While Father Garshom, Cat, and I labored all day to make the two adolescent wyverns their own amulets, Duke Sven, Prince Willam, and Cloud Eye spent their day trying to remove the hair bleach effect on red hair. A lock of Sven's hair was the sacrificial victim. Their best attempt turned it pink.

The three of them were huddled at a corner table in the meeting hall waiting for dinner. Father Garshom spotted their long faces as we entered the hall. Given his nature to want to heal all wounds and sorrows, he made a straight line for the dejected trio.

"The three of you look like your best friend just died," Garshom inserted himself on the bench next to Cloud Eye and across from Willam and Sven.

"We've been trying to come up with a way to undo the dye job on Andray's hair," Willam responded in a voice wreathed in failure.

"Why bother?" Father Garshom asked as I dragged over a bench so Cat could sit at the open head of the table.

"If we're going to drop in on the old nobility," Sven fidgetted with his mug of ale, "Andray's hair needs to be royal family red." He nodded to Cat as he sat down, "nephew, hope you had a more productive day than we had. Hey! Fuzzy! Get off the table! We have to eat here, you know." I laid down on the end of the table opposite my boy, who was trying not to laugh and failing.

* Make me a seat so I can sit at the table and talk, and I might consider it. * Being shaped like a cougar meant I didn't fit on most furniture made for two-footed upright creatures. It could be most annoying. Sven glared at me. I flicked my long tail up so the end whacked him across the shoulders.

"Children," Father Garshom growled in a voice so authoritative and threatening that we all felt like we were school kids caught in the act of some naughty misdeed. "That's better," he smiled with the smugness of a bishop about to dole out penance. I suspected he might have some experience with that.

"Hmm," the old priest stared at Cat's hair and then pointed a finger, "κερτμαχεν!" In the time it takes to inhale, Cat's hair turned back to its usual bright copper red, just like his uncle's hair. Garshom picked up a cloth napkin from off the table and started rubbing his finger with it.

"Your Most Revered Eminence," Sven shot Father Garshom a dubious frown, "just what are you doing?"

"Polishing up my finger," Garshom gave Sven a slightly annoyed glance as if Sven should know better than to ask. "You see, the next thing will be the removal of the ear point made with crepe latex and stuck on with spirit gum --- nasty stuff. Two magic uses in a row can be hard on a finger, so it helps to give it a good polishing between spells. And I'm not a bishop anymore, so you shouldn't use that honorific."

Cat had to hide his smile behind his hand. Sven looked disgusted. Willam and Cloud Eye both had their jaws hanging. I just shook my head. The good Father Garshom gets like this when he's showing off how good he is at creating one-word spells that actually work.

"αβλοεσεν!" Garshom pointed his finger and the pointy ear tip fell off Cat's right ear, bounced off Cat's shoulder, and dropped to the floor. He started to rub his finger some more with the napkin, "See? Didn't that work well?" He smiled, satisfied with his performance. I think the poor man doesn't get out enough.

"Now," Garshom inspected the top of his finger, frowned, and started rubbing again, "if Prince Andray will be meeting with supporters, he needs three proper mid-calf houppelandes and new thigh boots in, let's see, black, yellow, white and a light brown. We'll also need some jacquard linen chemises, some new braies, and some hosen fitted to both legs."

"Does he really need all that?" Sven asked, shaking his head.

"You never were very astute about presentation, son," Garshom served up an expression of long-suffering patience. "We're not dressing Cat Rider or your long lost nephew." The priest's expression shifted to one of utmost solemnity, "we're presenting the mage prince and future king of Nordweg, inventor of new spells of power and both the bane and the tamer of wyverns. You can't send a man like this out into the world in an unfitted wool overtunic and baggy hosen!"

Garshom studied Cat's head, "the hair is too short. Andray should have that fashionable new haircut of hair to the shoulders and bangs in front, like his brother." He pointed his finger, "φαχσεν!"

"Aaaar!" Cat's hair started growing out until his face was covered. He pulled the hair away from his face, "warn me when you're going to do something like that, Father. And I like it short. This is too long. It’s not practical."

"No, grooming matters," the old priest declared. "I'll need some light shears and will trim that mop of yours after dinner. Let me think. We'll need a new belt, narrow leather with gold plaques and one of those new fashionable pouches with the eating dagger sheath built sideways into the belt-hanger. It's a shame that we can't sneak the gold collar of the crown prince out of the palace," Garshom sighed, "because nothing says 'I'm the real thing' as well as a collar of estate."

"He can borrow my gold chain of leaves," Storm Eagle said as he walked up behind Cat. "He's my foster son, so he is entitled to wear one. We should replace the eagle pendant in the front with a wyvern, decorated with an emerald or peridot matched to the green of his eye."

"Emeralds, we have a pile of them," Queen Margo said as she caught up with the long-legged elf king. "We don't know what sorts of spies may be lurking in the city, since there are always a few human merchants around doing business in the souk, but I know our own crafters and artificers will be happy to come up to the palace to do fittings for Cat Rider. Oh, I'm sorry, for Prince Andray."

"Do I get to have any input about this?" Cat protested.

"No, son, you don't," King Storm Eagle commanded. "I probably let you run a little too freely around Elvenhome, in scuffed up elkskin tunics and worn out deerskin. That's fine for elves who live a little closer to the ground than many other races, but it's not the standard human princes should follow, at least inside a palace. Humans place great value on looks and presentation. You must dress the part of a puissant human prince if you want to succeed in rescuing your father and sister."

"That goes for Fuzzy too," Storm Eagle pointed at me. "We need to get you a new barding that says you're the companion of royalty."

I sat up, tilted my head, and gave Storm Eagle a put-upon look.

"I am willing to bribe your cooperation," the elf king grinned. "How about a flying carpet to share between the two of you," he pointed at me and Cat, "and lessons on flying one in the morning?"

Yep, that worked as an acceptable bribe.