Raith arrived at Lady Greendawn's estate, finding that in the absence of all of the festivities and decorations that had taken up so much room during his last visit the place seemed somehow smaller. He waited patiently in the entry hall as an immaculately uniformed butler informed the lady of his arrival. The wait was brief, and the servant returns to beckon him.

  "The lady will see you now, my lord."

  Raith was led into a colorful sitting room with a loud flower decor that wasn't at all to Raith's taste, but suited the matronly Lady Greendawn perfectly. She sat in a well cushioned chair, drinking tea with one pinky in the air.

  "Gerald," she said to the butler. "Please get our guest a drink before you leave." She turned to Raith and made a shooing motion with one hand. "Tell him what you'd like."

  The expression she wore seemed to indicate that declining her hospitality would be a mistake.

  "Umm, I'll just have whatever she's having."

  Gerald looked at his Lady and raised a questioning eyebrow. She gave a faint smile and nod, so the butler strode to the buffet and poured Raith a cup from the teapot which already sat there.

  "Thank you," Raith said as he was handed a cup much too small for his hands.

  No wonder people drink out of these with a pinky in the air. All your fingers won't fit.

  "My Lord, My Lady," Gerald said, offering them each a polite bow before stepping out and closing the door gently behind him.

  Lady Greendawn was eyeing Raith appraisingly, and he squirmed beneath her gaze.

  "I regret to inform you that this little mission you have planned has no chance of success."

  The words raised his hackles, and Raith resisted the urge to brag of all the progress and training they had done in his [Mnemonic Mannor]. Instead he smiled self-assuredly.

  "I believe we may have a better odds than you might think."

  She took another careful sip of her tea before delicately setting it down on the table.

  "I have no doubt that a clever boy such as yourself has a trick or two up his sleeves. But when I say chance, I mean so literally. One of the Templars who defected with that vile creature Venton has the [Divine Skill] of luck. Anyone attempting to storm that keep will quickly find themselves on the wrong end of a bad hand of cards."

  Raith felt a growing pit in his stomach at her words. Surely, Myst and the others Templars knew about this guy and would have warned him. As though reading his mind, the Lady Greendawn continued.

  "An unsurprising stroke of luck made it appear as though he died defending the Order during the Templar's revolt. Which gives him an opportunity to come out a winner no matter how all this plays out."

  He raised his eyebrows at her intel and she winked.

  "The Spymaster isn't the only one privy to informants and information."

  "I assume I'm here because you have some sort of solution to this problem."

  She smiled, and it was just predatory enough to raise the hair on the back of his neck.

  "I knew you were a clever boy. It so happens that myself and a cadre of other nobles have a bit of a club you might say. Quite exclusive. We meet from time to time in order maintain some...arrangements which secure our position in this city."

  It was clear she was enjoying herself, so Raith waited patiently for her to continue.

  "We have set up a ritual room in which we might tilt fortune in our favor and away from our enemies. It is a delicate balancing act and who these gifts and misfortunes affect is a matter of great debate and discussion amongst us. It is a delicate balance, you see."

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  Raith took a sip of his tea immediately spit it back into the cup. It was so sickly sweet he wasn't sure there was any actual tea in there. Blushing furiously he tries to stammer an apology.

  "I am so sorry, my lady...."

  She tilted her head back, slapped her thigh and let out a hearty laugh that reached all the way to her eyes.

  "I've been waiting for that since Gerald handed you the cup!" She wiped at the tears that had formed in corners of her eyes. "Now where were we? Ah, yes, a delicate balance. If you bring immediate misfortune to your enemies, and reduce them to utter ruin, there is no more luck to drain. You don't eat your seed corn, as they say. And so as you might imagine, who to, who is luck to steal, and exactly who benefits, and how much, is a matter of much debate in our little group. However, in this instance, we have determined to use our allotment for you."

  Raith's eyebrows shot up at this.

  "So we will be the ones who are lucky?"

  She shook her head.

  "No. Sadly, even our entire circle doesn't have that kind of power against a [Divine Skill]. The best we can promise is to even the playing field. Which, I assure you, is far better than what would otherwise await your party on this little mission."

