“What, precisely, do you experience when you use the bronze jewelry? I have heard you use the word ‘see.’ Is it similar to sight, or wholly different?” Anneliese asked Elenore.

Elenore observed the simply dressed snow elf across from her. Anneliese, just as Argrave, wore exotic, hardy gray leathers with protective enchantments along all its length—duster, pants, and shirt all. They had another black set of lighter make designed for travel in the Burnt Desert. Allegedly, the fact they matched was coincidental—Elenore wasn’t so sure.

The woman was rather like an unending river of questions. Upon examining the ostentatious, puffy way in which the people of Relize dressed, she had questioned Elenore of how such a thing came to be. She inquired about construction, ship craftsmanship in Vasquer, the size of the sea Relize neighbored, and now it had come to Elenore. Anneliese asked her questions with an open-minded curiosity that came without judgement, so it was difficult to brush them off.

“You may understand it as a sphere of perception around me,” Elenore described briefly.

She was not averse to answering questions—there was some time before the meeting with the Dandalan would come. They waited within the warehouse a fair distance from the meeting place in a private area so as to talk without fear of distraction. They had been amply cautious in setting this up, and now they merely needed to wait. Elenore wished to be able to receive firsthand reports from Anneliese as she observed things… among some other motives.

“I recall you mentioning being able to observe something hidden within a box without opening it,” Anneliese continued, amber eyes veritably glowing.

Elenore nodded.

The elven woman leaned a bit closer. “Does this extend past protective enchantments? Safes, vault, et cetera? Could you view inside those chests you brought to the warehouse, for instance?”

“Magic interferes, but does not block entirely,” Elenore shook her head.

“Can you perceive my insides? What I have in my pockets?”

Elenore crossed her arms. “Yes, I can. Why did you not try these things out when Argrave had possession of them?”

Anneliese leaned back against the warehouse’s wall, bringing one hand to her long white hair. Elenore observed her fingers move very adroitly, forming a braid. “I wish I had.”

Much of Elenore’s focus was devoted to Anneliese’s fingers as she braided. It was so practiced as to be habitual—Anneliese seemed capable of doing it in her sleep.

“You watch me braid, no?” Anneliese cut in.

Elenore, surprised, cocked her head back. “I… I was, yes.”

“I knew it,” she smiled, pleased with herself. “Even despite your unusual manner of sight—if it can even be called so—the face retains certain habits.”

Elenore didn’t know what to make of that, but she found herself smiling back. After a time, she found her own curiosity rising. “Why do you keep your hair long? It must be a hindrance.”

“Argrave likes it,” she responded simply. “I do, too. But it’s impractical, I agree.”

“He asked you to keep it like that?” Elenore tilted her head.

“No. I merely know,” Anneliese shook her head.

Elenore took a deep breath and sighed, ruminating on things in silence. She had come to trust Argrave more than she thought herself capable, yet the fact remained it felt like there was still a certain distance between him and his inner circle.

“I tried to kill Argrave the first time we met,” Anneliese spoke.

Elenore came to attention, feeling like her mind had been read.

“You looked disheartened, so I thought I might share something,” Anneliese continued. “We were enemies on the battlefield. I could tell at once something was amiss—he felt no hostility towards me. He recognized who I was. He wished desperately for peace. Nevertheless, I fired a spell at him with the intent to kill. Fortunately, he is quite skilled at fighting with magic.”

Elenore grew silent. Anneliese put her finger atop the braid she’d made—it was two feet long, by this point—and unwound it all with a whisk of her finger.

“Did you… think about it? Does it haunt you?” Elenore asked.

“Yes. I brought it up with him. He had forgotten it,” Anneliese laughed.

Elenore laughed too—that was the last conclusion to things she thought she’d hear.

“He’s forgiving?” she pressed. “Has he ever… been betrayed, or at least felt betrayed?”

“Certainly. Durran’s presence was… not without its issues. I would like to tell you of it sometimes,” Anneliese continued. “Not just that—Veiden, the Patriarchate, everything.”

Elenore was puzzled, and she rubbed her hands together. “Why? Is there something I should know? I received reports of Veiden military strength from Melanie herself—I know well the threat your people pose.”

“I hope for a confidant. A friend,” Anneliese smiled. “As much as I enjoy those I travel with, it is difficult at times to be the sole woman in a party of four. There are fundamental differences between us that are difficult to bridge.”

Raising a brow, Elenore gave a slow and steady nod. “I imagine so.”

“I am glad of it,” Anneliese clapped her hands together.

“But let’s not forget the reason we came here in the first place,” Elenore waved her hand to caution Anneliese. “This meeting with the Dandalans is important.”

#####

Melanie strode through an open door, passing by a servant who gave her a light curtsy. Anneliese thought the mercenary looked a lot smaller without the gargantuan sword she carried around. Anneliese viewed the scene from atop the mercenary’s wide-brimmed hat, camouflaging her golden Starsparrow amidst golden plumes on the red hat.

The man waiting beyond the door looked to be quite old for human standards—if Anneliese were to guess, sixty, with a long white beard to match. The brim of his blue hat was remarkably even wider than Melanie’s. He wore flamboyant clothes that puffed up on the sleeves and pants, varied red and blue stripes running along the lengths. His cuffs were frilly bolts of white, and he bore a rich-looking ermine collar. A black half-cloak covered one of his arms, bearing the six silver stars in a circle connected by a chain that was the symbol of the Dandalans.

