"Is Lady Wynlers resting too?"

  "Oh, yeah. Cherry went to bed right after dinner. Pregnant women can't do too much, you know." The maid nodded absentmindedly.

  "I'll bring your dinner." Daisy stood and smoothed her skirt. "Still black bread, I'm afraid." An apologetic smile crossed her lips.

  "Oh." The maid quickly rose to her feet, swallowing hard. "I don't think I need dinner right now."

  "Hmm?" Lady Clawyn looked puzzled. "Have you eaten already?"

  "No." Elisa lowered her head. "I just have something I need to attend to."

  "Attend to? At this hour? Ah!" The lady suddenly realized something and leaned close to Elisa's ear. "This wouldn't have anything to do with your poet, would it?"

  The handmaid's face flushed crimson, clearly unprepared for such a suggestion. Daisy Clawyn grinned mischievously, awaiting Elisa's response. "Yes." She realized this unexpected question could serve as perfect cover for her true intentions. "It's about that poet..."

  Lady Clawyn covered her mouth, laughing until her eyes narrowed to slits. "You're finally growing up, my dear," she said warmly. "Go on, Elisa. It's high time you pursued your own happiness. Wait!" She grabbed the cloth purse and emptied the coins onto the wooden table. "My lady?" Daisy Clawyn scooped up a handful of glens. "Take these."

  "I couldn't possibly," Elisa quickly pushed away her hand. "That's your entire day's earnings from selling wine."

  "It's my money, so I decide how it's spent." Daisy seized the maid's wrist and pressed the coins into her palm. "Now go." She ushered Elisa toward the door. "Wait another second and I might change my mind and make you sit with Amy all night."

  "But—"

  All Elisa faced now was a dark wooden door.

  Portilo stood with arms crossed, toe tapping rhythmically against the ground. "Elisa, where are you going?" A coarse, gravelly female voice called from behind the door. "Lady Clawyn's asked me to run an errand, Erana." Elisa shifted uncomfortably under the heavy-set doorkeeper's scrutiny. "Alright, miss. But don't be too late." The plump woman twisted the tap on a wine barrel, pouring herself a generous glass of Clawyn red. "Erana hates being woken."

  Whether it's thieves breaking in, bandits attacking, the estate burning down, or Monowe experiencing an earthquake—I've never once seen you wake up in time for anything. Elisa thought disdainfully. "I'll mind the hour," she promised, walking away without a backward glance.

  The secretary's rhythmic tapping halted abruptly. "Is today Friday, miss?"

  "No, sir. It's Thursday."

  "Your memory serves you well, and you seem quite alert," Portilo said, shaking his head and spreading his hands. "But where is Lady Clawyn, whom you promised to bring?"

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  "I have a great memory, sir, and I'm perfectly alert. So I remember I never promised to bring my lady." Elisa lifted her chin, looking down at the secretary. "I'm here to inform you of my decision." She steadied her breathing before continuing.

  "Your decision?" The secretary doubted his hearing.

  "Yes, my decision," the maid replied. "I intend to take my lady's place."

  "Perhaps I should clean my ears." Portilo tilted his head, pantomiming digging at his ear. "You must be misunderstanding something."

  "I assure you I'm not misunderstanding anything, Lord Portilo. I'm of age," though she was actually a year shy. "I fully comprehend what this entails."

  "I'm afraid," the secretary's expression turned grave, "you don't truly grasp the significance or responsibility involved. I... no, Lord Ancard requires Lady Clawyn's presence, not that of a simple handmaid."

  "I understand perfectly, which is why I've decided to substitute for my lady and meet your master, Lord Ancard. I won't allow my lady to suffer further harm."

  "This isn't harm!" Portilo sputtered, clearly flustered. "It's... it's an honor."

  "I don't consider anything that causes nightly tears to be an honor!" Elisa clenched her hands tightly. "If that's what you call an honor, then my lady must respectfully decline."

  The secretary sighed in resignation. "I sympathize with your lady's position... but Lord Ancard has explicitly instructed me to arrange a meeting with Daisy Clawyn tonight."

  "Then you have even more reason to bring me to Lord Ancard," Elisa's tone brooked no argument. "You and I now find ourselves clinging to the same piece of driftwood in a vast sea. My lady will not set foot outside the estate tonight, and Lord Ancard will not permit you to return empty-handed." (Don't falter now, Elisa. Stand firm, and you'll succeed.) She steeled herself. "You don't have much choice, my lord."

  Portilo lowered his head in contemplation, his toe resuming its tapping. "No one would question that you're Lady Clawyn's handmaid; you even speak with the same imperious manner. That commanding presence leaves quite an impression—though not always a favorable one." He raised his head, meeting Elisa's gaze directly. "I'll concede to your logic, miss. But that doesn't mean I approve of your tone or attitude. None of us appreciates being threatened, least of all the governor. Remember that well." Portilo turned and began walking. "I'll escort you to the governor, miss. I only hope you can convince him, though I harbor few expectations."

  "I'll do my utmost," Elisa assured him, following closely. (I've done it!)

  "We all have something we wish to preserve and protect," Portilo remarked suddenly. "You seek to protect your lady. The governor, meanwhile, wishes to preserve his time."

  "Long time no see, Toyef, my old friend!" Walin Barklo Vaslov spread his arms wide, warmly greeting his visitor. "Long time no see, Walin, my old friend!" Toyef Bilinski responded with equal enthusiasm. His red hair extended to his chin where it merged with his beard, perfectly complementing his ruddy complexion. Before embracing his friend, Walin first hugged what seemed to be an invisible deity. (Gods above, he reeks worse than someone who's slept in a vat of ale.)

  "How have you been, young Vaslov? You're looking heartier than your father did at your age." Toyef Bilinski tugged playfully at Walin's beard. He stood taller than Walin, who was already considered large among dwarves. "Sturdy! You've clearly been living well."

  "The same could be said for you, Bilinski," Walin replied, yanking at the other's beard in return. "That red beard is as striking as ever." He added with envy, "When I'm old, I'll dye my beard just like yours."

  Toyef Bilinski laughed heartily. "You won't find dye like this anywhere, Walin. Even if you tried mixing it yourself, you'd fail. This is a Bilinski family specialty. Come along now, children! Come greet your Lord Walin."

  Behind Toyef stood three dwarves and a human mother with her child—the standard configuration that would later become known as the legendary "Toyef's Squad." In years to come, when people reflected on the past, the red-haired dwarf would be remembered in two starkly contrasting ways: as a gloriously honored hero and as a despicably treacherous enemy. Predictably, these opposing views originated from the South and North, respectively.