When Min retired for the night, Ursa's determination to find himself a drink resurfaced. As though it might distract him from thoughts of Delph and his father, Fiepet took it upon himself to stand in his way, and to set the youth on a better path. If only to escape his nagging, Ursa went to bed thirsty in the room next door to Fie's.

While the Counsel's wing fell silent, but for the gentle snores of its occupant's slumber, the Warlock continued to pester his singular guest with his incessant show and tell. Delph grew not to mind it, realizing that the longer he talked the less he had to worry about where they would sleep.

Rather than ask Delphin about his life in Grunterbad, a painful chapter he wished to extricate from his mind; the Warlock had instead been regaling his bride with all he'd accomplished in his absence. The Warlock's proudest achievements were not what Delph might have expected.

"Do you see?" asked the Warlock, running his hand across the contents of a carved chest.

Delph scooted across the covers, peering over the foot of the bed to determine the cause of the Warlock's excitement. More clothes..?

"Velvet," the Warlock announced proudly.

"Ah," humored Delph, "I see."

"There was a time I'd never heard of it, much less touched it. Now I've every style and every color you could think of. Whichever your preference, I can wear when we marry."

"Fie is better at choosing such things..."

It was not the first time that the witch's 'brother' had made an unwelcome appearance in their conversation. The Warlock had hoped that in sending him away with the journal, he need not have cause to think of Fiepet Strahl again. Killing him would run the risk of inciting his beloved's hatred, but sending him back to Grunterbad was a solution worth considering once his strength had returned.

"Touch it," offered the Warlock, "Choose for yourself which you like best."

Delph's fingers crept out from beneath the sleeve of his dressing gown.

"Here," said the impatient Warlock, catching hold of his hand and pulling it down towards the heavy coats contained within the wooden chest, "Does it feel familiar..? The touch of it, like the water we command?"

"It feels like velvet," reasoned Delph, "There is a cushion at home that feels much the same."

"You tried to explain it once. Something like the fur of a cat, but denser. I didn't understand it then; there were no such fabrics in Hofingrad. Not even Hafing would have had the means to purchase it. But now, behold all I have collected! Though I often wondered what became of your velvet cloak."

"I... I mean, the witch wore a velvet cloak?" asked Delph.

"You told me it was taken from you but I never did find it. There is this though!" cried the Warlock, a thought suddenly coming to mind, "Come, come and see!"

Scooping Delph into his arms as though he hadn't legs enough to walk the short distance to the marble desk, the Warlock set him down upon its top and hurried to find what he was looking for. Delph marveled at the chaos that had followed them; papers strewn across the floor, opened chests, and a littering of clothes adorned the splendid chambers of the Velvet Palace.

Like an excited child, the Warlock had not cared for the mess he was creating, only that his desire to show Delph his toys was satisfied.

"I have not looked at this in years!" cried the Warlock, unrolling a tattered scroll of parchment from among the many discarded, "Here, look!"

Upon the paper was drawn a curious individual. A black and white rendering showed a figure with pale hair piled atop its head, a heavy cloak, and decked with jewels at its throat and ears. The face was simple, pretty yet nondescript, except for the freckles on the left side of its face. Its gender was unclear, but the words beneath it laid out its name.

'WANTED ALIVE BY ORDER OF THE PROTECTOR: THE MADDENING WITCH'

"This is him?" asked Delph, a surreptitious hand obscuring the side of his face.

"Clearly the artist failed to capture your beauty. But there were posters once, before the Protector feared that those on magic's side would hide you. This copy is all that remains, and it is mine alone. A sight I never saw in our time together, the clothes you wore when you were free."

The figure was far too ostentatious. It looked more in line with the Warlock's manner of dress than anything Delph might have worn in Grunterbad. 

"It is not me," said Delph.

The Warlock held it up to make his comparison. He could see it now, the bride before him in glittering finery.

"And look!" noticed Delph, "The witch wore earrings, yet my ears have never been pierced!"

Delph displayed his lobes in turn to prove himself.

Unwilling to accept such a glaring contradiction, the Warlock check for himself; squeezing each between his thumb and forefinger in hopes of finding the holes had healed over. No such evidence presented itself. He cursed the artist for their creative liberties, remembering the pain he'd endured to ensure that he and the witch would match.

"They need not have been pierced," the Warlock allowed, "You wore gold pins in your hair though, of that I am certain. Perhaps they had got confused. But the constellation upon your face is unmistakable. Will you really deny it?"

"It is similar to the picture," said Delph, "That much I will grant you."

As though the man before him had fully admitted that he was the Maddening Witch of his long-held dreams, the Warlock's eyes were alight with hope.

Delph looked once more at the witch's 'wanted' poster, pondering if the Warlock might know the answer to his question. And uncertain if it would be impolite to ask.

"Your wedding portrait will bear your likeness, you need not worry," said the Warlock.

The furrow of Delph's brow was charming.

"Ursa told me," he began, "What became of his family because the witch escaped, but I'm still not sure... why he was a prisoner to begin with. What had he done that was so bad?"

"Nothing," said the Warlock gently, "You did nothing wrong."

"Then... why did the Protector want him?"

That question had haunted the Warlock for decades, long after the Protector's corpse was fed to the crows. Rumors abounded that the witch had been caught for his beauty, rather than his crimes; that the Protector's only course of action was to arrest him. A being too powerful to control, only through his subjugation could he be claimed.

Still, it remained only a rumor. The official line had always been that the witch was dangerous, and much too close to the Prince in the West.

"A weak man does all he can to make himself feel stronger," said the Warlock, landing somewhere between the two, "In caging a being far superior than himself, it no doubt gave him a sense of importance. He underestimated your unwillingness to become his captive. In the end, that is... there was a time when first we met, when..."

