The night before in their private quarters, Barathiel handed Ellie a redwood case. She opened it, and with a quizzical look on her face, she held up a brass ring with a twisting design.

"There are two long strands of hair in here as well. One black, one platinum. You have such tiny nimble hands I want you to twist them along the ridge of that brass ring and bind them. After the deed is done, I'll clamp it to Milborne's claw and send it to Tareth."

Ellie frowned at the mention of his father. He rubbed his wife's very much pregnant stomach.

"He is the one for whom Rozzenblunde gave an audience. My hands are tied in this."

When Rozzenblunde asked his father what favor she could give in return for the services he had as a ranked member of Obisvyrre in good standing rendered in her name, his old man pleaded for the return of his sister's body.

The goddess, Tereth told him, smiled, and said, "Oh, but sieur, I can give you that and so much more."

"I suppose, what is right is what is right, and the Primrose Lady will never settle for anything less. Just so long as it is soon over," Ellie concurred, "and we can get on with our lives."

"And everything is made right?"

Her nose rankled and her chin tightened as if there was something Ellie wanted to say but decided against vocalizing.

"Yes."

There was too much he had to hold back from even his own wife, the woman he grew to love and revere even more with each passing year together.

As her fingers did artistic justice to the twines of hair, he kissed her and held her tight.

On the Neverspora side of the bridge, two riders approached. After a moment of appraisal, Barathiel was certain it was the captain of the palace guard, Bierdé and Leresai in the guise of an elven spearmaiden. His pulse quickened, and his focus returned. He felt damn near sober.

"Get up," Renua commanded as he now stood behind the Ninci man. "It is time for us to leave."

"Leave?" Barathiel protested throwing up his hands in defiant flabbergast. "They have just arrived!"

"You do not want to be anywhere near here when these events unfold."

Barathiel continued his protest.

"I'm supposed to meet with the captain right here after he escorts her to the entrance door."

"Don't concern yourself with the captain. He'll do his part, and if caught and tortured, he won't reveal yours."

"We've been planning this course of events -,"

"- for nearly a hundred years in my case," interrupted Renua. Who then prodded Barathiel with his staff. "Let events unfold as they may. They will anyway. In the meantime, we have a wyvern to kill and a castle in the swampland to restore."

Barathiel stood, gathered the brandy bottles, perplexed, but he began to follow as Renua made his way past the mausoleum and down the other side of the hill. Away from the palace and onto a glade path.

"There is a ranger station nearby with equipment you'll need."

"You really want me to kill that wyvern?"

"Yes," Renua affirmed. "You're now on a hero's quest, young Salugarr. One much more fitting to your station in life and your social disposition than this sordid cloak and dagger nastiness your father got you up to the deep end in."

"You, sieur Lyoneid, play a large part as to why I am in that society."

"Not really. I am merely guiding your path along a more rational course of action.

"To what purpose," Barathiel challenged.

Rena stopped and snapped a wild raspberry from a vine and ate it. He plucked another. His eyes were lively when he turned to answer.

"For tomorrow morning when you return to this palace, you will be greeted as a hero."

With a mischievous chuckle, Renua continued along the path.