”Who are you? And what’re you doing here this late o’ night? Speak up!”

The distrust, admittedly, was almost entirely unexpected after Morrigan’s little show. Still unweaving the Red Fist’s magic, keeping him from accessing that pesky and annoying magic of his, they leaned back while the guards actually managed to be competent enough at their jobs for once, shackling the Red Fist with special cuffs engineered to siphon his mana any time he tried to make use of it. They looked seconds away from shackling Morrigan themselves. The charlatan crossed their arms, an affronted expression on their face. “Oi, where’s the compassion for the people who just saved this entire city, not to mention the life of your precious sultan? We’re innocent bystanders, I tell you!”

… That didn’t seem to do the trick of endearing themselves to the guards. What did, though, was the sudden splash in the distance, and the helpless lady facade Kamille had suddenly adopted to lower the militia’s guard.

Oh, she was good.

Morrigan was not surprised she had that trick in her repertoire, though they did have to admire how skilled she was at it. Helpless, Kamille was not; she was helpless in the manner a lioness was. But oh, she had them all eating out of the palm of their hands, all scrambling to help the dainty woman, as if they’d all just forgotten that she was the one who called heaven’s rage down from the sky seconds ago. Meanwhile, cute, sweet, and innocent Morrigan Moonweaver was treated with skepticism and distrust.

The irony was not lost on them.

They grimaced at the prospect of actually going with the military to the palace - they’d hoped this might be resolved with a quick reward and no further questions for the sake of their business… but they likely wouldn’t have a choice, because that was how the Zeinavian military worked. Choice was little more than an illusion here.

At least they were helpful enough to offer the good lady a ride while Morrigan got squat. With a huff they followed behind the entourage, taking the opportunity to pelt the Red Fist with even more glitter as the sourpuss resigned himself to his fate.

---

… And that was how they ended up in the middle of Sultan Adatian Jadda Ziev’s waiting chambers at three in the morning, both witch and alchemist drenched from head to toe in glitter and water, Morrigan wearing the most triumphant, shit-eating grin on their face as if they expected the Sultan to emerge and personally offer them a key to the kingdom for their efforts. Yes, they were that utterly shameless.

They turned to Kamille, who’d been equally drenched in glitter - though considerably more shameful about her ragged appearance in the presence of royalty - and nudged her in the side with their tail, a conniving giggle hidden behind their hand. “Oh, cheer up, good lady! I’m certain by the time that this is all said and done his excellency will have forgotten all about your sparkly leathers and all he’ll remember is your baby-doll eyes after you charm him into remembering that you - and by extension, me - saved his life!”

A few minutes later a door creaked open and an irritable man, half-dressed in finery and some sort of circlet half-perched on his head. Even the attempt at dressing did not hide the fine velvet slippers he was wearing, or the facial cream slathered under his eyes, a cucumber still stuck to his cheek. He looked quite peeved to have his beauty sleep interrupted - he scanned the room before his gaze honed in on the two veritable disco balls, both glimmering where candle light hit them. They were… hard to miss, admittedly.

When he spoke, his voice was harsh, unyielding. Demanding answers as to why he’d been unceremoniously roused from his sleep, by a circus clown and a woman who looked like she couldn’t decide between goth and glamour this morning, no less. Looking between the two of them, he asked, “What is the meaning of this?”

And that was how Kamille, once eager to make a great and might first impression on Sultan Adatian Jadda Ziev, walked by Morrigan's side, each step and gesture making a flurry of glitter spread on the luxurious carpet.

Well, she assumed they would be hard to forget at least, huh? The fellblood could notice they seemed to finally be getting under her skin, as their wide grin was met with an involuntary twitch of the eye. But before she could find the words to answer Morrigan, the man himself entered.

She stiffened up imediatelly, and her overly stoic posture would tell the fellblood she was desperately hanging to the seriousness of the situation, so that she wouldn’t notice the face mask or the crooked circlet on his head. Kamille lowered her eyes, squarely on his silk slippers. That was a mistake.

But despite the situation they were in, she couldn’t help but feel the Sultan to be exactly the kind of person she expected him to be: someone firm, grounded and honorable. The Witch would give him the respect of not trying to use cheap tricks - if he was warm to those kinds of womanly charms, the matter of his succession probably wouldn’t be that much of a big fuss.

No, she would rather be truthful.

As much as she could be, at least... She also had to back up Morrigan. What was that they were saying back there...?

