arrived. Kayt got me undressed, washed, my hair up in a silk cap, and the rest of me in warm lounge clothes before I quite knew what had happened. I lowered myself into a soft cushion with bone-deep exhaustion and gratitude. I’d been in emergency mode for over a day and I was glad to finally let go.

Larkspur kicked another cushion over to my side and perched on it with rather more grace than I’d managed. I was surprised when she reached out to feel my face. I was less surprised when her hand lit up with a warm honey-colored glow and the ache in my muscles started to ebb. I also lost the pleasant drowsiness I’d been nursing since we’d left the feasting hall. It would be harder to sleep now.

Well, of course it wasn’t time to sleep yet. There was still work to do.

“Thank you.” I sat up and rolled my shoulders.

Larkspur nodded and held up her writing case. I hadn’t noticed it in the folds of her robes. It looked incongruous against a mage’s finery; plain, black, and scored with ancient dings and scratches. It looked like something a scribe would carry. It looked like something a scribe had carried. “Do you need to make any notes?”

I nodded because I did and the idea of re-acquiring the knack of writing with a stylus made my head hurt in anticipation. “Are you sure? It would be a waste of your skills.”

She allowed a small smile to cross her face, there and gone like a cloud passing over the moon. “I don’t think so. I was a clerk before my gift woke.” She looked distant and then returned to the present with a rapid blink. “Sometimes I miss the work.”

I smiled. “Then let me cure you.”

We spent the next hour going over the evening. There was more to that modest case than met the eye. The pen transcribed everything we said then blotted the pages and filed them in a separate case on its own. Larkspur herself was more mentor than secretary because she had no compunction about asking clarifying questions. What did I think about Ylem’s actions? What were his possible motives? What were the power dynamics in play during dinner? What did I think Amos wanted to talk about? Was I sure?

She made me think and think hard. I think I came away with more questions than I answered, but that was good and the entire point of the exercise.

It meant I’d be thinking about those questions later when I’d have a chance of getting those answers.