Argrave shut the door to their room, taking a breath before turning around. The rolled-up piece of paper that had been delivered to them sat in the center of a table, each of them hovering about it as though it was something dangerous that needed to be watched.

After glancing between his two companions, who remained silent, he stepped up to the paper. He removed the purple sash, unrolling the paper gingerly with his gloves. He read through it.

“Huh.” He lowered it. “It really is just an invitation. Thought there’d be more, maybe. Secret message, a death threat, something…”

“Do you know the sender?” Anneliese asked.

“Sure,” Argrave nodded. He placed one hand to his chin as he recounted, “This Mistress Tatia is a mage, relatively stable and pacific, yet quite… detached and inhuman.” Argrave looked up and added, “Just like most of the Vessels, come to think of it.”

“And her rank?” Anneliese pressed further.

“Not applicable,” Argrave shook his head. “Their source of power isn’t magic. They’re associated with Fellhorn. ‘Vessel’ isn’t a metaphor—they’re conduits for Fellhorn’s aspects. They’re capable of taking and expunging waters in oceanic proportions, and with far more freedom than most magic offers. Each Vessel is an oasis in and of themselves, each with variable capacities.”

“Then perhaps mage is not the best term,” Anneliese posited.

Galamon held out a hand. “All that matters—we can refuse this without consequence?”

“I mean… reasonably, yes,” Argrave said, holding his hands out. “But we wouldn’t earn any friends. If I learned anything from Jast, having Elaine as an ally was helpful in ways I hadn’t even predicted. And with the sandstorm, traveling is impossible anyway.”

Galamon crossed his arms, looking completely neutral at the prospect. Anneliese, though, shook her head.

“Provided there are no ulterior motives, no other forces at work…” Anneliese looked to Argrave, who confirmed this with a relatively confident nod. “If there are no others involved, we were clearly invited as a spectacle—a passing amusement, just as we were for most of the people in this… Delphasium.”

“Is that really problematic?” Argrave questioned. “I can trust that they won’t force us to do anything: Mistress Tatia won’t do anything to threaten her peace. A few laughs, a few jeers… and it isn’t as though we can’t embarrass them in turn.”

Anneliese crossed her arms. “I know what I saw. And those that this Mistress Tatia thinks less of are sitting outside the walls, no food or drink.”

Argrave nodded. “I see your point. But… harsh as it is to say, those people refuse to bend… and so they break.” Argrave held his hands out as though it were a pity and shook his head. “I’m willing to be flexible to get what I need—I’ll work in the system instead of struggling to exist without it. So, unless either of you two disagree, I think we have no reason to refuse.”

Both stood around, considering his words without making any final decisions.

“Come now,” Argrave encouraged. “We have little else to do besides wait out the storm, reading books. We’ll have plenty of that to do in the times leading up to the feast, and plenty more to do after.”

“Okay,” Anneliese nodded, and Galamon soon joined her in the gesture.

“Then it’s settled. Let’s—"

“And what of me?” Garm asked. “You don’t intend to bring me with, I hope.”

Argrave looked down at him. “That’s a good point.”

“You’d forgotten about me,” Garm accused.

“No,” Argrave insisted, lying. “I just think that you would be best suited to staying here, watching over our things.”

Garm closed his eyes. “I… could you make it so I can see outside, at least?” he looked up at Argrave. “I do not wish to endure the monotony of staring at a wall, or a cloth blanket, for hours unending. Let me see people.”

He seemed pitiable in that moment, and so Argrave nodded.

#####

Argrave had cleaned up his black leather gear as best he could, and the three of them walked to the palatial estate of Mistress Tatia. The rest of the city was quite decadent and grand, like a pearl amidst the desert, yet her estate was doubly so—giant, made of marble, and with a grand tower looming behind it, standing as a beacon for travelers. Its fence and gate were made of gold, it seemed, though perhaps it was a cheaper metal made in imitation. Argrave was no expert.

The city of Delphasium looked especially beautiful in the night. The moonlight reflected off the marble walkways, giving one the impression they were walking on resplendent pearls. It was a little chilly, but Argrave’s leather more than sufficed for heat.

“Where do they get all of this rock?” Anneliese questioned.

The question caught Argrave off guard. “I don’t… it’s imported, if I remember right, from quarries further south. More tributaries to the Vessels, I suppose.”

“Quite an ordeal, to haul rocks across the desert,” she noted.

“Anything for a drink, I guess,” Argrave looked around.

Anneliese crossed her arms. “I worry for Garm, sometimes.”

“What?” Argrave said at once, incredulously. “Why? Worried someone will break in? That… could be a problem, certainly…”

“No, not in that way.” She waved her hand at him. “He acts like he has come to terms with what has happened to him, but I do not believe he has,” she mused, walking towards the gates.