Before anything else, she offered him a perfect curtsy, clearly the kind taught to the ladies at the Court of the Sun King.

"My deepest apologies, Your Majesty. This is as uncomfortable for Your Majesty as it is to us. My name is Kamille, and my friend over here is Master Morrigan Moonweaver."

It was clear she wanted to get that over with as soon as possible; like pulling your teeth, you better be done quickly. She evidently tried to play up Morrigan's title, as between the two of them, they were the one less likely to get off of with with just a pat on the head. She wondered if her name alone - and, of course, her starry blue eyes - would be enough for the Sultan to recognize the Witch of Moonglade beneath all that glitter.

"Like my friend was explaining to your guards, we were attacked in the middle of the street while we were minding our own business. We did overhear some concerning words from that horrible man, something about a plan to over take Your Majesty. I would hope that to be the ramblings of a lunatic, but Your Majesty will be the judge of that."

Kamille looked over to Morrigan to allow him to introduce themselves and give their own take of the situation. For a moment she worried the place they were found would be used against them - a neighborhood where the less-than-honorable dwelled, certainly no place for a proper lady.

Her thoughts quickly went to the happenings of the night. The Black Quills scurried away before the guards arrived, before they were given the chance to search the Red Fist for his goodies. They might be able to frame Lady Jasnah before the day would break, but to think that what she wanted most - the hidden knowledge, the blueprints for an old tomb, the prospect of a mystery! - would be lost forever...

Needless to say she was furious, hinting at her stiffened tone of voice and lack of flowery gestures and glamour. But she was sure Morrigan would be able to pick up from there.

It was taking all of Morrigan’s self control not to burst into giggles. This was the leader of Zeinav, the man who controlled their country and fierce military leader… wearing a cheap mud mask. They side eyed Lady Kamille, who was stiff as a wooden board, all prim and proper the way a court lady ought to be. But they could tell she was a second away from bursting into giggles, only holding it together for the sake of being respectful.

Morrigan was not so reverent.

“It is with humility and grace I stand before you today, your mask - your Majesty. I am Morrigan Moonweaver, known by many as the Wizard of the Wastes. Enchanter, diviner, storyteller, godslayer, creator of miracles and maker of elixirs most wonderful. I make a living as a wandering potion salesman and miracle worker for the people in this country who are in need.”

Lady Kamille was playing up their reputation, though glossing over it - the charlatan had no such reservations, and were fully content to flatter and play themselves up, practically giving their entire curriculum vitae.

The sultan… did not look impressed.

Nevertheless, Morrigan straightened, drawing upon every ounce of their penchant for bullshitery and storytelling to sell this. With a wave of their hand, they sprayed more glitter everywhere, some of it getting on the floor, the rest getting on Kamille’s face.

“Yes, it’s true, unfortunate as it is! My associate and I were taking a stroll, minding our own business, when this man unjustly accosted us, recognizing the Witch of Moonglade, and myself as the Wizard of the Wastes. Perhaps he saw two strong mages of repute and thought we were there seeking him out. In truth, our business was unrelated.” They paused, leaning in, as if sharing a kernel of an important secret. “Business that may or may not be related to a conjoining of our individual reputations for a collaborative potionmaking effort. The night markets in the lower cities, though seedy and dangerous, are ideal for procuring rare potion materials that were required for our designs. Thus, I convinced the good lady to take a stroll with me, with the promise of protecting her should any harm come to her. Unfortunately, our fine… garments…” Which were now covered in thick layers of sparkly material and soaked to the bone, “Gave us away as people of means.”

All bullshit, of course, but Morrigan was a master improviser and a crackshot when it came to thinking on their feet. Enough to weave a plausible story to make them look as innocent as possible. The sultan nodded, making an impatient gesture for Morrigan to go on. So they obliged, pressing a hand to their forehead like a swooning dame.

“He accosted us, and let slipper - SLIP - that he wouldn’t let anyone interfere with his plans. His and the Lady Jasnah Zuldan, a noblewoman of some repute in your very own inner circle. Of course, as concerned citizens, we fought back! What he said may have been nothing but the two of us, as concerned citizens, would be remiss if we did not bring the possibility of such treason to your attention.”

