Nikolas had dreaded hearing another vely song, but to his surprise, none were sung in his presence. Perhaps it was Jaufre that convinced them, he was so insistent on that Lutenist story. Out of all the ones Nikolas knew, the Tsar Lutenist had to be the most unconvincing one. Mainly because it all centered on how a Tsarina — their names all blended together if you didn't care to learn— was captured in a war by an older and much more experienced Tsarina. The Tsar had then dressed as a lutenist to the old Tsarina's court and charmed her so that when she asked him what he wanted, he asked for a companion, who just so happened to be his wife. The part that followed was incomprehensible to Nikolas. For the Tsar had then travelled back with the Tsarina still under the disguise of a lutenist and she had not recognized him. Upon their return she had then accused him of forfeiting her and various adulterous acts. To which the Tsar had donned the outfit again to meet her and she had then asked him what he wanted, which was her, as he then took off his disguise.

"I don't get it," he had turned to Tino, shaking his head. "He could've told her who he was all along."

"Women," Tino had agreed.

How Tino had managed to convince Senice to let him laze about with Nikolas he didn't know. It wasn't every evening, but Tino came to nearly every recital that Faila and her troupe held. Sometimes he'd even bring sweets for her daughters and odds and ends for the troupe, always something they could use.

"I don't think it's women," Nikolas had insisted. "I think he could've just been honest. And she shouldn't have accused him of such things."

Why did they even get married in the first place? But that was one of those questions Brytha would deem 'rhetorical' and 'argumentative'. A story was just a story then, but this one was definitely not his favorite.

There was a part of him, a secretive, cobweb and spidery corner, that desperately wanted to hear Faila sing again. He knew Lianne, Felie, Ada and Richan were long... gone. But that night they had looked so real. They had sounded so alive. He dreaded seeing a real vely, and what hearing their song would do to him if this was just a glimpse of what he would see.

At least Erwing kept him occupied with drawing the scenery for the play Faila would hold. They didn't have all the colors, it would be expensive, but Erwing knew just the right combinations of crushed herbs and grit to bring out a dizzying array of reds, greens and blues. Seeing as Faila liked to do nature themed plays, it was enough. Nikolas expected to be disappointed, to see that he had no skill at painting either, but to his surprise he was decent. At least, Erwing declared that he was competent.

"That's high praise from Erl," said Jaufre, leaning in to watch Nikolas sweat and paint.

"I don't want your feathers on this," Nikolas pointed out irritably.

Jaufre laughed and deliberately ducked his head lower onto the cloth canvas.

Now that was another matter, Jaufre. The bard acted like an older brother, and Nikolas was not used to such things. He didn't want an older brother. He only had the one and no paltry feather hat could ever replace Richan. Yet every time he saw Jaufre it sent a twinge in his chest. The other man had confirmed that he was Richan's age.

"Unmarried!" Eldis had sniffed, rolling her eyes.

"How can I serenade just one woman?" Jaufre had shot back and quickly retreated from the towel she threw his way.

Richan would be Jaufre's age, Nikolas thought, casting glances at Jaufre from the corner of his eye. He would have been married and no doubt be one of the men taking their children to a play right now. He would have loved it, there was nothing Richan adored more than stories, and plays were just another kind of story. Unless he didn't like children's stories anymore and became someone like Aldeim, all closed off and cold. That too was wrong, from the bits and pieces that he gleaned from Faila, Aldeim was nothing of the sort.

"Are you done?"

"No!"

Jaufre squinted, turning his head this way and that, "I do believe you are. How green do you want this bush anyway? I'm giving my magnificent voice a rest, why don't you come with me to see the famed Griuflo?"

"Arl said he would show me where Griuflo lives."

"Erl refuses to see a doctor unless you've either knocked him out cold or broken both his ankles. Come along."

"What is the Camairan art?" Nikolas said, carefully putting the paints away even as Jaufre tutted impatiently. "What is it?"

The other man did offer to wash and put away the brushes, giving Nikolas the chance to properly hung the painted bush to dry.

"Come, come!" Jaufre waved his arms like a windmill. "Hurry up now, Griuflo's a busy man!"

Jaufre was prone to exaggeration so Nikolas decided to take as long as possible getting ready. He should be wearing a clean tunic, so he put that on, and made certain he didn't smell too badly of paint by using, to Jaufre's horror, a tiny bit of the perfume the bard hoarded.

"You wouldn't dare!"

"I just did," Nikolas said, grinning.

There was no malice to the words, and Jaufre offered Nikolas a hand down the wagon.

"You ever seen the Camairan?"

"No."

"Hm, you are not familiar with them? I thought you'd have surely gone with Tino—"

"I do not visit the seamstresses!"

"I never said so! You assumed!" Jaufre held out both hands, placatingly. "No I thought he was Camairan and he would show you where they were."

"I never asked," Nikolas said, and he rubbed his neck self-consciously.

