"Well? What's going on up there?"

Batt had roused the entirety of the kitchen staff when news broke of the master's arrival. But despite the rumors that he'd brought the divine home to the palace, all were still operating under a cloud of uncertainty. Dishes were readied yet none had been called for, and a long night of standing by was stretching out ahead of them.

"Not a glimpse had I!" lamented Gris, sinking into a creaky chair by the fireside. "It could have been a corpse he smuggled inside, what with it being kept so quiet like."

"I heard it had blonde hair," offered the Cooklet, "And Oar who's seen the Zauber Play twice swears down he ought to be a redhead, if it really were the witch."

"Never mind what nonsense Oar has to say," countered Batt, "Hurry and fetch them cakes for cooling." 

"All this commotion to contend with and Hen's out sick," sighed Gris, "I'm sure she would have handled the Counsel's guests with perfect precision. The fair one dressed in livery, none suspected him more than a servant; yet off he ran to hammer on the Warlock's door. A miracle he survived the encounter."

"The other one made no such fuss?"

"The other," Gris replied of Ursa, "is already concealed in the Counsel's private sitting room. The little master won't let another soul inside to see him. Even Remora's been banished to lurk in the hallways."

"That's not like the Counsel," Batt declared, "It was a wonder he left without his man in the first place, and now what? Since Remora's injured his head he's found someone to replace him?"

"I wouldn't like to speculate," Gris told her, "But, it wouldn't surprise me that what with the Warlock finding his bride, the Counsel had a thought to take one of his own. It might be more than a valet he's after!"

"But you wouldn't like to speculate?"

"Oh no, no!" cried Gris with a knowing smile, "Even so, it might be worth sending a couple of 'specials' upstairs should the Counsel have need of them."

The Cooklet had returned with a tray of delicate sponge cakes, carefully turning them out onto a large wire rack that covered a good quarter of the cook's wooden work bench. His curiosity was piqued by the conversation he overheard. Specials? Which of the kitchen's delicacies would hold such a title? Rather than assume incorrectly for what wouldn't be the first time that day; he held his tongue. It was just as well.

"The Apothecrist has his office well stocked with the stuff," ventured Batt, "Ever since the Warlock made known his plans to take the witch as his wife. But I hadn't thought the Counsel would follow suit. I shouldn't think he'd have the energy to take a male companion, and I've never known him even hint at desirous intent towards another."

"Desirous?" asked the Cooklet, "You mean like making eyes at someone?"

"Having a fancy to find himself a lover," Batt confirmed; "No man or woman has ever been called to his bedchamber, asides from Remora. And Remora's twice the size of him."

"Well," said the Cooklet, having learned a thing or two in the preceeding days of wedding talk, "What if the Counsel were to become someone else's wife? Wouldn't that be more likely?"

Batt threw a dish rag at his head.

"You're not to talk like that," she warned, "The Warlock's Counsel is the second greatest power in this land and don't you forget it!"

"And the second greatest power cannot be a wife?" The Cooklet was genuinely confused.

"I'm not sure his ego would stand it," said Batt, "His fearsome reputation is built on his untouchability. If he's letting someone else take control, then doesn't that mean he's touchable? Make yourself a wife, and watch how quickly your power is lost to the man you call husband."

Gris considered her words, half nodding as she saw the sense in them. The Cooklet was not as easily convinced.

"But. Aren't you married?" he asked Batt.

"Three hundred years and counting!"

"And for a powerless wife I'd say you're quite powerful in your own right. Head of the palace kitchens and all that."

"Yes, well."

"And didn't you send your husband away when he hurt his back, because his groans were grating on you?"

"He was terrible loud."

"Just seems to me like the Counsel could do as he wished and still be the Warlock's number two is all," said the Cooklet, "If he wants to be a wife and strike terror into the hearts and minds of many... well, you manage the two just fine yourself."

In the Counsel's private chambers, Ursa had sobered and was looking to find his next drink.

"Can't you call a servant to bring me something up?" he asked, "My nerves are in a knot and it's all there is can untie them if I've to get any sleep tonight."

"No drinking," the Counsel told him plainly, "When you drink... you have habits."

Ursa sneered. He wasn't likely to start a fight in the palace with only Min for company. The Counsel was making excuses. Preparing to leave the room and continue his search for alcohol elsewhere, Ursa was met by Fiepet's arrival; his white knuckles wrapped around the book in his hand.

"Are the servants keen to lose their heads?!" asked the Counsel, "What are you doing here? I gave no leave for visitors!"

Fiepet cocked back his head and cast Ursa an accusatory look.

"You would rather be alone with him?" asked Fiepet.

A sudden guilt threatened the Counsel's reason. Fiepet had witnessed Ursa's drunken advances... whatever remained of Rel had seen his brother sticking his tongue down Min's throat.

"Of course not!" he cried defensively, "I mean, I had only thought it best the servants give him privacy."

"Well I am not a servant, am I?" ventured Fiepet, in spite of the livery he still wore, "So there should be no such issue."

Throwing himself down on the couch without hesitation, Ursa marveled at the ease with which he made himself comfortable in the Counsel's private sitting room. Abandoning his earlier thought to find liquor, he felt a pull to remain, and keep a close eye on Min's dealings with Fiepet.

"What of Delphin Strahl?" the Counsel asked Fie, "I told you clearly where the Warlock's chambers could be found."

"I do not know. I met with the Warlock, but he made no mention of finding my brother. All I have are my suspicions, and even they were thrown into confusion by the claims he made against our father."

