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friend!
    I regret to disrupt your studies, but my disruptions are always worthwhile. It has been a long time since we have conversed over the vineyard’s finest. Mystland is a tired setting, and so I invite you to my humble home. Hawkwing knows the way; he will find you, as he is an expert tracker and guide. Please be kind to him.
    Expectantly,
    Bill
    “He cannot be serious.” He reread both letters. He is serious, of course. He wants me to visit him. I am wary of the word “journey.” Warier still of a man who calls himself “Hawkwing.” And what does he mean by his “companion?” The messenger had not mentioned that anyone had accompanied the letter.
    “You are quite presumptuous to assume I will accept your invitation, William,” he grumbled. Worse than the invitation was the fact that he could only accept. There was nowhere for him to go, his funds were nearly exhausted, and—what he refused to admit to himself—was that William had spurred his curiosity.
    He took both letters and stuffed them in his travel bag. “My hosts will likely be pleased to hear of my imminent departure. Perhaps as pleased as I will be to leave.” He thumped his staff and left the room.
    ~*~
    T he floor was cleaner than she was. Dirt, grit, and blood were wedged beneath her shredded fingernails as she scrubbed at the greasy stone. Her knuckles were scraped raw, and the filthy water stung with every dip of the scouring brush. The bruises were not a result of her labor so much as Clerk Melgora’s irrational tantrums. Broomsticks, pots, and cooking utensils made convenient instruments of punishment, and when no such item was within reach, Melgora’s feet or fists were equally as effective.
    Kariayla tried not to think about her situation, but despair was difficult to ignore. One evening she was in a dress, beside a noblewoman; the next day she was in rags, scraping at the encrusted kitchen floor. The blame for Eleana’s disappearance was yet another addition to her list of failures. She could understand the need for the Barendorns to punish her. She could even understand why Eleana had to take advantage of the opportunity to leave with her lover. But what tore at her heart was how quickly she had been discarded, forgotten. What did it truly mean to be called a friend when there was no obligation of fidelity?
    She wondered where Eleana had fled, and she wondered if they would inevitably be found. Or she will keep her freedom and become his wife. They might seek refuge in a small town, raise a family. A happy life with the one she loves. Kariayla paused when she heard Melgora’s voice in the background. Soon the clerks and the cooks would be preparing for the afternoon meal, and she did not want to be in the way when the kitchen grew busy. She tried to work faster, scrubbing harder at the stone so she would not be flogged with the broom. She hardly noticed that her fingers were bleeding again, swirls of red mixing with the soapy water as she pushed the brush back and forth with maddened vigor.
    There was an awkward clearing of the throat from someone behind her, but she did not stop until she heard a voice. “Your pardon, my dear, but I...I was hoping to speak with you.”
    Kariayla turned on her knees to stare up at the Blood Mage. He did not look happy or comfortable to be there. She glanced around nervously, afraid that he would get her in trouble for being distracted.
    “If you have a moment....”
    She gave a quick nod and made the effort to stand. Her knees buckled, but before she could fall, she felt thick fingers snare her arm to steady her. Embarrassed, she thanked him and looked away.
    “I wanted to apologize for my rambling after dinner. I expect I made you uncomfortable, and it was not my intention at all. I, too, am rather passionate about history.”
    “There was no harm done, Medoriate, sir,” Kariayla said quietly.
    “Arcturus,” the Blood Mage said. “I am not a medoriate, despite my appearance.”
    There was