When Elion followed the Warlock and Counsel from the lake, he had not expected it to change the course of his evening. More back and forths about whether the witch was still alive, and little else of interest to be discerned from their discourse. The suspicions he'd entertained that the Counsel and Ursa harbored more than brotherly feelings towards one another, seemed to be confirmed by the way he tried to cover for him.

He wondered what that yokel from Hofingrad would have made of it. In the short time he'd known him, Rel had spoken of not much else besides the beauties of his hometown, planning to regale them with tales of their adventure upon his return. Before his comrades snickered, and Elion thought to join them, he'd regarded his latest sycophant as a very simple man.

'You'll have to show me around in Velmund. When we get our pay I've a mind to buy a ribbon for a girl... and maybe a treat for that fatty Ursa. My brother's still young, and hasn't yet thought of girls as much as he thinks of food! But I daresay he'll be jealous when I marry before him.'

While Elion viewed this mission as another tedious step in his glittering career, for Rel, it was the brightest his star would ever shine. Crossing the Cimbran Isle and journeying to Velmund was an experience he would have dined out on for the rest of his humble days.

That simple fool now had a city named in his honor, his friends had reached the pinnacle of power, and his little brother thought more of drink than food. Still, he believed that Min and Ursa's undeniable attraction to one another would have been the hardest for Rel to wrap his head around.

Elion watched from his hiding place; the Counsel walking away as the Warlock found a suitable spot to sober up. Between the two of them, one was more likely to throw a punch if he saw him, while the other was infinitely much more fun to tease. 

"Is he always so proactive?" asked Elion, springing up beside the Counsel as he sought the quiet solace of the dark, "Does he usually stick his tongue in your mouth with such passion? Your dead friend's little brother..."

"He's drunk."

"As am I," testified Elion with a smile, "But I have no desire to kiss you. Has the Warlock blessed your union now his own is fast approaching?"

"There is nothing between Ursa and I. What blessing could there possibly be?"

"Well I would think him the closest thing to family for either of you," offered Elion, "Though if the Maddening Witch is found, it'd be hard for things to stay that way."

"Pike loves Ursa as much as I do."

Elion raised his eyebrows and tilted his chin. "As much as that..? I think not. But perhaps he loves the witch the same amount."

The Counsel had entertained his stupidity for long enough. Elion noticed his hand on his hilt.

"I yield," he cried, his hands thrown up in supplication, "I can see in your eyes that this is not a concern I ought to trouble myself with. But as the man who spared my life when the Protectorate met their end, I'd think it remiss not to warn you. There is no ending where all come out of this unscathed. If you truly care for him, don't forget, you're the only one with the power to protect him."

The Warlock could speak his magic, and only the Counsel could silence him.

"It will not come to that," said the Counsel, "If the world is not big enough for the both of them, it does not matter... this isn't the only world we have."

"Ah," said Elion, "But who would leave, and who would remain? Think carefully, Counsel; which of them deserves the right to choose..?"

The seeds of discord successfully sewn, Elion left the Counsel to ponder his words. His plans to return ahead of them and make headway with the curious Fiepet Strahl were thrown asunder, when on his way back to the lake, he spotted a familiar face amongst the rabble.

"Buck?"

"There you are! The rumors have reached across the Isle that the Warlock was here, and I knew you would be with him! It is thankful you are alone, or else Hymm knows how I would have thought to separate you."

"You bring news?"

Buck took hold of Elion's arm, dragging him away from the crowd for another of the night's secret assignations. They'd walked some distance before Elion realized that Buck had no intention of stopping.

"Here will do! Whatever you need to say, do it quickly!"

Buck could still hear the snores of sleeping revelers.  "A little further and I'll explain," he told him. 

When the last slumberous sounds were put behind them, they were almost as close to Relmund as they were to Velmund Drum.

"Spit it out!" ordered Elion.

"A great many things have happened since you left to find the Warlock," Buck explained, "And much of it has reached your mother's ears. The rumor, the sightings... the witch has returned and the Innate are poised to action. Your following the Warlock is no longer the wisest choice."

"Even if the others believe the witch has returned, the Warlock still thinks him dead. There is something we can make of that; not to mention, Lyre and Ramun have already secured the witch."

The puzzled look on Buck's face did not inspire Elion's confidence.

"What do you know?" he asked.

"I found Ramun not long before we met, and already gave him orders to head back to Relmund. He was not with Lyre though; but some sobbing dark-haired youth."

"On whose authority did you send him back?!" demanded Elion.

"On your mother's, Sire..."

The pieces began to fall into place.

"And I'm to go back too?"

"You understand it well this time. I offered to fetch you, lest she send the more persuasive of our brethren. Besides your return to the stage, she requires your assistance in speaking with Master Brecke about his proposition."

"I've turned him down one too many times already, yet still he asks?"

"Things are different now, there is only so much your mother can do to deter him."

Elion could only accept his summons. Despite the inroads he'd made to keep his independence from the Innate, he was still reliant on his mother's connections, and often subject to her whims. If Brecke had proved too much for her to handle, then it was down to Elion to keep him in check.

