Raith waited until everyone had finished dinner before calling the team into the Strategy Room. They hadn’t exactly planned on that official designation for this space, but it seemed to be sticking. The table had been cleared of maps and reports earlier that day, though one corner still bore a stain in the shape of Tolliver’s elbow from a spilled inkpot.
Nyhm settled silently near the hearth, folding his arms. Thea sat opposite Raith, eyes already narrowed as if she sensed trouble. Tolliver looked intrigued. Zinny fluttered above a chair instead of sitting in it, swinging her feet like a child about to be read a story.
Raith planted his palms on the table and took a steadying breath.
“I have been thinking about Venton,” he began.
“I support killing him,” Zinny said immediately.
Raith blinked. “I didn't say anything about killing him yet.”
Tolliver lifted his quill. “I support it as well.”
“You did not hear the plan,” Raith said.
“You opened with Venton,” Tolliver countered. “The plan is irrelevant.”
Thea slapped her hand on the table. “Absolutely not. Whatever you are thinking, the answer is no.”
Nyhm nodded. “Agreed. We are not assassins.”
“We also do not want to die,” Zinny said brightly. “And Venton seems very committed to killing us. So I do not see the conflict.”
“The conflict,” Thea said tightly, “aside from the obvious moral questions, is that assassinating the de-facto leader of the rogue Templars is far beyond our abilities and certain to get us killed.”
“Not necessarily certain, with a good plan.”
The room went quiet.
Raith stepped back from the table and paced. “I am not saying we storm the keep tomorrow. I am saying I do not see another way to stop him. Pridian has the horn in a vault. I have confirmation he made it safely. Yet Venton will continue to escalate this. Either because he assumes we still have it, or just hates me that much. Either way we need to deal with this.”
“How do you know he will continue to escalate?”
Raith told them of his recurring dream, and what it meant for their city.
Thea’s face tightened. “I still don’t think we can handle this, and I’m not comfortable murdering a High Emissary in cold blood.”
“It's not murder if we would be killing him for a good reason.”
“Semantics,” Thea muttered.
“Look. I know it is dangerous. I know this is not generally who we are. But until Venton is gone, Beckhaven will remain a target, and so will we.”
Nyhm exhaled slowly. “You have already begun planning.”
Raith hesitated, then nodded.
“Only the broad strokes. Nothing actionable yet.”
“What strokes,” Thea demanded.
Raith scratched the back of his neck. “Possibly a smuggled mirror for entry. Someone on the inside who hates Venton enough to help, if we're lucky. And a strike team small and sneaky enough not to set off every alarm in the fortress and bring the might of the Templars crashing down.”
Tolliver cocked an eyebrow. “That is more than broad strokes.”
Zinny’s eyes glittered. “Do you need someone stabbed? I am very good at stabbing.”
“No stabbing until further notice,” Raith said. “I wanted to tell you first, before I get any deeper into planning. We will talk again when I have something solid. Until then, please do not panic.”
“Too late,” Thea muttered under her breath.
Raith opened his mouth to reassure her, but Zinny shot straight into his face.
“You may not lead us into certain death before my party,” she declared. “I have spent all week planning. All week. If you ruin this for me, I will curse your pillows.”
Raith blinked. “You can curse pillows.”
“I can curse anything,” Zinny said proudly.
“That is not comforting,” Tolliver murmured.
Zinny spun in the air, wings buzzing loudly in irritation. “Enough gloomy murder talk. We have a celebration tonight. You are all required to be in a good mood.”
Raith rubbed his temples. “Fine. But I am curious how you have managed to do so much to your house in so little time.”
Zinny landed on the table, placing tiny hands on tiny hips. “You are not the only one who has friends. Mine are very very different than yours.”
“That is what concerns me,” Raith said.
Zinny grinned.
***
Raith reluctantly donned the closest thing to formal wear he possessed and headed over to the party. He told himself he was being fashionably late, but in truth he was nervous of what strangeness his pixie friend had waiting. Upon arriving, he knew his trepidation was at least partially justified.
Zinny’s manor looked different than when Raith had last seen it. Very different.