It was a good thing they’d already squirreled away the ledger containing evidence of any tomb delving from Jasnah’s casino office when they pilfered it a few nights ago. If Morrigan and Kamille played their cards right here, they could squeeze some kind of reward out of the Sultan, and perhaps even investigate those tombs later, split the treasure…

With a finish they clasped their hands together, an innocent expression on their face, as if to say, look at me! I’m so cute I couldn’t hurt a fly.

The sultan stared at them. Took a deep breath. Contemplated just throwing them in the brig for ruining his evening and returning to his beauty sleep. But he could not deny that Lady Kamille held a special reputation amongst the courts, one even he was aware of here. That alone made it somewhat worth substantiating.

“Do you have any proof?” He asked.

“Only what we heard. But even the claim of treason is enough to warrant investigation, no?”

“If I promise to look into this, will it get you out of my chambers faster?” He looked at Morrigan like the fellblood was a damn fool. Unfortunately, even a broken clock which was right twice a day, which made it all the more depressing that they were likely right about all of this. The sultan very much looked like he did not want them to be right, if only so he had an excuse to throw Morrigan in the brig. Kamille was not afforded the same courtesy, probably because he knew of her reputation and did not see this matter worth making waves over.

Morrigan didn’t particularly care about any of that; so long as they were recognized and compensated for their work, then the steps to get there weren’t as important. Sweeping into a low bow that got more sparkly shit over the Sultan’s floor, Morrigan spoke. “Whatever his majesty demands of us… so long as you take us on our word, too.”

The sultan stared at Kamille, as if assessing her. “And you… corroborate their claims?” The question sounded a lot like, really? You call this clown your friend? Something was still off to him - something not quite right. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had cozied up to him with claims of loyalty to gain his favor. It had left him a difficult man to flatter - which was clearly Morrigan’s specialty. If they wanted to convince him, they’d need to adopt a different approach.

Morrigan was making it very hard for Kamille to hold up. Quick! Think boring stuff! Paperwork. No, she liked paperwork. Lectures! Old farts ranting on an on in a suffocating room. There was this one old wizard once - he was smart, but smelled like an eremit fresh from a month long journey through the desert. At least the Sultan smelled nice - was that peach? Gods, why didn’t anyone tell him the cucumbers did nothing for his skin?

The Witch was glad that the fellblood seemed to like so much the sound of their own voice - it gave her time to recover and re-align her thoughts. While Kamille liked the flair of ~dramatiqué~, it wasn’t nearly as much drama as Morrigan could hurl in a single flick of the wrist.

And as much as her business hinged around the exchange of information, she would give the power of actions its appropriate attention. Which... she hoped would play on their favor, as the fellblood's speech didn’t seem to impress the Sultan. A minor adjustment would be needed as to not throw Morrigan under the bus, but that would be fairly easy.

"Your Highness, I'm afraid-"

An idle gesture, and an arch of glitter followed her hand. She gave pause. Her eyes fell on the Sultan's slippers for a moment.

Ahem.

"I'm afraid this encounter might've been my fault - as I assume to be the target of Lady Jasnah's rage, should it be true the bully to be working with her."

The truth, sprinkled with some aspects that would be twisted on their favor. Her father taught her as much.

"Lady Jasnah and I have been meeting for tea these past couple days, before we had our fall out."

She wouldn’t have it used against her - and, like her father taught her, she did her due diligence and covered her steps in advance.

"I'm afraid Lady Jasnah is in dire need of specialized help, Your Highness. She makes clay-claims!... regarding the fatherhood of her child that are... utterly absurd! I'm sure some of her maids might be able to confirm this."

And she, of course, could point out the maids she thought that could tell the story she wanted. Not the most loyal to their Lady, but the ones that would ultimately tell of her machinations. They wouldn’t tell the story of a deluded woman, however, and that's what she wanted. Down to their appearance, where they lived, and what it would take for them to sing their song, she was already prepared for that. The Black Quills saw to that the days prior.

"I assumed these to be delusions of a lone widow, which ultimately led her to ban me from her house. I should've known what she was capable of. And if she is capable of sending some poor soul to silence me, it means she might be capable to follow with her ultimate plan."

And that's where she would lay the ground for Morrigan to dramatically relay the final piece of the puzzle to the Sultan: that Lady Jasnah wanted to claim him to be the father of her son.

“Lady Jasnah? Claims? What does she have to do with any of this?”

The sultan’s countenance might have been more awe-inspiring did one of his cucumbers not choose that precise moment to vacate his face and slide to the floor with a small, wet plop.