"Didn't you have a horse with you when you left?" asked Buck.

"Do you want to go back and get it for me?!" Elion replied, "You've marched me halfway home already! In fact, that's a splendid idea. I'll use my cloak of travel and you can go retrieve my horse from the Warlock's camp. How about it?"

"I shouldn't have brought it up," Buck muttered beneath his breath, "Sire, please! I only mentioned what came at once to my mind. You wouldn't send me off alone, would you?"

"Not for a horse," said Elion, "But for the witch I might. Have you had no word from Lyre? Ramun should have had eyes on them both by now. Perhaps you can go and check?"

"Please Sire! You know there are far braver souls than I to be relied upon for such things as that. If not to come and find you, I'd be sipping my nightcap after curtain close at the Wellwithin. I am not the type to adventure, I am much better suited to reporting the adventures of others."

Satisfied that Buck was shaking in his boots, Elion granted him a reprieve.

"Very well," he told him, fastening his cloak of travel about his shoulders, "Then be sure to report every detail of what's happened while I was away. And make it entertaining, or else I'll pack you off to the west with nothing but a sword and a map."

"Sire!"

With so many travelers on the darkened road, two lifelong friends could have easily walked past one another as strangers. And yet, Lyre was clocked before she'd even left the lake. Squeezed into Fiepet's cart with Delph and Hen, while Ursa's hands were paused on the reins of the dappled gray, Lyre made the mistake of calling out to him; and caught the eye of a man she was hoping to avoid.

There on horseback to investigate the Warlock's appearance, they'd noticed Lyre quite by chance. When Ursa set off at speed for the river, he followed behind them, waiting for his opportunity.

"No need for dolls, let us just change quickly." Hen's voice in the shadows. "Here."

Lyre's hand stopped short of reaching for the clothes she was offered, already alerted to the presence of someone watching. A gasp escaped her lips as he revealed himself, the dagger poised at his waist. A silent glance in Hen's direction was all that was needed for Lyre to understand their situation.

Rather than letting him observe Mistress Hen, or resist and risk her life, she followed the man to his horse. With the Warlock on their heels, they wouldn't waste time looking for her, they'd head straight on to the Sirrup House. That was what she had to believe, if she was going to leave Hen behind.

Riding double southwards, Lyre sat in her wet clothes at the far front of the saddle. She hadn't lied to Mistress Hen when she told her how much she hated the cold. Her body was shivering, and she missed the comforting warmth of the pretty maid. Alone again, she shed a silent tear for her pitiful self; the man at her back like a phantom.

"You failed to report," he told her at last, "They've been waiting."

"I understand," replied Lyre, "I came with you didn't I?"

"Who was the girl you were with?"

"Another dancer," lied Lyre, "We swam together at the lake."

Word had yet to reach him from the palace; he'd not yet learned that Mistress Hen was missing, assuming with the rest that she lay bed-bound in her room. The thought had yet to cross his mind as to whose company she'd been keeping. It was just as well. The further they got from Hen, the safer Lyre felt she would be.

"When you heard the tidings you should have returned at once," said the man, "Instead of staying out to play with the road-side scum. You realize you've angered them, don't you?"

"I have earned my freedom," said Lyre, "I have done all that was asked of me."

"There are limits to their benevolence. Don't think pleading ignorance will lessen your punishment. You should have known better."

Lyre's back stiffened in defiance.

"In fact, I'm sure you know better than I do," continued the man, "Just how angry they might be."

"Is it necessary that we talk?" asked Lyre.

"Save your voice by all means," laughed the man, "Your strength too while you're at it. Hymm only knows what they have planned for you."

Closing her eyes, Lyre retreated to the deepest recesses of her mind. It was there she'd built a refuge a century ago, to protect herself from the all-consuming anguish that threatened her waking life. When times were their hardest, that quiet little space was all she had to escape to.

She didn't expect to find that Hen had now come to inhabit it. Lyre's lips curved into a smile, as the memory of her gentle spirit embraced her. Even if they'd never get the chance to meet again, the kindness she'd been shown would long remain, soothing her worries like a balm.

The kind and gentle Mistress Hen, however, had no such mental resilience; but a great many worries to think of. Lyre was missing, Delph and Ursa too. Having eaten her name, there would be no Master Cuttle coming to find her. Opening her pocket realm, she pulled out the cloak of travel that Delphin Strahl had borrowed on their journey to the lake.

Dismissing the idea that she should go in search of the Warlock, and ask him to rescue the witch from Ursa, she was left with only two options. Go home, or continue on to the Sirrup House as planned. Neither seemed like they'd be helping Delph. Her only consolation was that Lyre was no doubt with them. And if that was the case, then her magic would surely protect him.

Cursing that she'd been so mercilessly left behind, Hen fastened the cloak about her neck. Her feet were tired from the mountain climb, and as she let the fabric take their burden, she remembered how Lyre had rubbed them in the Witling Woman's house. 

Mistress Lyre, sighed Hen, if you keep him safe, I will rub your feet for the rest of eternity!