Melanie came to stand opposite the Dandalan man, who himself stood just before a table. Chairs awaited them both.

“I have agreed to meet with the full knowledge of my family,” the man began, “Though I cannot speak on behalf of my father, Leopold, I can convey whatever message you wish to get to him.”

Anneliese directed her Starsparrow to lightly peck Melanie’s head, signaling the woman to continue.

“No trap awaits?” the mercenary pressed.

“None whatsoever,” he said with an indignant harrumph.

Anneliese bid Melanie continue once again.

“Well, do you have a name?” Melanie said, sitting down abruptly.

“I am the twenty-seventh son of my father, Ansgar,” the man flourished his hat somewhat.

Melanie placed one hand on the table, leaning back into the cushioned seat casually. “Whole thing is a bit long. I’ll call you Ansgar. You can call me Melanie.”

Anneliese could tell Ansgar was actually amused, but he hid that fact very well—an experienced actor. He pulled back his seat elegantly and sat in one fluent motion. He stared Melanie down, making all of his actions deliberately slow. It took him near half a minute to settle in, his hands entwined before him on the table. Melanie remained unflappable.

“My father is a very busy man, miss Melanie. As the years pass him by, he delegates many of his business ventures over to the hands of his children—that is to say, myself and my siblings.” Ansgar inhaled and let a silence hang. “Though I must note miss Melanie fits in rather well around here, it has not escaped our attention that you come with many people foreign to Relize.”

Melanie reached down, and Ansgar followed her hands. She pulled out a piece of paper and slid it across the table, then set down a hefty bag atop it.

“Bribe. Message to Leopold. Don’t bother wringing us for more,” Melanie said at once. “Don’t know why I sat down, frankly. Any questions?”

Ansgar eyed the two things placed before him, then looked back up to Melanie. A smile slowly split his stoic expression.

#####

“Always knew there was a reason I kept this,” Argrave said proudly, running his fingers along the golden fur that lined his collar.

These were the black and gold fine clothes he’d had tailored at Jast to attend the banquet. That banquet had probably gone the best out of everything he’d ever tried to do. He might as well call them his lucky clothes. Then again, it was like flipping a coin once and declaring it his lucky coin.

“There’s a hole in them.” Elenore reached forward and put her finger in it to demonstrate her point.

Argrave looked down, baffled. “How in the…? How could this happen?”

“Probably the fighting, the mountain-climbing, the desert-crossing, the swamp-wading…” Durran commented off to the side. “Take your pick.”

“Just let me have something tailored for you,” Elenore crossed her arms and sighed.

Argrave put a hand to his forehead. “Those puffy shirts and frilly collars here in Relize look ridiculous… this, this here is classy,” Argrave grabbed at his collar. “Well, whatever. At the very least, I get to see Anneliese in something nice.”

Anneliese shook her head as Elenore asked, “I had no idea you cared so much about this nonsense.” She shook her head and continued, “Anyway, I have some news. Levin is having a coronation. Invitations are already heading everywhere across the region of Atrus, so it’s not exactly hard to discover.”

Argrave frowned. “Seems he’s serious about this.”

“Thinking more on it… I think he wants to negotiate. Thus far, his intent is to disentangle Atrus from the battle between Parbon and Vasquer. It would line up with his character.” Elenore rubbed her hands together to warm them up. “Despite everything, he’s never one to want to lead.”

“Negotiate,” Argrave repeated. Some thoughts bubbled up. “And what are your thoughts on that?”

“It’s a good thing. It minimizes Felipe,” she said objectively. “Apparently, a great deal of Felipe’s core guard, ones I thought utter Vasquer loyalists, defected to Atrus. The king himself has remained silent, saying nothing… to the public, at least.”

“And you don’t…” Argrave began, choosing his words.

“No. I have no compunctions,” Elenore shook her head decisively. “I’ll admit, remaining at Vasquer wasn’t necessarily a bad move… but against Gerechtigkeit, it’s more compassionate to be dispassionate. I didn’t get where I am being ruled by grudges. Going along with Levin, provided he does intend to do as I think, is the best path for the future.”

Argrave swallowed, realizing that the point Anneliese had made became more cogent the more he pressed the issue.

“The first signs of spring are coming in the warmer south,” Elenore continued, unaware of Argrave’s thoughts. “The Margrave’s most steadfast allies march to a large war camp in the center of the south. The upper echelons have not yet declared support for you. They fear you have ties to foreigners. I imagine you had designs for this?”

Argrave took a deep breath. “I kept them ignorant because I didn’t want Relize to be compromised. So long as I can get a message to Elias, tell him my plans… that should sway. Regardless, even maintaining neutrality is good enough. Once our army takes the field, they’ll collaborate. Common enemies, all that nonsense. Doesn’t matter whether they support me now or when the war is done—I can make it happen.”

“I suppose so. Failing that, if Duke Sumner is… well, never mind. We still have to discuss your strategy,” Elenore reminded him, “But I’m worried about this present situation. This Leopold is a no-nonsense man, by all accounts. He’s… well, he’s also very old.”

“There’s a reason he’s lived this long,” Argrave assured her. “He’s wise. He’ll listen.”

“It seems you spend half your words convincing us we aren’t all going to fail miserably,” Elenore tilted her head, the words said in sarcasm.

“Oh, I have my doubts,” Argrave shook head. “I just never voice them.”