“I have a bad feeling about this,” Verne muttered, “a really, really bad feeling…”

  “You need a name when you introduce yourself.” Aalis said, ignoring Verne’s lament, working consistently. “A good way to give yourself away is to fumble at your name.”

  Verne sighed. “I’m guessing Vernice is too close to Verne.”

  “Far too close.” Aalis mused. “What about…Lyla?”

  “Liar?”

  “No,” Aalis laughed despite herself, “Lyla.”

  Verne shrugged. “It’ll do I guess. Lyla…Vagabondia.”

  Aalis giggled. “Lyla…Borelia.”

  “Whose she?”

  “Borelia is an old name of nobility in Astaril. There are not too many of them around but the name still bears weight.”

  “I do not want to present myself as nobility.”

  “It would be one of those names that makes people immediately think of nobility subconsciously. If anyone asks about your family, simply elude to their unhappy demise and that you were raised by a kindly relative on the coast and have just begun to move in society now that you are of age.” Aalis reassured her, releasing the last heated tong and coming around in front of Verne. She brandished a soft bristled brush at Verne who cringed. “Close your eyes.”

  “Ugh…” Verne groaned but did as she was told. She could feel Aalis lightly brushing her face and imagined just how ridiculous she looked, red cheeked, pink lipped and excessively ‘pretty’. “So I am Lyla Borelia…from where?”

  “Say that you have come from Astaril via Quarre and mention Lady LeMewn.”

  “Dropping names?”

  “Dropping names with authenticity.” Aalis insisted. “After all, you have dined with Lady LeMewn.”

  “When she thought I was male.”

  “Makes no difference. And if anyone questions you about her or Quarre or her husband, you will have reasonable answers to give.”

  “Without saying that I killed several wolves and watched Suvau stab her husband with a silver blade?”

  “Weapons and violence would be in appropriate topics of discussion.” Aalis said lightly, her voice travelling around behind Verne. “Now stand up and, without opening your eyes, move over to the mirror.”

  Verne reached out and Aalis grasped her hand. “This is ridiculous…everyone is going to think I’m a fool!”

  “No one knows you!” Aalis exclaimed, moving a footstool behind Verne so that she could stand higher than her. “The problem with that party where you were supposed to be presented as a girl was that everyone knew you and you were self conscious. When no one knows you, you have more freedom to really be yourself.”

  “I thought you said weapons and violence were off the table?” Verne felt Aalis muck about with her hair. “Are you done?”

  “Almost…now, when I say open, look at your reflection.” Aalis fiddled a moment more. “Open!”

  Verne opened her eyes, full prepared to despise her appearance. She blinked for a moment, seeing a blur of blue before her until her eyes properly focussed. For a moment she held her breath then her faint whiff of hope betrayed her as it deserted her, shoulders slumping even as Aalis held back Verne’s hair.

  “I told you,” Verne said flatly, trying to keep the grief out of her voice, “I look like a man dressing like a girl.”

  “Until I do…this…” Aalis released Verne’s hair and it tumbled around her face.

  Verne watched as the black strands, shorter now that they had been curled, turned into a frame, softening the strong lines of her face with a glorious mane of ringlets. Unlike her stepmother, who had tied them up in a big bow, pulling them back from her jaw and cheekbones, Aalis allowed the curls to fall forward a little and suddenly everything, even the subtle dash of colour on Verne’s cheeks and the dab of beeswax on her lips, made sense.

  Aalis held still, watching as Verne peered at the mirror, looking for her male persona in the reflection of the lady.

  “Aalis,” Verne flicked at the curls, “what did you do?”

  “I did not try to turn you into the girl you are not,” Aalis said, stepping down from the footstool, “but into the woman you are.”

  “But I…” Verne turned and saw that the boning she had fought with before was giving her slender body a waistline by tapering in and out. However, unlike the hated dress she had worn years before, this gown did not try to accentuate what was not there. “I am still quite…flat…” She gestured to her bust.

  “The best thing you can do is work with your best features and flatter everything else.” Aalis insisted. “You have remarkably blue eyes and that black hair of yours gives a wonderful contrast. You are tall and slender which causes the gown you wear to move with elegance.”

  “Even in these boots?” Verne said, kicking her foot out, showing off a pair of her preferred black boots.

