Chapter 4: Death and Betrayal

The mansion glowed. Not only were there lanterns everywhere, but the owner had gone so far as to have magical lights summoned to the house’s window sills, bathing the whole structure in a swirling rainbow of ethereal hues. The large, round flower bed in the driveway seemed like one single pool of fire, made from hundreds of candles planted onto the frozen earth.

When we exited the coach, I could hear soft string music, wafting from the open doorway. And guarding said doorway were ... Minotaurs? No way! How could anyone ... Oh, wait. As we went closer, I could see that the guards flanking the double doors wore specially crafted helmets over brown tabards and bulky plate mails, making them look like the huge bull men. I tried to relax.

“I told you we were attending a masquerade, Gheeran,” Rokun murmured. “If anybody asks about your hideously deformed visage, tell them you had a mage alter your appearance for extra shock value. You’ll be a hit with the ladies.”

Then we had reached the guards and Rokun pulled two envelopes from his cloak.

“Duke Rokun and companion, from the Duchy of Sunleaf,” he announced. One guard took his envelopes and sliced them open with a talon from his glove, pulling out two elaborate pieces of parchment, gilded border and all.

“Welcome, sire, and have a wonderful night,” the guard said, nodding his horned helmet and handing back our invitations. Poor guy, his neck muscles had to be killing him.

“Oh, we will, thank you.” Rokun dragged me away.

“Sunleaf?” I asked. “Never heard of that.”

“No wonder. That particular elven duchy was destroyed almost two hundred years ago by a drow raid. Plus, it’s so far to the south, I doubt anyone would have noticed up here. Works every time.”

“How do you know?”

“My mother told me Father came from there,” Rokun said. “Let’s not dwell on the past. Here comes the herald.”

The “herald” looked like a rotting zombie, his skin a sickly green, his hair slicked back against his skull. What made this getup even more ridiculous than his exaggerated shuffling movements was the soil-encrusted livery he wore. When he was nearly in arm’s reach, the stench caught up with us and I had to fight not to retch. The graveyard stench was shocking, and most of all, authentic. Either he had his costume soaked with alchemicals, or he had asked a mage to disguise him like this. Both choices would have been horribly expensive. Thanks to Ya’tyrr, I knew a bit about alchemy and the prices for exotic components, and Belard, our resident magician, never tired of reminding us how taxing and expensive his spells were.

The zombie had reached us and smiled, his mouth a spectacular, rotting display of crooked teeth.

“Welcome. I trust the gents have their invitations on hand?” the zombie drawled.

Rokun handed him the papers.

“Oh, splendid. If the gents would be so kind and follow me?”

We did, walking down a long hallway, our steps throwing harsh echoes off the marble walls. Every few feet, the naked stone was decorated by a lavish painting, depicting this meadow or that forest glade. Eventually, the herald had reached the doors to the ballroom. Behind them, we could hear the murmur of a hundred voices and the soft singing of stringed instruments. With a flourish, the herald pushed the doors open and I forgot to breathe.

The ballroom was filled with a sea of creatures. Directly in front of us, a scantily-clad elven princess danced with a bare-chested Orc barbarian, his black hair woven into an arm-thick braid. Next to that, a drow priestess, wearing precious little apart from a sheer black cape and violet fabric wrapped around her breasts and hips, was swaying next to a pirate, his whole getup an ensemble of clashing colors and gaudy jewellery. There were fake elves and too-tall dwarves with their bulky armors and massive beards, dryads wrapped in cloaks made from leaves and satyrs with their horns askance from too much jumping around and all manner of fantastic man-beast variants.

Now I understood. Amidst all of these, Rokun and I were invisible; our costumes, gaudy as they were, were plain compared to some of the getups the other attendees were wearing.

“Duke Rokun of Sunleaf and companion!” the herald declared, thumping his staff to the polished marble floors. Some people turned our way and gave friendly or indifferent nods, before swaying away in the intricate motions of the dance. Rokun slapped my back.

“Have fun, my friend. And don’t forget: drama.” With that bit of advice, he dove into the sea of masks.

I took a deep breath. After living like a hermit for most of the last months, the mass of revellers was oppressive. Not caring if I stepped onto toes or if I jostled people, I pushed my way through the throng until I ended up at a long buffet where liveried and costumed servants were handing out drinks and snacks.