Oh, the humanity.

Morrigan could not contain their laughter in time; a peal of startled giggles escaped their lips, which Morrigan rapidly turned into a round of rather conspicuous coughing. “SORRY, sorry, tickle in my throat.”

The sultan raised an eyebrow, and how in the world did he manage to capture that disdain so eloquently? Morrigan cleared their throat, and straightened to the largest stature they could muster. Morrigan had not especially been blessed with ample height, but what they lacked, they made up for in the ability to make themselves appear larger than life.

This was it. The crux of the conspiracy that had sparked all this meddling on behalf of scammer and witch, two incorrigible gossips. One of whom held a nasty, petty streak a mile long and wasn’t too keen on the fact that Lady Jasnah had sent her guard dog to silence them. Morrigan swooned, nearly collapsing on the Sultan’s floor - an action which probably had every person in attendance of this midnight meeting rolling their eyes and thinking, okay, tone it down a notch, you peacock.

Which, yes, guilty as charged. Morrigan had a flair for the dramatic - but they also had a knack for storytelling, and they were going to sell the ever-loving shit out of this tale.

“I am afraid that what my companion says… is all true. You see, where she has been meeting with the Lady Jasnah since her arrival, Lady Kamille is but a visitor in Zeinav. I, on the other hand, am one of Zeinav’s most loyal and law-abiding citizens. I keep my eyes and ears out for any nonsense, especially when it might behoove m- behoove the throne, of course!”

Morrigan was picking up what Kamille was putting down, of course. It was a neat little detail, adding the stipulation of unreliability to the mix.

“I’d given the rumors no thought until now, because they seemed virtually ridiculous and impossible. But recent events have shed a different light on the hearsay I’ve heard spreading across the sands… namely, that Lady Jasnah has seen fit to spread word that her son was born of an illicit affair between herself and the incomparable Sultan Adatian Jadda Ziev.”

Morrigan paused, letting the words hang in thoughtful silence.

“What? Impossible.” The Sultan merely glowered. “No one would be so stupid as to try such a thing. Any magical test would reveal the falsehood of the claim, and Lady Jasnah would be thrown in jail.”

Morrigan clapped their hands together; the sound echoed about the chamber. With a nod that could be described as quite agreeable, the charlatan continued to wedge themselves into the Sultan’s good graces with an easygoing tone. “Such straightforward and honest thinking is admirable from a warrior such as yourself! But politics is an entirely different beast, one where people’s words are oft at odds with their own intentions. Consider, for a moment, what would happen if you’d heard such a rumor organically.”

The Sultan stopped and considered it.

“She and her son would be invited to the palace, where we could ascertain whether her words held truth or not. A formality, insisted on by retainers and advisors.” The Sultan scoffed, crossing his arms. That robe looked rather plush… Morrigan opened their mouth to ask where he’d purchased such a finery, but no, now wasn’t the time or place. Later, Morrigan. Later. “A ridiculous farce. I know that it is impossible. But they would insist on it.”

“Yes, yes, of course. And then you would be giving Lady Jasnah a front row seat to an audience with the ruler himself. A single moment of vulnerability… all it would take is a moment face to face with you for her to strike.”

“Impossible.” The sultan spat. “Rumors are one thing, but what you accuse my citizens of - premeditated treason - is much more serious.”

“Is it impossible?” Morrigan asked, voice as sweet as summer rain, tail swishing behind them languidly as they took a step closer. “Lady Kamille was attacked in the streets after learning of Lady Jasnah’s secrets. It could be coincidence… but taken in its totality, I’d say that’s pretty damning, wouldn’t you? Innocent people don’t hire hitmen, your grace.”

Here, the Sultan fell silent. Considering. Morrigan took the opportunity to strike, a scorpion driving their stinger into a weakness in the armor.

“Whether our story is true or not… you wouldn’t want to rebuff a visiting dignitary and esteemed guest from Moonglade by rebuffing her story and sweeping this incident under the rug, would you? That would risk angering one of our most powerful, amenable, and influential allies from the forestlands.”

The Sultan glowered at Morrigan as if to say, you’re a rat.

Morrigan grinned back, shameless. I know.

The sultan regarded the both of them before scoffing and turning on his heel. This meeting, in essence, was over. “I will question the Red Fist. You - you’d better stay in the city until we can verify this story.” Harsh words thrown at Morrigan before he cast one last glance at Kamille. Morrigan elected not to be offended at the realization that he definitely held her in higher esteem. “The country of Zeinav appreciates your understanding and cooperation at this time. We are truly sorry for this slight on your life. I hope this unfortunate incident has not damaged your esteem of us.”