  “The gown is long enough that only the toe would peek out before the hem caught up with it.”

  “Someone is still bound to notice.” Verne argued.

  “Smile and no one will notice your shoes.” Aalis laughed.

  Verne looked back at her reflection. She had to admit, she was quite surprised by the result…but she wasn’t sure it was enough. “Aalis…”

  “Go to the feast and, when people are milling about and talking, do a lap around the room and then leave.” Aalis squeezed her hand then clicked her fingers. “Wait!” She went to where the black fur was hanging and eased it down.

  “Oh no…I couldn’t!” Verne protested as Aalis swung it around her shoulders.

  “Trust me,” Aalis smiled, “the reveal of the gown will be worth it.”

  Judd had spent an hour circulating with Willower on his arm. She had introduced him to all the guests, performing her duties as daughter of his host with a practiced air and eager enthusiasm. He caught sight of Giordi now and then but the minstrel seemed to be holding back, keeping out of Judd’s moment.

  When the herald announced that Donimede had something to say, rather than rush to stand by his side, Judd was content to stand with the rest of the guests.

  “Lords and ladies, honoured guests,” Sir Donimede bowed, his skin quite stark compared to the unnatural black of his hair, “before the feasting begins, there is something I would like to address.” At the seriousness of his voice, all attention was riveted upon him. “You came to Fort Mavour to witness monster slaying in my Arena,” Judd breathed to remain calm, “and while all measures are taken to make it a secure endeavour, when it comes to the depravities of Maul, there are some things we cannot predict.” Sir Donimede’s eyes glanced over the top of their heads. “However, this time, though it might seem like the danger was from the monsters, ultimately the responsibility rests on just one man.”

  Judd tensed, wondering if Donimede was about to denounce him in public.

  Sir Donimede came out from behind his table, his chin high and his pause, painful. “Bring him in.”

  They turned to the doors which opened and a brutish man with a crooked nose and permanently squinting eye was marched into the feasting hall, escorted by two heavyset guards and a smaller man with pale hair plaited and tied into a topknot on his head.

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  Judd could feel Willower’s confusion and suspected that Lady Jocasa was also unaware of Donimede’s addition to the feast programme, judging by the way she was glowering at him.

  Sir Donimede sat on the edge of his table and waved them closer. “This is the man, Urik?”

  “Yes, Sir Donimede.” Urik bowed.

  Donimede shook his head and tutted. “This is the man who opened the gate of the Arena without authorisation and of his own volition, which allowed swarms of goblins, orthros and two highly dangerous minotaur into the Arena. This man,” he pointed at him, “endangered your lives, the lives of all those in Fort Mavour and in the city itself.”

  All the guests either glared daggers at the man or shook their heads. Judd’s eyes were hard and his jaw was tight.

  “For such an act of wanton negligence, punishment is to be expected.” Many heads nodded. Lady Jocasa might have hissed a protestation but Donimede continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “As your host, naturally the responsibility would fall to me…but I turn to Judd LaMogre,” Judd met his gaze with grim determination, “who is all, but a knight already, to demonstrate his wisdom in this matter.” At the word ‘wisdom’, Donimede’s hand rested on the hilt of his dress sword, an ornate blade for formal occasions. Judd wondered if, for this occasion, Donimede had made sure it was sharpened to a deadly finish.

  Judd stared at Donimede. “Let me make sure I understand you,” he said quietly, his voice carrying in the silence for even the servants had stopped to listen, “you are granting me the authority to exact justice on this man?”

  “Indeed.”

  “And my judgement will stand?”

  “Whatever you feel is appropriate to the severity of the crime.” Donimede waved his hand.

  Judd eased Willower’s hand from his arm and stepped into the vacant circle around the condemned man. His head was low and his eyes were on the ground. He wasn’t trembling so he either wasn’t afraid or there was little wit left in his mind to realise what he was facing.

  “What is your name?” Judd asked.

  “It is Jole.” Urik offered. “He will not answer you, LaMogre…he is mute.”

  “I see,” Judd swallowed and stood in front of him, “Jole…look at me.” The man failed to lift his head so Judd hardened his tone. “Look at me!” Jole raised his head a little, his dim eyes showing deep resentment. Judd stared at him. “Why did you do it? Answer me!” Jole’s eyes flickered ever so briefly to Donimede then back to Judd before dropping to the ground. Judd breathed out and stepped back.