Even here at the buffet, it was much too crowded for my taste, with small clusters of revellers talking and laughing. I picked the least crowded spot. A robed waiter, his head made to look like a huge, purple octopus with eight tentacles where his mouth should be, handed me a long-stemmed wine flute and waved merrily.

To my left, a drunk dwarf, a real one, tried to gain the attention of a medusa. I nearly dropped my glass. For half a second, I thought Tissana was standing there, the illusion was that good. Only close scrutiny showed some spots where her body paint had flaked off. I breathed again and looked the other way.

To my right, two women were engaged in what sounded like a whispered argument. One of them had elaborate wings attached to the back of her silver-and-gold ball gown, her long blond hair made up in an intricate tower hairdo, with gem-studded hairpins keeping her locks in place. She appeared like the heavenly counterpart to Xanthul’ilia. I couldn’t see her face, but her voice was cold and harsh. And familiar! There was no doubt. I was looking at the Dunwall sisters!

So, the other one would be Moira, right? Up until now, I only knew her voice, and my fantasies regarding her couldn’t do her beauty justice. Moira was a redhead, her locks falling just past her shoulders. Where Keira had ample curves, both in the chest and ass regions, Moira’s body was gently rounded. She showed more than enough skin through a sheer green wraparound robe, with only a few strategically placed leaves and blooms for decency. On her head, she wore a circlet made from golden leaves, topped off with a beautiful emerald. To be honest, the gem was just a pale shadow when compared to her eyes. I felt my heart skip a beat as I looked at her, and seeing the pained expression on her delicate face hurt.

“You will ruin the reputation of our House,” the blond angel snarled. “You look like you dragged that costume out of the trash!”

“Sister, I’m supposed to be a wood nymph. If it were for me, I would wear even less ... jewellery!” the redhead hissed back, crossing her arms.

“You could have chosen a costume befitting a Lady of Dunwall. Everyone around here will think you a shameless harlot!”

“That’s coming from the right one. How went your ‘dinner’ with the envoys of Valcrest, Keira? I saw them doing you on the dinner table. Not the kind of reception they expected, no?”

Keira took a step backward and inhaled sharply. “Watch your tongue. You may be my sister, but right now, I’m still the head of our House, and I can very well marry you off to a dwarven prince and bury you in a stinking mineshaft once and for all.”

“You can very well try. Maybe I’ll find the man of my dreams tonight and he will take me away from you! I’m sick and tired of your abuse!” the redhead said, an open challenge in her voice.

The first heads were turning, since the younger Dunwall wasn’t exactly whispering any more. I sensed the perfect opportunity. Putting down the glass I had been holding on to, I swept in.

“Milady, care for a dance?” I asked. Moira’s head turned in my direction as she recognized my voice.

“No, she doesn’t!” Keira snarled. I turned to face her. Compared to Moira, her face was hard and angular, every hint of softness stripped away. A square chin didn’t make her any more inviting. Her eyes behind her gem-encrusted ball mask were icy blue, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if her skin were pitch black underneath a thin veneer of pink. She reminded me of home, and not in the good way.

The smile Moira Dunwall favored me with blew away those dark memories. Twirling away from her scowling sister, she threaded her hand into the nook of my elbow.

“Take me away from this hag,” she murmured.

“Moira Dunwall, you come back this instant!” Lady Keira snapped. More heads turned. It had been ages since I had danced, but Ya’tyrr often had compared combat with a dance. I pretended I was duelling with a dangerous enemy, and going by the way Moira smoothed her barely-clad body against mine, I was doing something right.

“My, what a surprise,” Moira whispered, her head on my shoulder, one hand caressing up and down my spine. “Nice to see you, Gheeran. But what are you doing here?”

“Honoring my promise,” I whispered back. My hand rested on the small of her back, and the flimsy piece of fabric did little to mask the warmth and softness of her body. “Shall I take you away from this place?”

“I wish you would,” she murmured. I nearly tripped over my feet when her hand squeezed my butt. “But I’m waiting for someone here.”

“And who might that be?” I asked her, letting my hand drift lower, caressing the firm flesh of her bum cheek. Instead of answering, she melted into me and nibbled on my neck. I almost forgot to move.

“Thank you for your timely arrival, Gheeran,” she eventually whispered, “One more moment, and I would have rammed my glass into her eyes.”