If there was someone ready to scorn Morrigan for their dramatic act... It was not the Witch. Like someone watching a wild soap opera unraveling before her, Kamille leaned in, expectant, as if she didn't already know what was to come.

Actually, she didn't expect what was to come when Morrigan skillfully turned a bout of laughter into a violent fit of coughing. Barely holding in herself, biting her tongue to avoid her own laughter to escape, she masked her expression by covering her mouth with her hand and giving gentle taps on the fellblood's back. Maybe not so gentle.

Whatever reputation the Sultan had before, the Witch couldn't wipe out the memory of his fuzzy slippers and face mask. Before her eyes, his image was forever tarnished and covered in a generous amount of glitter.

Kamille did a double take when Morrigan referred to themselves as "law abiding", and she hoped the good Sultan would not be paying attention to her expression - or would at least interprete her surprised amusement as a reaction to the story. Despite the story unraveling along the lines of the expected, she still looked hooked by the exchange between Morrigan and the Sultan. Every bit the performer that they were, the fellblood delivered everything they promised. The Witch knew for sure the fellblood was a fun person to keep around.

And it didn't surprise her that Morrigan would pull at the strength of her reputation against the Sultan, who was smart enough to not want the disdain of Moonglade. A precise move, in her opinion, as the Sultan's resolution to wave away their claims started to wane.

It didn't escape her that he was using a harsher tone with the fellblood than with her, and that made her squint for a moment, as it finally had started to irritate her. As much as she appreciated the advantages her name had earned her, she didn't like to see the fellblood's presence being handwaved away like that.

Maybe Morrigan was growing in her eyes, huh... Metaphorically, at least. An adorable, dramatic half-pint.

And that last exchange in glances... She couldn't read their minds, but the thoughts seemed to emanate from them - and never before she had been so wildly amused to see a fellblood offer such a shit-eating grin to the Sultan.

.......The audacity!

She would never be tired of that.

"No need to worry, Your Highness. I have one reason and a half to love Zeinav despite it all."

The big, main one possibly being her lord necromancer, who supposedly was zeinavian if the rumors were right. Questioning the Red Fist could only go on their favor - and for a moment she forgot why she had been upset about one part of their plan that didn't work: they might find with the Red Fist whatever payment that Lady Jasnah had agreed to in exchange for the Witch's silence. Kamille had hoped for that payment to be in her hands, instead, only because she had hoped it would not be in gold. But instead, that would work on their favor by condeming Lady Jasnah. Fair enough.

The pieces were set.

"Admitedlly, I was lucky to have a brave zeinavian citizen to come to my aid. We thank you for your time."

The Sultan had already turned his back on them when she winked at the fellblood, so she just hooked her arm with Morrigan before spinning herself out of his presence, as the guards readily guided them out, leaving a trail of glitter in their wake. They would likely reach out in no time, so she whispered to the guard that looked like the one in charge.

"I'm staying at the Flying Carpet, should you need me. Thank you for coming in our aid. The Sultan is in good hands."

Just a pinch of heartfelt flattery from a beautiful woman seemed to soften even the most stoic guards, who escorted the pair out of the Palace with well wishes instead of just giving them their boots.

Out of sight and earshot, Kamille finally caved in and started to laugh maniacally, shaking uncontrolably as she leaned on the fellblood for support.

Luckily, Morrigan had managed to navigate that conversation the way they handled most negotiations; flying by the seat of their pants and utilizing someone else’s reputation to make it happen. Even if the sultan didn’t give a flying shit about the charlatan - but perhaps after this, he would, considering the lengths they went through to save his sorry, ungrateful, skincare product-covered ass - he wasn’t stupid enough to land himself in the bad graces of a visiting noble.

And just like that, it had worked.

They puffed themselves up a little when Kamille took the opportunity to sing their praises just before hooking her arm around theirs and swinging the both of them out. They couldn’t help but smirk like the winning idiot at a casino. In a way, they had won; what started as a misinformed misadventure to scam the piss out of one of the most notable dignitaries in the realm ended up with the sultan himself eating out of the palm of their hand, the kind of life-saving venture that no doubt would boost Morrigan’s notoriety and reliability in the city.