“He hides it pretty well, then,” Argrave commented cynically.

“He was crying,” Galamon cut in.

Argrave turned to look at him. “When?”

Galamon did not look from the gate ahead as he said, “When you two were enjoying the food this morning. Goat meat, I think it was.”

Argrave could not help but widen his eyes in surprise, while Anneliese nodded, her point affirmed.

“Good lord. That is pretty depressing,” Argrave admitted.

“You wish to speak of winning allies…” Anneliese looked at Argrave, shrugging. “Garm would be a good place to start.”

Argrave pointed a finger at her. “He refused, even after we were amply honest with him. He’s made his position on this matter very clear—if he’s going to do anything to help us, he has to receive something in return.”

“I do not know you to take things personally like that,” Anneliese refuted. “And I cannot think that, alone, is why you dislike him. It takes much for you to dislike someone. The Sentinels are the only I can think of.”

“Dislike him?” Argrave repeated. “Why would you…” he trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. “Well, fine. Sure. I don’t exactly trust that he has my back. You both can’t deny he doesn’t exude trustworthiness. If he had legs, I’m sure he’d already have scurried off elsewhere.”

Neither responded to that, and they came ever closer to the gate of Mistress Tatia’s estate. Argrave stepped ahead, stopping them both.

“Why do you think I dislike him, then?” he asked Anneliese.

She seemed hesitant to answer. After Argrave’s unflinching gaze, she eventually relented, saying, “Two reasons. One—you have told us you know absolutely nothing about him, and that disquiets you. Two—you see yourself reflected in him.”

Argrave’s mouth fell open for a moment, then he laughed. “What, we’ve got a long, thin stick where there should be a body?” Argrave questioned. “What do you mean by that, exactly? What do the two of us have in common? He and Galamon have more in common—they both watch other people eat, unable to do so themselves. As for the crying…” Argrave trailed off, catching a fierce glare from Galamon.

Anneliese continued, saying, “Just as you, he awoke in a world familiar to him, yet entirely unfamiliar to him, with limited capabilities coupled with an array of useful, even unique knowledge. The situations are different, yet similar. Certainly enough to draw comparison,” she gestured towards Argrave, imploring him to consider what she said.

Argrave bit his lips, trying to think of something to say in retaliation. He paused, brows furrowing.

Huh. I’m not trying to consider her point, just trying to think of something to retaliate with.

That alone was evidence enough that she might have a point, and so Argrave lowered his head, rubbing his forehead bitterly. “Hell of a bomb to drop on me just before we enter a place where I have to use my head.”

She laughed lightly. “That… is a good point. I apologize. I simply felt it needed to be said.” She lowered her head to lock eyes with him and then continued mischievously, “Besides, I have found that you work well in stressful situations.”

“That right?” Argrave lifted his head back up and smiled. “Well, I’m also good at refusing to think about things. I’ll just hide away this uncomfortable realization for now.” He turned on his heel, walking towards Mistress Tatia’s palace.

Anneliese smiled and followed behind. Galamon paused for a moment, watching the two of them. He shook his head and moved to catch up.

They came to the presently open golden gates, where two guardsmen waited. Argrave had expected to be stopped, but the people standing there gave them nods.

“The Mistress told us to expect you. Please—enter. You are expected,” the guard gestured politely.

“Should I hold onto this?” Argrave held out the paper he’d been given.

“Ah, yes. I had forgotten.” The guard took it from his hands. “Enjoy.”

Argrave nodded and stepped into the Mistress’ estate. Though the entire city of Delphasium was not lacking for decadence, this place seemed to be a state beyond. The lit lamps were made of gold, and the walkways were all adorned with vivacious and green life, thriving and beautiful. Purple cloth hung from windows and pillars, though they bore no banner.

Their party continued on slowly. Argrave found it a little difficult to appreciate the scenery, considering what he had seen outside the walls of Delphasium. He saw a few white-robed people walking about, though there was something off about their skin—Argrave recognized them as Vessels, though he could not get a sufficient glimpse to judge their appearance fully. Evidently Galamon had, for his eyes followed them as they passed.

“They smell of… nothing,” he said in concern.

“They probably smell like water,” Argrave commentated quietly. “These people wouldn’t have any of the functions to generate the smells—no oils, no sweats, no tears. They’ve transcended a physical form.”

Galamon looked back, gesturing for Argrave to continue. They carried on, heading towards an open entryway, where purple cloth fell down. People pushed it aside and moved to and from. As they neared, the sounds of revelry started to become apparent.

“About… thirty or so,” Galamon spoke to Argrave.

“Manageable, I think,” Argrave nodded. “Remember what I said earlier. Allow no one to touch your skin,” Argrave warned, stepping forth to push aside the purple cloth serving as the doorway.