“Why are you always at each other’s throats” I asked while she did an elegant pirouette before hugging herself close to me again. I blushed under my mask, because I felt myself get hard.

A sad little laugh escaped her lips. “She’s jealous.”

I cocked my head. “That’s all?”

“Enough reason for her. The men looking for a good match are more interested in me than her.” Moira favoured me with a dazzling smile and ground her pelvis into me. “So are you, it seems.”

I chuckled softly as heat flushed my cheeks. “I’m sorry, M-”

Moira stopped me with a kiss to my lips. “Don’t be. I think you and I should find some privacy for that, though.” Her eyes sparkled in mirth. The little devil was enjoying herself! How should I go about warning her about the imminent assassination attempt? There was no doubt. If I wouldn’t kill her, Rokun would. Annoyed, I shook my head.

“What? Did I say something untoward?” Moira asked, concern in her eyes.

Again, I shook my head. “No, I harboured some dark thoughts. I’m sorry ... Moira.” I leaned in and claimed a kiss.

Sighing, Moira snaked both arms around my neck and playfully scratched through my hair. I held her close, one hand caressing her back under her shroud while our tongues danced. We heard appreciative murmurs around. When we broke our kiss, Moira beamed, the light from her eyes burning straight into my soul. Then she gently slid her hands along the sides of my face, lifting the mask. I held perfectly still. She already knew my face, the craters where my eyes once were. This time, I could see her reaction to me. There was no revulsion, no disgust, just a profound sadness etched on her face while her fingertips traced the scars around my eyes.

“I’m so sorry, Gheeran, “ she breathed, then she let the mask slip back into place. Using her hips, she guided our bodies back into the dance.

“Don’t be. You didn’t gouge them out, after all.”

Moira nodded, picking up speed as the music did. “Still, it pains me to see you like this. I dearly wish I could help you, magic them back.”

I laughed bitterly before kissing her again. If she only knew. Our lips separated and she whispered, “Something changed since last we met. But what?”

“Clever girl,” I breathed back.

“Let’s find out then.” She swayed away from me, bowing low and affording me a gorgeous view down her body. “Could it be you can see me?” Her hand crept between us, brushing along the bulge in my silk suit. “Oh, I bet you can.”

“Anyone ever told you what a tease you are?” I murmured, again hugging her close.

“I hear that all the time. So, can you?”

“For now,” I said. And if I wanted to keep my eyesight, I needed to offer a soul to Xanthul’ilia within the next two days. And I still needed to figure out how best to warn Moira. One thing at a time. Now it was my turn to twirl away and bow at her. When she placed her arm around my hips again, I asked her, “What gave it away?”

“Your whole body language is different. More confidence in everything.”

She was very observant for a simple noblewoman. Maybe there was more to Moira Dunwall than she let on. Yet, she was right. With my eyesight back, even for three days, it seemed a huge load had vanished off my shoulders. We twirled in the middle of the dance floor before ending up cheek to cheek again. Without conscious thinking, my hands were already caressing her back again. I faltered mid-step as I caught Rokun between the dancers, hand stretched out to tap my shoulder. I whirled Moira away from him. His appearance was like the proverbial bucket of ice water. My arousal and playfulness vanished.

“You know what, Gheeran? I’m sick of dancing. Let’s go elsewhere,” Moira suggested, taking my hand. Relieved to lose Rokun, I let her drag me away from the ball room, until we ended up in a spacious bedroom, lit by a crackling fireplace and dominated by a massive four-poster bed. Long curtains framed a floor-to-ceiling glass door leading into the gardens. Without missing a beat, Moira danced around me and placed her hands onto my chest, gently pushing me onto the mattress.

“I’m so glad you showed up, Gheeran, “ she said, sliding onto my lap and crossing her arms behind my neck. “Your appearance has turned this dreadful obligation into a wonderful occasion. I honestly didn’t think we would ever meet again after you left the manor.”

I placed my hands onto her butt. Moira gently gyrated her hips, causing my deflated member to stir again. Her smile broadened, then she pulled my face mask off, leaned in and kissed me in earnest, taking my breath away. She leaned into me and I let her weight topple me onto my back. I moaned hungrily into her mouth as my hands kneaded her behind, pressing her body against mine. When was the last time I wanted someone this badly? Our lips separated and she threw me a little, naughty smile.