Oh, and they’d obtained a new ally, too. That was important too, but also, they’d just pulled off one of the most successful schemes of all - preventing another scheme from happening and gaining political favor because of it!

So yes, they looked very much like the cat who got the cream while Kamille gave the guards the hotel she was staying at. Morrigan merely wiggled their fingers at the members of the Zeinavian militia, getting even more glitter in the crevices of their armor that would be impossible to clean out later. “And you can always find me at Morrigan Moonweaver’s Wagon of Wonders if you’re in search of a place where miracles are made, darlings.” They offered in parting, to assure that there were no hard feelings left behind in the wake of their rough handling earlier.

Only when they were outside of the palace proper did Morrigan finally break down. They burst into giggles, wiping a fake tear off the side of their cheek while Kamille went boneless, her weight pressing down atop them, neither person able to stave away the hysteria for much longer.

“Holy shit, did you see the look on his face-“ and then, “I can’t believe he walked out wearing slippers!”

Because yes, that had really happened, and Morrigan Moonweaver had just helped save the sultan’s life while he was in his pajammies and beauty products. Morrigan knew what kind of skin routine the sultan had now.

“Do you think that counts as blackmail material - no, not important right now.” They mused; what mattered was that they’d just stopped a madman and madwoman, and Morrigan had no reason to resort to blackmail when they’d probably just skyrocketed themselves into high standing with the country’s ruler.

… Which was probably more than a little presumptuous but that was neither here nor there. Morrigan lived their life making assumptions that got them into trouble more often than not. TAt least this time, it had ended well enough. Mostly. They’d nearly gotten the snot beat out of them by some mage, and almost burned a bridge with one of the most powerful witches of their age over a little bit of petty and intrusive mind reading.

But they’d just saved her life at the same time as the sultan, so it had to be water under the bridge at this point, no?

Morrigan Moonweaver patted the Witch of Moonglade on the back, wiping a second fake tear from their face and regaining some sliver of their composure. “Lady Kamille, you must allow me to buy you one last drink.” Fitting, that they had arrived at the end of seven nights and promised stories and found themselves in the denver of perhaps the most salacious one of all. “As thanks, for your assistance in this matter, and helping me apprehend a rather dangerous criminal.”

Never mind that Kamille had done most of the legwork, and Morrigan had really only shown up to claim the credit at the very end. A fact that they were fully aware of, mind you, but they were hoping that this past week had rendered themselves endearing enough to Kamille that she would just let bygones be bygones and continue to allow them to ride on their coattails.

“It is the least I could do to celebrate an end to old conspiracies… and the beginning of new friendships.”

Who would've thought that an ordinary day at the market would wield such excitement? The Witch's love for the mischievous and downtrodden was bound to take her into unexpected routes, but that took the cake. She seemed content enough on pulling up the heavy lifting and allowing the fellblood to do the talking part - and she wouldn't deny they were very good at it. If anything, she would agree they complimented each other very well when working as a team... At least that's how she saw it. Kamille had the feeling Morrigan wasn't used to team work, but all turned out really well as is.

"Now now... I believe the trust of the Sultan is much more valuable than whatever you might gain from saying he likes pink slippers and cheap facial masks..."

But the Witch clearly sounded amused by the idea. If it came to the point where the Sultan didn't offer them anything valuable in exchange, at least they would've made their mark. Yet she doubted that would happen - he was known as a generous man, she could only wait now.

"Ah! A drink sounds like the perfect way to end this story! As long as you promise morning won't find me lying face down in the gutter..."

Kamille wouldn't promise the same, however.

It even sounded like the glitter wasn't bothering her as much when she interwined her arm with the fellblood, leading them to the Flying Carpet, where they could have a drink or six to celebrate the wrap up of their seventh night of stories. While Morrigan thrived under the spotlight, Kamille looked more comfortable behind the curtains, which seemed like part of the reason why she didn't bother having the fellblood ride on her titles to boost themselves before the Sultan.

Moments later found the pair by the gentle lights of the Flying Carpet, with their drinks in hand, right before the fog of alcoholism would consume their night.

"If you're amenable, I'm sure I can find more stories beneath the sands whentever I visit Zeinav... Where there are stories, there is bound to be riches as well, I believe. But enough talk of business tonight."

She raised her glass. Perhaps she wouldn't even mind if the gold for those drinks came from her pockets in the end.

"To new beginnings."