  So…it was true.

  Judd turned around and looked at the guests, glancing at Sir Donimede and Lady Jocasa.

  “This man made a mistake…a costly one that endangered lives and fractured the integrity of the Arena,” he said firmly, “and in doing so, it taught us all a valuable lesson. That the monsters of Maul are not to be taken lightly! They are not entertainment. They are the enemy and it serves us well to remind us all…to remind me,” he put his hand on his chest, “to never become familiar or overconfident.” The silence in the hall had become a void as everyone held their breath. “I thank you for that lesson,” he said, turning to Jole who lifted his head, astonishment attempting to crack through his grim, stony face, “one that I intend never to forget.”

  There was a long, very long, lapse in anything. No one spoke. No one gossiped…they were all stunned and silent.

  “But,” Donimede blurted, standing up straight, casualness gone in his alarm, “a punishment must be exacted! Anything less than execution…”

  “He made a mistake,” Judd said firmly, “one he will never make again…and I know, from the integrity and diligence of Captain Chael and sword master Roust, that not one soldier or guard will ever repeat it. It would be a waste to execute someone who will be the cautionary tale of what not to do.” Judd turned his back to Donimede who blustered and fumed almost without restraint and looked at Jole. “Go, now, Jole…and think on the mistake you made, why you made it…and how you could better serve your master.”

  The silence was excruciating as Judd stepped back from Jole and folded his arms and waited.

  Then Willower began to clap, followed by Lady Jocasa and quickly the applause began to build until the hall was filled with praise for his actions. Urik’s eyes flickered briefly to Donimede then he clicked his fingers to the guards and they all left, taking Jole with them. Willower crossed the space to where Judd stood and grasped his hand.

  “That was marvellous! Truly wonderful!”

  Judd couldn’t tell any more if Willower was sincere or not.

  “My daughter is right, of course,” Lady Jocasa said, descending upon them, the crowd parting to allow her to approach, “for you dealt with it delicately and tactfully, especially in regards to the…auspiciousness of the occasion.”

  “I would not have wanted bloodshed to mar your elegant evening.” Judd insisted. “Forgive me that this happened at all.”

  Lady Jocasa smiled at him. “Do not fear, soon to be Sir LaMogre…I know where the true blame lies. Willower?”

  “Yes, mother?”

  “Please assist me in directing the feast.”

  “Of course.” Willower gave Judd’s arm a brief squeeze before she followed her mother.

  Judd’s mind was in a daze like he’d suffered a delayed concussion from the brawl with the minotaur. He felt someone grasp his arm and draw him aside, Giordi’s face dancing in double before him.

  “Hey,” he hissed, “you still with us?”

  “That unimaginable bastard…” Judd fumed.

  “You want to become unimaginably plastered? At once, LaMogre!” Giordi grabbed two goblets of wine and thrust one at him. “Keep your voice down.”

  “Donimede dragged someone, who was only doing his bidding into this feast his wife organised so that I would be forced to pass judgement and execute him!”

  “I realised that.” Giordi shook his head. “Bravo for the way you handled it.”

  “Really?” Judd said after gulping down half his wine. “I don’t remember half of what I said.”

  “Something about never forgetting.” Giordi chuckled. “Look, you didn’t let the mistake go…you turned it into a lesson. Chael and Roust…they’re not fools. They would know Donimede set you up. I think half of the guests tonight would know it too.”

  “And the other half?” Judd swigged more wine.

  “Too drunk to retain any memory of it.” Giordi snatched the wine away. “A little will loosen you up but a lot will loosen your fists and tongue.”

  Judd nodded. “Yes…thank you…” He pressed his fingers against his eyes and swiped downwards, breathing out as he did so. “Where did Willower go?”

  “Why? Missing someone hanging from your arm?” Giordi slid his arm through. “I’ll fill in for her.”

  “Get off!”

  “Oh LaMogre…how droll you are!”

  Judd laughed and gave Giordi a shove. “You are such an arse…thank you for being here.”