As if she were reading my thoughts, her hands fluttered all over me, undoing laces and buttons on my costume. Within a few breathless moments, her naked breasts pressed against the skin of my chest.

A small, sane part of me screamed in my skull. Before things went any further, I needed to warn her even if it meant ruining the mood completely. Intercepting her hands which were busy fiddling with my belt, I rolled us around until I ended up laying on top of her.

“So the dark elf assassin wants to take charge, eh?” Moira said, her breath coming in short gasps. “Go on, I don’t mind. On the contrary.” Her hands travelled down her body, parting her robe even further and pushing leaves and blooms aside, revealing her shaved sex.

Harrumphing, I caught both her wrists and held them. Moira cocked her head, a question in those beautiful emerald eyes.

“Before this goes any further, I need to warn you. Someone in your family called out a hit on you.”

Moira stopped writhing under me, suddenly looking very serious. “Any idea who that might be? And how do you know?”

I rolled off her and sat up, hanging my head. “I’m one of the assassins.”

Moira laughed next to me, a little, tinkling sound. “I never knew she would steep so low,” she whispered. “Trying to kill her own sister? Why does she hate me so?”

I dared to look at her. Moira dabbed at her eyes with a corner of her shroud, then our eyes met. “Are you going to do it?”

By the Chaos Queen’s stinking innards. I was behaving like a love-struck fool, not a cold-hearted assassin of the Trickster. But then, was I still the same man as when Ya’tyrr had kicked me out?

What would Arach say if she saw me now? She would probably applaud. I was going beyond being a dark elf, transcending the inbred nature of our kind. I was showing Moira compassion, a notion unheard of in our twisted, dark species. Killing her would be the easy way. Burying the guilt under more and more cruelty was our way. But sparing her and taking the fall for it, that was what not being drow was all about. The decision was surprisingly easy.

“Heavens, no!” I protested. “By now, you should know me better than that.”

I heard a door squeak.

“Then I should better make sure the job gets done,” Rokun snarled, striding into the bedroom. “Really, Gheeran. Falling for a mark? What happened to the ruthless drow assassin I once knew?”

I jumped up and drew both my blades. “I’m a changed man, Rokun. Back off. You won’t kill anyone tonight!”

“If you only knew,” my friend said, drawing his own two daggers. “I don’t care if I’ll have to leave two corpses.”

“Then you leave me no choice,” I said, falling into a fighting stance.

“Have it your way then. There is much, much more riding on this deed than you possibly know,” Rokun snarled, feinting for my face and jabbing at my stomach at the same time. I grinned fiercely at his weak gambit. He still thought me blind? I parried both attacks and planted a boot into his stomach for good measure. Spitting, he stumbled back.

“I underestimated you. Seems you cave fairies are more dangerous when blind, eh?” the half-elf growled, exploding into a flurry of mean stabs and slices. The duelling sword shattered as I tried to block one nasty cut to my face. No matter. I dropped the useless basket hilt and willed the grip of my enchanted dagger into my hand. Obediently the drow-forged weapon appeared, just a heartbeat too late to block another wicked stab. Hissing in pain, I took the blade to my side, feeling hot wetness spread.

“That should do it,” Rokun announced, trying to slip past me. I intercepted him and slammed the pommel of my dagger into his face, shattering his nose. Now it was his turn to stumble around. Not wanting to waste this opening, I followed up. Faster than I anticipated, he uncurled, both daggers aiming for my rib cage, their razor-sharp tips shredding my shirt. I stopped my assault and leaned back, turning the deadly double stab into mere scratches.

“What would have happened if I went through with your plan?” I asked him as I slapped his blades away and rammed my knee into his midsection. Again, he stumbled back, but caught himself quickly.

“A quick escape for me and a few whispered hints which would have spelled the end for you, of course. I don’t leave witnesses behind.” Our blades clanged together as he intercepted my attacks.

“Son of a bitch,” I spat, redoubling my efforts. A blade slipped past his guard and left a bleeding cut under his eye. “And here I thought you were my friend.”

“That’s priceless, coming from you,” Rokun said, pirouetting away from me. His cape came up, obscuring my vision. I jumped into the air, levitating upward until I bumped the ceiling, escaping his charge by the soles of my feet. “You of all people should know that this world has no room for friends. There’s only tools and enemies.”