"The man he believed to be the witch? Has he returned to his former conclusion, that the witch was your father?"

Fiepet shook his head. "He no longer believes him to be your Maddening Witch," he said, the journal in his hand held tighter, "But there is a chance, he may have come from your world. The proof lies in his written word, though I have yet to read it."

"Had you better not do that then?" said Ursa, "Instead of intruding on others' private conversation? There are rooms enough to accommodate you where you might read without an audience."

"Ursa."

All of Fiepet's kindnesses to him had been forgotten. It was late, and yet this stranger, no - worse than that - the witch's brother, had dared to disturb Min's peace.

"He isn't entirely mistaken," offered Fiepet, "Though I intend to stay and ensure you eat before retiring. And I plan to take him with me when I leave."

Min stared in puzzlement at the specter of Rel. 

"Why on Cimbria would I go anywhere with you?!" cried Ursa.

"Because you cannot stay with him tonight," Fie told him plainly, "It would not be seemly."

Ursa was outraged. What would be unseemly about him staying the night with Min? And what the fuck did Fiepet Strahl have to do with it? 

"He's right," said the Counsel.

"Like fuck he is!"

"Ursa. There are many eyes in the palace. A room should be prepared for you beside Master Strahl's, it is better to maintain an appropriate distance between us."

"Min. Since when did you care what distance we kept? Granted, it's been some years, but did you forget those early days already?"

"What early days does he speak of?" quizzed Fie.

The Counsel cleared his throat, the shame burning on his cheeks masked by the heat of the blazing fire. It would sound much better if he explained it himself.

"Before the Protectorate met its final defeat there were difficult days. Attacks were often followed by times of weakness when the Warlock recovered his strength. On occasion we would be forced to lay low in close quarters... the sleeping arrangements could be cramped. It was not uncommon to share a room."

"Or share a bed," added Ursa, "So what does it matter? It is common enough between brothers, even without the bonds of blood. Have you and Piglet never bunked together? "

The Counsel could not meet Fiepet's eyes.

"My brother, has never got so drunk he made a pass at me!" cried Fie, "There is a world of difference!"

Ursa started back, his shameful desires laid bare before him. What had he done at the lake to give himself away? What had happened that made the stranger learn his secrets? A glance at Min was all he could manage before the guilt overwhelmed him.

"You're talking nonsense," he told Fiepet, his words wavering on the crest of fear.

"Then why did you ...kiss him?"

Ursa's fragile world crashed down around him. He wouldn't have, it was impossible! Those tender feelings deep within his heart would not be cheapened by such carelessness. He could not do that, not to Min. The Counsel blushed deeper, and Ursa saw the truth written across his gnawed and quivering lips.

"I kissed you?"

"If you have any decency about you, you will apologize and keep your distance," said Fiepet, "Liquor proves no excuse in the face of this man's dignity. Be thankful only myself and the Warlock bore witness."

"Pike saw it too?"

"I told him," the Counsel spoke quietly, "It is merely your drinking habit. It holds no meaning."

Ursa took a step towards him, his brows deeply furrowed, and his eyes filled with remorse. He hadn't meant to, he hadn't known.

"At least you've sense enough to regret it," noted Fie.

"I do..." said Ursa.

The Counsel had always known as such, and yet it still hurt to hear the confirmation. His countenance dropped, along with his final shred of hope.

"I regret beyond words that I cannot remember how it must have felt. Min, I kissed you? Did you kiss me back? Did you... did you hate it?"

The shift of Min's shining eyes barely registered. Fiepet had already come between them.

"The man was quite passed out!" cried Fie, "Do you think he would have liked it?! Drinking habits as they may be, you crossed a line that must be drawn anew. You can start by keeping an adequate distance. Min should rest; and the two of us should leave him to do so in peace. Without the risk that he might be woken by further unwanted advances!"

Min..? What right had the stranger earned to call him in so familiar a manner? Ursa's gall was rising with Fiepet's brazen familiarity.

"You may address him as Counsel," he informed the interloper.

"I will address him as I please!" declared Fiepet, "And won't be taking any advice from such a badly behaved youth as yourself! How old are you anyway? You look to be younger than Delph, and I'll have you know I'm twenty-seven!"

Ursa looked down his nose, a sneer playing on his lips. "I've two hundred years on you kid," he told him, "So hold your tongue the next time your elders are speaking!"

"Hold my tongue?" cried Fie, "If anyone should be careful of their reckless tongue, I think your actions towards Min were proof enough; that it should be you!"

For the first time in a century, Ursa was fighting with his brother, or a part of him at least. The Counsel was conflicted as to whether he should let them continue, or curb their animosity before things got out of control. He wondered too, when it came to the kiss he'd shared with Ursa, how much of Fiepet's disgust had come directly from Rel.

"Min, throw this man out at once! Let him scour the Witling Forest for his brother, and leave the rest of us in peace!"

"You are the one intent on disrupting peace! Min, banish him at once! This child is clearly in need of a firmer hand if we are to deal with his tantrums!"

"I'm going to bed," said the Counsel, refusing to take a side until the facts of Fiepet's soul were brought to light, "Disturb me again tonight, and I'll have Remora drive you both to the reaches of Innsfeld that I might enjoy my rest."

Without a second glance, he turned from the room and walked towards his bedchamber, the sounds of bickering left dwindling by the fireside. There was much to discuss, and even more left to discover. But not tonight. The Counsel had pushed himself to breaking without a thought for the future. Now he would need his strength, and for the first time in nearly a decade, there was reason enough to restore it.