The Warlock placed a hand across his eyes as though the memory caused him pain.

"When what?" asked Delph, his curiosity getting the best of him.

"When I met you in the carriage, you seemed entirely resigned to your fate as a prisoner," said the Warlock, stepping between Delph's legs as they dangled from the desk, his hands trapping Delph's fingers against its surface, "I know what you are thinking."

"How could you possibly know?" asked Delph, "Aside from what I've told you enough times already. You do not know me well enough to read my thoughts."

"Really?" smirked the Warlock, "You're thinking now that I'm no better than the Protector. That I mean to cage you against your will, and yet presume myself to be above him. Hm.. and depending on what you might have heard, you may even think me just as evil. I certainly regret not a single kill I've made."

"Are you going to tell me I'm wrong?"

The Warlock's face was looming towards him, a warm and steady breath taking aim against his jaw.

"You're not wrong," the Warlock told him, "I am exactly as you think I am. But rest assured, as my prisoner I will not harm you. Nor will I make the same mistake in letting you go."

"The witch escaped, didn't he?"

"With my help."

"Then what if this time there is another? Someone else that means to help me."

"I dare you to try it," the Warlock warned, "There is one difference between myself and the Protector that you should be made aware of; I, am far more terrifying..." 

"Fuck!"

Hen's cloak was snagged by a branch for the third time. The journey to the Sirrup House was faster by magic than on foot, but not without its obstacles. Above the annoyance of low hanging trees in the darkness, and the fear that the Happenstance would find her, Hen was feeling lonely without Lyre to talk to.

Until she reached the theater, there'd been every chance that their stolen carriage would be parked outside. Until she stepped inside the dim little lobby, there'd been every chance that Lyre would be there waiting for her. The reality was disappointing.

"Who's there?" cried Master Pie from the little alcove adjoining the stage, "We've no performarations tonight! I am merely preparing to test the lights!"

"Ah, I am sorry to disturb you..."

The windswept maid was recognized at once. "Ramun, is that you?" asked Master Pie, "Whysoever did you send a doll to greet with me?"

"Master Pie, I am Mistress Hen, a friend of Mistress Lyre and Master Ramun. I am not made of magic."

"Oh well, that's not your fault," Pie kindly allowed, "I daresay Ramun is hard at work to make your copy. They are neither of them here though, if that is what brought you."

Hen had suspected as much.

"In fact there's none so other but myself at residence. As soon as my staff returned they were gone quite clear again; what with all the floating rumors that the Warlock is soon to take a bride."

"Yes, well."

"Young Bea had promised to come back after visiting the sacred site at the River Vel, but even they are absent. And so you see, the tasks unfinished are left to myself." 

Whether to continue on to Relmund, or remain in the hopes that Lyre and Delph would find her, Hen wasn't sure. She was in need of rest, but how could she think of stopping? Not when the others were still missing. Her racing mind had yet to settle on a solution when Master Pie found one for her.

"Say! It's getting rather late all told, and the night so very dark. Why not stay here safe and sound until morning? Should your friends make an appearance, they will be glad to see you quite unharmed."

It was as good an excuse as any to set down her worries for a spell.

"Thank you Master Pie, I think I will, if it will not put you to trouble."

"Excellent, excellent!" cried the little proprietor, "You are just such the person to test these candles and see that the mirrors align to catch their light. It will take but a moment to acquaint yourself with how they work, and there are but four dozen requirous of your attendance!"

Exhausted as she was, Hen set about rolling up her sleeves and got to work with the promise of 'a most delicious stew' awaiting to reward her efforts. It was probably for the best, that just as the last of the lights had been tested, a visitor arrived to keep her from her meal.

"Bea?" called Master Pie from his contentious place beside the stewpot, "I had not expected you before the dawn! Did the revelers not feed you? Have you come to break your fast?"

"Master Pie you have been warned!" cried Bea, "You know full well you are only to eat what's ready made. Cooking is strictly forbidden!"

"But see here I have a helper," protested Pie, "Demanderous of sustenance lest they call me a miser. Would you allow them to have starved?"

Bea took no notice, shimmying past him to remove the stewpot to dispose of its contents.

"Mistress Hen I fear I've only a horse's banquet can be offered now," lamented Master Pie, "Apples, carrots and oats are all that remain to feed you."

"Trust me," Bea told Hen, "They're preferable to the alternative."

"If you didn't come to eat my food then why did you return?"

"Word got out," explained Bea, "That neither the witch nor the Warlock were coming. Even the Hermit of Innsbad Cave admitted that the pair were playing newlywed games elsewhere with neither one a thought of returning. We'll have to wait until the wedding day if we're wanting to catch a glimpse."

"The Warlock left the parade route unnoticed?" asked Hen, "Did you happen to hear where he went?"

Where else could it be but in search of Delphin Strahl?

"Home," said Bea, "Folks in Relmund already told us that the Warlock had made it back to the palace while the rest of us were readying our garlands."

"And... was the Divine with him?"

"Now that, no one seems to be firm on. Rumor is there's someone with him, though whether the Divine or even an animal, there's none that have seen firsthand."

"You know an awful lot!" cried Master Pie.

"My cousin Typus is friendly with the brother of a bottleman named Oar, and he himself acquainted with a cooklet from the palace kitchens. I've eyes everywhere, Pie."

"Well it seems so indeed! I shall have to trouble you for details when the big day rolls around. Perhaps for a tidbit or two, I might see my way clear to offering your cousin's friend's brother's acquaintance a discount on tickets in exchange for his intelligences."

Bea sighed, uncertain as to whether Master Pie was poking fun or speaking in earnest. It's not like there was any other way to find out the goings on of the Warlock's private residence. But it would be quite a different story for a palace maid.

"I will take the horse banquet to go!" declared Hen.