All he knew was that Tino wanted to eat fruits, and they could only be found in the upper level of Prebovna. That was a rather poor excuse to not know a friend better, but when he was with Tino he didn't make the nice kind of talk to know people. He liked that. Maybe he needed a balance, Nikolas decided, next time Tino came to visit he would ask. Along with providing the Rytsar costume. That was capitalized because Ardich came along one day, not dressed in his uniform. It was tucked inside his bag though, so Nikolas had carefully traced out the pattern. A careful recreation of the drawing and some clever needle work and he would have a decent imitation that would pass the eye of any casual observer.

"If you finish painting, I think Faila could pay you ahead to go to the Feast of the Dragon Star," said Jaufre.

In Befeld they had simply called it the Midwinter Festival, but in Prebovna everything had sophistication and a name to match it. Nikolas already saw the signs of preparation for the festival. There were garlands being hung, the dragon statues with the jeweled eyes on each gate were polished to a shine and those who could afford it had little dragon statues of their own displayed. Not white though, no one would dare unveil an alabaster or marble bust of a white dragon.

The Llandrians greeted it with the same excitement as one would an opportunity to earn more coin by not taking a well deserved rest. The younger among them were more gleeful, because that meant sweets handed out to the children, and there were whispers that the Tsarina herself would appear in a dragon carriage.

"Is the feast worth going to?" said Nikolas, careful to not glance at the sapphire eyes of the white dragon as they passed under the gate.

"Nope," Jaufre said, popping his p's.

"What?"

"I never cared for it, it's not the songs I would normally sing."

"But you love singing!"

"Nikolas, from one man to another," Jaufre slung an arm around Nikolas's shoulders. "When you've got a talent for something you must cultivate it, like a flower, in just one particular direction to the sun. Any more and you've diluted things, the color's not the same."

"Singing is not like dyeing cloth," Nikolas said flatly but did not shake off Jaufre's arm.

"Right, but you see, I want to be a master at a particular song. I don't want to sing all the songs."

"So you're a canary."

"You wound me!" Jaufre held his free hand to his forehead. Then he said, in more serious tones, "But that is how a vely song works for people."

"What?" Nikolas exclaimed wide-eyed.

"They have years and years, multiple human lifetimes to perfect their songs. We only have the one. I do not wish to waste it chasing some paltry party song."

"Right," Nikolas said, barely concealing an eye roll. Sometimes Ardich's confidence knew no bounds.

They were descending towards the lower parts of Prebovna, and the change was instant. There was none of the fancy cobblestones, and the stench was overwhelming. He wrinkled his nose at the smell of sweat, dirt and waste. They had sewers here, in this part of the city, but no one bothered to maintain them. Here there were no clear signs of the festival soon to be held, except for a flimsy paper dragon hanging over the doors of merchants brave or broke enough to do business in this part of the city. The dragon statue that hung over the entry was eyeless, and looked as if something or someone had smashed it with a hammer. There was even a bird's nest on its neck.

"Best not dawdle," said Jaufre, and he took his arm down from Nikolas's shoulders to steer him with determination to a door painted in three stripes of alternating red and white. "Come along, or this place will eat you up, Nikolas."

"You asked if I've gone there!"

"I didn't see how you look until now! Just the face of innocence you are!" Jaufre gave the door a brisk knock and when it was opened, pushed Nikolas inside.

"Good morning," said the woman who opened the door.

She was as dark as Tino, and her hair fell in ringlets down her shoulders. There was a red cloth flower in her hair and as she gestured for them to sit down, the her earrings tinkled merrily.

"Good... morning," Nikolas said, breathlessly.

For some reason this caused Jaufre to bark out a laugh which turned into a cough when the woman turned his way. "We're here to see Griuflo, Ennadda," said Jaufre waving away her concern. "Nikolas here's got some talent!"

"Some talent?" Ennadda gave Jaufre, and then Nikolas a curious look.

"Erl said it."

At this she laughed, "How is Erl?"

"Alive."

Ennadda chuckled, and shook her head. The earrings chimed again, "Do tell him it was only done to see what was wrong with him."

"He doesn't see it that way."

"What is wrong with Erwing?" Nikolas demanded. The old man had always been healthy, if his zest for shouting was any indicator.

"He had a bad tumble is all, but the problem with a fall when you're..." she smiled, "ah, why do I stop, he's not here, when you're old is that all the parts in your body decided to scream out all at once their problems. So Jaufre and... Owell was it?" At Jaufre's nod Ennadda continued, "Owell took him over to us and Griuflo looked him over. It's the looking over that most people find unpleasant. Then he taught him some stretches to keep his muscles limber and Erl's all better now isn't he?"

"By looking over, you mean like a doctor?"

"Something like that," Ennadda nodded.

"He means to ask if that's the Camairan arts," said Jaufre, tapping his foot impatiently. "That's what Erl thinks he has a talent for, the Camairan arts."

"Is that so?" She had painted lines around her eyes, Ennadda, and they made them all the more bigger and wider as she looked incredulously at Nikolas. "I will wait and see what he makes of you then!"

Nikolas opened his mouth to say he didn't even know who or what Griuflo would do, or if he was even particularly good at it. Then he saw Jaufre furiously making a shushing gesture and swallowed his words.

"When is he coming back?" Nikolas said, and smiled his best imitation of Jaufre's face after bowing to a crowd.