I felt my stomach knot. Once again I was reminded of home; stupid me had assumed that things on the Surface would be different. I cancelled my magic and dropped back to the floor, stabbing and cutting at Rokun for all I was worth. I felt my side itch and burn. Not only did he attack me, he must have used poison on his daggers. I knew time was running out.

His elbow caught me under my chin. I would have cracked my teeth if my tongue hadn’t been in the way. Howling in pain, I spat blood.

“Well, the poison should be weakening you already. Why not spare yourself the trouble and lie down and die?” Rokun taunted, spreading his arms.

“Because I am drow. Drow don’t just give up and die.” I threw my enchanted dagger his way, causing him to flinch to the side. Then I dropped a globe of darkness over his head. Rokun laughed and cartwheeled out of it, just as I had anticipated. He had barely finished his evasive move when I was there. A quick punch to the face stunned him long enough for him to drop his guard, then I hugged him close and sank my remaining dagger into his heart.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered as I looked into his eyes, the light fading from them, “but I can’t let you do this.”

“You ... back-stabbing ... fuck...” Rokun wheezed, before dropping to his knees. I let his lifeless corpse slump onto its face.

Moira had scrabbled up the bed, as far away from us as possible, her face was a pale, ashen mask. And then I felt the pain, a sharp, icy needle burrowing deep into my body from the stab in my side. Moaning, I went to my knees, trying to dig my hands into my innards. Gods, it hurt! Whimpering in agony, I writhed on the floor.

Moira hurried to my side.

“Hold still, Gheeran,” she ordered. Ha, very funny. The poison Rokun had used on his blades was spreading through my innards like a swarm of burrowing maggots made of molten lava. I groaned in protest, writhing on the floor...

In response, Moira whispered some strange syllables and my body froze in mid-spasm. I couldn’t even roll my eyes at her. She bent over me and pressed a hot kiss onto my lips, then she chanted again, this time pressing her hand over the gash in my side. I felt something ooze out of me, taking the incredible pain with it. A third time she chanted, and I felt my flesh knit. Then, she snapped her fingers and I could move again. I gingerly touched the area where Rokun had stabbed me. My skin felt raw and somewhat oily, but whole. Moira used my discarded dagger to cut a piece off the sheets and handed it to me. I swabbed at the area, wiping up the sticky fluids.

“That’s the second time I owe you my life,” I said, out of breath. She offered me a radiant smile.

“The least I could do, after you saved mine from Keira’s hired killer,” Moira said. I heard gasps from the door. It seemed the fight had attracted some onlookers, and Moira’s proclamation caused the people peeking in through the door to mutter amongst themselves.

“I should go talk with some people, before things become really complicated,” she suggested, re-arranging her costume. “We don’t want the Guard to crash Ser Ethan’s party, do we?”

I nodded, knowing exactly how she felt. All of a sudden, my life had taken yet another turn for the complicated. Rokun was dead, and if word of my involvement got out, living in Storm Harbour would become difficult, with many members of the Guild after my head. And there was still the issue with Xanthul’ilia. But one step at a time. Maybe I could turn this whole mess around somehow.

“Do you have any people here you can trust?” I asked Moira.

“Yes. Uncle Urs should be around here somewhere.”

“Urs? Like in ‘Urs the Sailor’?” I asked, amazed.

“The one. Why? Most of the nobility of Storm Harbour is related, in one way or another.”

“One more thing your and my kind seem to have in common,” I snorted, despite the pit of uneasiness in my stomach. “Can you trust him?”

“Absolutely. He is a fine man.”

“Great. You find him and have him take you out of here. Hide with him. I wouldn’t put it past Rokun,” I kicked the corpse of my former friend, “to have some of his cronies watch the mansion. It would be a pity if you died while escaping this trap.”

“You’re so sweet, Gheeran,” she whispered. “I’ll do as you ask. What about you?”

“I ... have some other unfinished business to take care of. Wish me luck.”

“Don’t be long. Find me in Dunwall Manor tomorrow.” Moira placed one last, long kiss onto my lips, then she rose and left the room, closing the door shut in the face of the onlookers. I heard the murmurs recede like a swarm of buzzing insects.

The silence was soothing. Breathing deeply, I sat down onto the edge of the bed and rubbed my temples. It was obvious that Keira Dunwall had ordered the assassination attempt, to get rid of her hated sister once and for all. The least I could do was to pay her back in kind. And maybe Xanthul’ilia would get her soul tonight.