For one thing, the entryway smelled like sugared fruit, and Raith could see some kind of glowing pollen drifting in the air. The walls were covered in ivy that had not been there before. Instead of torches or lanterns, floating lights shaped like will-o-wisps bobbed gently along the ceiling beams. Several of the lights seemed to wink at him when he glanced up, which was deeply unsettling.
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The dining hall had been transformed entirely. Long tables of polished wood had been conjured or brought in and covered with fruits and pastries that sparkled in colors Raith was fairly certain could not normally be found in the mortal realm. Flowers bloomed at random intervals in the cracks of the stone floor, the occasional petal drifting upward like they were lighter than air.
Guests mingled through it all.
Some were human, dressed in typical noble attire and looking uneasy. Others were not remotely human and looked far more at ease. Raith spotted a cluster of sprites perched on the chandelier, three brownies chasing each other near the banister, and one extremely irritated mortal bard being pestered by a fae creature that kept trying to braid his hair.
Zinny appeared at his elbow, wearing a dress of shimmering green petals and a tiara of dancing firefly lights.
“Do you like it,” she asked, throwing her arms wide.
“It looks…beautiful, actually.”
“Thank you,” Zinny replied with a curtsy.
Thea approached from the garden entrance, where Raith could hear laughter and the occasional yelp of alarm from a surprised guest.
“This is incredible,” she said. “A little chaotic, but incredible.”
Raith studied the room, brow furrowing as he caught sight of two mortal guests who seemed distinctly out of place. They wore the clothing of scholars, but not from the Order of the Loom. Their eyes moved constantly, cataloging. Watching.
“Who invited them,” Raith asked.
Zinny's face turned abruptly serious. “Fae business.”
Whatever that meant, it was surely something Raith wanted no part of. He carefully steered clear of the men and spotted Tolliver standing awkwardly to the side of the chattering throng, smoothing his coat.
“The nobles turned out in force for this one. Our fae friend is quite the novelty.”
“Does that mean Zinny will win her bet?”
The pale [Mage] shrugged and looked around.
“Too early to tell. And I’m not the best judge of these things.”
Nyhm drifted over, outwardly calm, but Raith could read the tension in his brother's shoulders.
“Do not make eye contact with the puca. They take that as an invitation.”
“An invitation to what?”
Nyhm shook his head.
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
Raith sighed. “Wonderful.”
He was about to attempt mingling when Lady Greendawn appeared.
She approached with the same serene elegance she always carried, her long braid swaying as she glided across the floor. The crowd parted around her instinctively, fae and mortal alike.
“Raith,” she said warmly. “You look troubled for someone attending a celebration.”
Raith’s cleared his throat and shifted his feet nervously. He never liked small talk, and the added stress of nobility only made it worse.
“Just overwhelmed,” he admitted.
“It is only a party. However strange the decor.” She looked around the room appraisingly. “ And guests.”
Raith managed a weak laugh. “Worried about that bet?”
Rather than answer, Greendawn leaned closer, lowering her voice.
“You have drawn attention, Raith Quirric. More than you realize.”
He stiffened. “From who?”
"Some who wish you well. Some who do not. There are rumors spreading through the courts.”
Raith frowned. “What kind of rumors.”
“The kind that concern powerful relics, forgotten gods, and the one who leads the Order's traitors.”
Raith swallowed. “Do you know something about Venton.”
Greendawn hesitated. It was the first uncertain expression he had ever seen her wear.
“There are whispers,” she said softly. “Not yet confirmed. But you should know the danger you face is not yours alone.”
Before Raith could ask what she meant, someone called her name from across the hall and she excused herself.
Tolliver appeared beside Raith.
“She was about to tell me something important,” Raith said, repeating her words to his friend.
“She did you something,” Tolliver replied. "We have more allies in this than previously thought."
Raith puffed up his cheeks and blew out a long breath. He did not appreciate cryptic advice.
The party reached full chaos shortly after nightfall.