  Raith frowned, not sure how to feel about this entire affair, and activated [Life in Staccato]. Lady Greendawn provided a solution to a problem he didn't even know he had, but could have easily proved disastrous. Practically speaking, if her goal was to simply see Venton defeated then she never needed to tell him any of this. Her group could have simply done the ritual then the entire mission would have gone forward with him none the wiser, for better or worse. So she must want something from him. Raith set the world back in motion.

  "And what is it you wish in return?"

  "To wish you luck, obviously," she said with a wink. "And invite you to consider joining us upon your safe return."

  Raith did his best to keep a neutral expression. Internally, he recoiled at the thought of stealing people's good fortune. Although he supposed it depended on exactly who it was being stolen from. There were at least a few nobles that were nothing short of monstrous.

  If I turn her down will they stay on my side?

  "That's a very generous offer, lady. I will certainly consider it if fortune brings us back from this adventure."

  She smiled and rang a little bell. Gerard opened the door a moment later, and Raith stood to leave.

  "That is all I ask. Oh, and please tell Zinny that her prize for winning the party has been delivered."

  "Wait, Zinny won the party contest? What was the prize?"

  Lady Greendawn gave a sly smile.

  "You'll have to ask her that."

  ***

  The only sound in the strategy room was Durnam’s rapidly bouncing leg. Myst sat across from him, staring at the offending leg intently with a growing scowl. Kieran should have returned by now, and the tension in the room seemed to double with each passing minute. Raith had edged away from the man to avoid Myst’s obviously forthcoming wrath.

  “Knock it off!” Boomed Relk, causing everyone in the room to jump.

  Durnam glared at his fellow Templar, but the agitated leg ceased its bouncing.

  Now an awkward silence spread over the room, with. Nyhm is the only one who seemed unperturbed, meditating on his pillow in the corner. Raith turned to Zinny to break the tension.

  “I forgot to mention, Lady Greendawn says your prize has been delivered.”

  All eyes turned to the fae. She looked…Raith wasn’t sure if embarrassed was the right word, but certainly uncomfortable. Tolliver offered her a smile.

  “You hadn't mentioned that. Congratulations, Zinny.”

  “So what did you win?” Thea asked, and the sprite squirmed at the question.

  “I don’t want to say.”

  Raith and Thea exchanged a concerned glance.

  “Why don’t you want to say?”

  “Because you might get mad at me because mortals have all those morals and stuff.”

  The conversation had gotten Nyhm’s attention at this point, who opened one eye to peer at her. Zinny looked around, blushing at the scrutiny.

  “I smelled her witchy magic and new she could give good curses. So I asked for a terrible curse upon my worst enemy.”

  Raith winced. Curses could run the gambit of obnoxious to downright horrific, but if Lady Greendawn was half as good as he suspected this would lean more towards the latter. Thea took a step toward Zinny and bent to meet her downcast eyes.

  “Who did you curse, Zinny?”

  “Do you remember the guy at that bar in Old Valen who told me fairies aren’t real?”

  “Weaver tits, no. We were all completely soused that night. That was at the adventurer’s guild, though. Please tell me you didn’t curse one of them.”

  The little fae shook her head.

  “I didn’t. Well, I was going to, but then I didn’t. See, after that teleporter guy almost murdered Phineas, he became my worst enemy. So that’s who I cursed.”

  Myst stood up at this.

  “Wait, you cursed Beauregard?”

  Nyhm let out a snort, and the room broke into peals of relieved laughter. Zinny looked up, surprised, then joined in the mirth even if she didn’t quite understand what it was for.

  The door swung open, and Kieran casually strode in looking showered, rested and nibbling on a sandwich he had evidently stopped to buy along the way. He smiled broadly and looked around the room, who all stopped to stare.

  “What’d I miss that’s so funny?”

  Raith took an anxious step towards him.

  “Where have you been? Is the mirror in place?”

  The [Thief] gave an affronted look and gave a sweeping bow.

  “Of course. It is precisely where we discussed and the Templars are none the wiser.”

  Raith looked around the room as the smiles melted away, replaced by the grim knowledge of what was coming next.

  “Alright then, folks. It’s show time.”