Thankfully, the room had a brazier large enough for my needs. I tossed the piece of leather into the bowl and lit it, chanting Xanthul’ilia’s name three times. This time, I could see her shapely form coalesce from the ungodly amounts of black smoke pouring from the brazier. And from one moment to the next, the fire and the smoke were gone, leaving behind a demoness wearing nothing but a seductive smile.

“Now, that was quick, Gheeran. What do you have for me?” she asked while climbing out of the brazier.

“How about an evil noblewoman?” I asked her.

The demoness favoured me with a brilliant smile. “Evil noblewoman will do fine, I guess,” she purred, cocking her head. “Sounds like one hell of a party out there.”

She gestured and a gorgeous dress, skin-tight black leather and red velvet bodice with thigh-high boots, appeared on her form at the same time her wings dissipated into smoke. Her tail remained, a long, sinuous whip of scaled muscles and flesh, and she sported a headpiece made from long, red-painted goat horns.

“Will this do for tonight?” she asked me, caressing her breast until her nipple was clearly visible through the garment.

“Trust me, you’ll fit right in. What about him?” I pointed at Rokun’s corpse. “All hell will break loose when they find him.”

“We can’t have that. My first party in centuries shall be a hassle-free affair.” Xanthul’ilia smiled. She kneeled down next to Rokun and placed her splayed hand over his face. And then, right before my eyes, his body turned to smoke, until nothing remained but a thin, shiny film on the expensive carpet. Grinning, Xanthul’ilia took a wine goblet from the night stand and poured the wine over the stain on the carpet. Then she brushed her long-fingered hands over my ruined costume, leaving nothing but new, shiny fabric and soft leather behind.

“Done. Now, let’s have some fun!”

With the happily grinning demoness on my arm, I made my way back to the ballroom. The party had devolved into a series of smaller, localized knots of people spread through the mansion’s ground floor, some dancing, some standing around and gossiping. After my fight with Rokun, I expected much more commotion, but it was surprisingly quiet. Maybe Ser Ethan managed to keep the turmoil to a minimum. I prayed to the Trickster that Keira was still on the premises. Doors in the corridor were ajar and one could hear stealthy or not-so-stealthy lovemaking behind them.

“I love the nobility,” Xanthul’ilia said. “Give them enough to drink and they turn into pigs like everyone else.”

From somewhere to the side, I could hear a woman squeal in delight. Unable to resist, I peeked into the room from where the sound emanated. A busty woman, wearing an eagle mask and nothing else, was laying on her back, arms and legs wantonly spread while half a dozen men were jerking off on her, coating her creamy skin with long ropes of their seed. I shrugged and closed the door.

I heard glass shatter from inside the ballroom. Hurrying after Xanthul’ilia, I saw the source of the commotion. Lady Keira, leaning unsteadily against the buffet, was arguing with a few dignified men. Two of them wore Guard uniforms, the third still wore a half-orc disguise.

“I have never been this insulted in my life! How dare you accuse me of hiring assassins?” she yelled, shattering a goblet against a wall.

“Ooh, she looks pissed,” Xanthul’ilia giggled into my ear, her voice laced with dark glee. Snarling, Lady Keira turned towards a pale serving girl and demanded a new goblet, which she proceeded to down in one long gulp.

“I will turn this city upside down until I find the ones responsible!” Keira shrieked. “You hear me, Ethan?” The half-orc took a careful step back. “Am I allowed to enjoy the rest of the evening?” Keira hissed.

“As long as you don’t try to leave the city, Milady,” one of the Guardsmen cautioned her.

“Why should I do that? I have absolutely nothing to hide,” the blond angel snarled. She exchanged her empty goblet for a new one and stormed off, into a salon off the ballroom.

“I think that’s our cue, Gheeran,” Xanthul’ilia hissed.

Again, Lady Keira reminded me of a ticked-off dark elven matriarch, professing her innocence even if there was towering evidence against her. I mean, Moira could not have ordered the hit on herself, now could she? Ridding the world of this woman seemed a better idea by the minute. With Xanthul’ilia on my arm, I followed her into the salon. Lady Keira had slumped onto a divan and was sipping on her glass.

“You! Yes, you there, in the drow getup! Come over here!” the drunk woman urged. Her hairdo looked much less impressive now, and one of the wings hung askew on her back.