Zinny introduced Raith to three fae nobles, each more unsettling than the last. One offered him a drink that shimmered in shifting colors, which Raith politely refused. Another plead for his hand in marriage. The third tried to sell him a spell that claimed to banish regret and difficult relatives. Raith considered buying it, but had to admit he actually liked his relatives. The other mortals were equally overwhelmed, lured by curiosity and now standing very stiffly with cups of glowing liquid they were afraid to taste. The bold ones had already partaken, and to judge by their smiles and carefree dancing were none worse for wear from the drinking.
Thea’s father, Darius, arrived with a group from the Order. They took one look at the attendees and collectively decided this was a place in need of close observation. Darius greeted Raith warmly before spotting a lone sidhe, whom he swept into a conversation about fae history and magics. Raith smiled at seeing the normally taciturn satyr so excited.
Nyhm found himself cornered by a creature that kept trying to hand him cursed objects with phrases like ‘only mildly harmful’ and ‘it just wants a host.’
Raith tried to relax. He failed.
He kept noticing eyes on him, mortal and fae alike. At one point a woman brushed past him and murmured a sentence that made his skin freeze.
“The Grey Man has questions.”
Raith whirled, but she was gone. He wasn't even certain she had been talking to him. The pressing crowd started to feel threatening and he took a deep breath to calm himself. Tolliver caught him a moment later.
“Are you well,” Tolliver asked quietly.
“These fae are unnerving. The nobles aren’t much better.”
“That is deliberate. Which is exactly why you must keep your composure.”
Raith steadied himself. “I need air.”
He slipped out into the courtyard garden.
Moonlight spilled over the stone paths and the enormous circle bright red mushrooms the faerie had coaxed from the soil. They glowed faintly, dust drifting off of them into the air like tiny stars.
The garden was peaceful...until abruptly it wasn’t. A figure stood near the far wall, cloaked and unmoving. Raith reached automatically for his weapon. The figure raised both hands, palms outward in a sign of peace. Raith approached cautiously. The hood pulled back to reveal a human face. A man perhaps in his late thirties, with tired eyes and temples showing the barest hint of gray.
“I mean no harm,” he said quietly. “I wished to speak without attracting attention.”
“Well you certainly have mine,” Raith said cautiously.
The man gave a short, strained laugh. “You do not know me. But I came tonight because I heard what you were considering.”
Raith’s pulse spiked. “And what do you think I am considering?”
“Killing Venton.”
The night seemed to hold its breath. Raith tightened his grip on the rope dart.
How in the five realms did anyone already know?
“Who told you that?”
The man stepped closer. “I serve the Templar Order. Venton ruined my life when he betrayed us. There are more like me. Men and women who have nothing left but the hope that someone will stop him.”
Raith’s chest tightened. “Why would Templars need my help with their revenge?"
“Not revenge,” the man said softly. “Justice. The Archive counsels caution and patience, and the King is not anxious to make war on the Templars. The [Seer] has told me you may be the one who can provide the justice I seek.”
Raith stared at him, not at all sure how to feel about this. The man didn’t look like much. A little scrawny, with what appeared to be paint crusted under his fingernails. Still, he said he was a Templar, so he was offering the help of his [Divine Skill]. Maybe more, if the statement about others was true.
The man bowed his head. “If you choose to move forward, I will join you. I am done with the waiting. You can find me at the Lorehall. Ask for Hob.”
He turned and walked away into the shadows of the garden. Raith stood alone for a long moment, the bloom’s golden dust drifting around him. He realized something about the situation that brought some relief. He may have powerful enemies, but he had powerful allies, too.
When Raith returned to the party, Zinny zipped toward him with cake crumbs on her face.
“You disappeared,” she said accusingly.
“I needed air,” Raith replied.
“You missed my speech,” Zinny said, offended.
“I will pretend I heard it, and that it was marvelous."
She beamed.
The party carried on into the small hours of the morning. Guests drifted out slowly, some through the door, some seeming to fade into invisibility before vanishing into the night. When the last of the fae slipped away, Zinny placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Was it a good party?"
Raith looked around at the glowing lanterns, the scattered petals, the half eaten pastries, and the faint aftertaste of magic in the air.
“It was perfect,” he said.
Zinny hugged his shoulder.
“Good. Now you may kill Venton.”
Raith laughed despite himself.
“Not tonight,” he said quietly. “But soon.”