  “I’m always here for you, LaMogre. You know that. You’re my muse, my reason for being! My…my, my, my…”

  Judd frowned and turned to Giordi who was looking at the doors. He turned and followed his line of sight as the herald announced the rather late arrival of Lyla Borelia. The black fur of her cloak shrouded her in a plush embrace, the blue of her gown peeking out as she stepped towards the servant who offered to take it for her. She tipped the hood back from her face, black curls framing her face, her eyes bright and her cheeks flushed. She undid the clasp of her cloak and the servant gently removed it, sliding it from her shoulders, revealing a gown just a shade duller than the blue of her eyes. She was tall and slender and as she looked around, lightly biting the bottom of her lip, exposing a degree of nervousness, Judd’s jaw fell open.

  “That’s…that’s…Ver…”

  “Very nice,” Giordi breathed, “very nice indeed.”

  Judd looked at him in astonishment. “Are you seeing who I’m seeing?”

  “I think the better question would be, are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Giordi corrected. “She’s quite lovely.”

  Judd blinked. “Uh…yeah…she is. She…she is…” He paused, feeling like he’d been hit in the head again. “Why don’t you go and talk to her?” Giordi snorted. “Not pretty enough for you?”

  “Well, I usually prefer a more curvaceous build,” Giordi confessed, possibly being a little too honest for his own good, “but she has a very…almost ethereal atmosphere about her. Like she’s a fantasy.”

  “Sounds perfect for you.” Giordi shrugged. “What is it?”

  “It’s just that…” Giordi turned his back on the woman and spoke to Judd confidentially. “Ever since that whole, nomad, Revna, baby, whipping post incident…my confidence has been a little…”

  Judd raised an eyebrow. “Bent?”

  “Shattered is more like it.”

  “You were flirting in the marketplace!”

  “With girls who were flirting with me.” Giordi looked back at Lyla who had been approached by Lord and Lady Gemel and their son, Sevelon. “Look at her.”

  “Believe me, I am.” Judd started to wonder if he would have to manually hold his jaw up as he seemed to have lost the ability to close it.

  “She is…a lady of class and not lower or middle…she’s upper up. The gown, the fur cloak, that willowy elegance…”

  “Are you worried you won’t be able to seduce her or worried you will?” Judd asked, pressing his fingers to his forehead.

  “I don’t want to seduce her or anyone,” Giordi argued, “I just…don’t want to leave a broken heart behind me…or be shot down in the process. I mean, look at her.”

  “Yeah, still looking.” Judd shook his head.

  “She’s so reserved, so poised…what could I offer someone like her?”

  Judd muttered ‘unbelievable’ to himself before sighing. “Go and talk to her.”

  “I’m not sure…”

  “Just go, already. I’m not sure I can take much more of this.” Judd gave him a shove. “I’ll be fine. I might just…step out for some fresh air.”

  Giordi clucked his tongue. “Well…if you’re sure?”

  “I’m sure. Go.” Judd watched him cross the hall, making a subtle beeline for Lyla Borelia. He knew he ought to be more observant, possibly overcome with curiosity as to how the meeting would go…but he was oddly distracted. As the food for the feast began to flow into the hall, the guests shifted towards the platters of roast meats and vegetables, rounds of cheese, large bowls of fruit and rounds of bread that let out the steam they’d been holding onto as hands tore them apart.

  Judd slipped to the door and out into the cooler, dimmer antechamber. He immediately made for the stairs, descending to the right level then taking the familiar path down a corridor to a pair of doors. Judd knocked on the door then, before he heard a response, pushed it open.

  “That was quick, even with your reservations,” Aalis’ voice came to him, “I had hoped you would at least do a turn about the…Judd?”

  “Aalis.” He greeted. Aalis had a shirt in her hands, half folded and probably intended for the neat pile she was making to be packed in their swags.

  Aalis swallowed, reaching hastily for her gloves, pulling them on. “You…are here?”

  “I am.” Judd put his hand on the back of the chair near the fireplace. “I thought you might want some company or help packing, since Verne was dazzling the daylights out of the guests at the feast, looking stunning in her blue dress and black curls.”

  Aalis paused then glanced at him shyly. “She…is dazzling?” She asked softly.

  Judd nodded, walking forward. “Oh yeah…”

  “Judd…” Aalis closed her eyes, mouth open to start apologising when Judd held his hand up to silence her.

  “I’d love to hear just how long I’ve been ignorant for.”