His sudden display sent whispers among the attendees. The woman with the staff clacked it on the ground again, and loudly said, “Thank you for your attention. Now please, follow me down to the first floor, where a sumptuous meal awaits.”

  She walked up next to the Summoned and gestured. “Please, this way,” she said. As she led them through the crowd, Eric took the lead of their small group, followed by Naomi, Shannon, and Peter, with Benson and Mari like silent shadows.

  “Are you related to Magistra Seraphine d’Orveil?” Eric asked politely, already knowing the answer, as he had interacted with her on a few occasions in his past timeline.

  “Yes. I am Overseer Xeraphine d’Orveil, her younger sister. You may call me Xera, if you like.”

  “That is a beautiful name,” Eric said.

  “I am glad you like it,” she replied with a glance over her shoulder and a smile.

  Eric hazarded a guess at what Seraphine was playing at.

  Seraphine is trying to get either Peter or I into her family to increase her personal prestige and therefore elevate her position in the eyes of the old blood. Smart play.

  Eric wasn’t going to discount a newer family if they had something enticing to offer. But, it would have to be extremely convincing, or provide some amazing benefit that could give him a major advantage in the political atmosphere of Tenebria, to make him choose that over a possible match from one of the old-blood families.

  That is, of course, unless the authentic connection was there. Eric craved that almost as much as the political power of a prospective match. He wanted this new timeline, this new life, to be enjoyable once he saved the world.

  At the same time, he had no idea if stopping the Titan would require him to move about, or if he could stay in this kingdom to deal with it. Whoever he ended up trying to court and possibly even marry would need to be open to him traveling if required.

  Whomever it is, Eric thought, I am sure I would build enough confidence and trust in them to share the reason for my travel, in the event dealing with the Titan threat required that. They would need to learn the truth.

  Even then, he knew that every choice would have a consequence. Selecting one lady who would doubtless court him would lead to the wrath of the family whose daughter he did not select, which in turn could cause significant issues in the future.

  And time was of the essence. They would be moving quickly: compared to Earth, romance among the political elite advanced rapidly. Eric would have formal marriage proposals on the table within weeks, with some even days. The longer he put off such a decision, the more ire he would draw from everyone. He could hold serious propositions at bay under the guise of Earth romances lasting longer, leveraging the fact that where he came from romance did not move as fast, and perhaps stretch out a final decision for a few seasons at the most.

  But sooner rather than later, he would have to make a choice.

  They were led past the crowd, and the only person who progressed down the steps before them was the king, who was carried on his chair down the stairs in front of the Summoned and followed by his son, the prince.

  Eric hid his scowl in the fold of his cloak.

  Prince Richard Tremaunt II, Rick to his friends. A brash young man of twenty-nine, with curly brown hair and dressed in garish, ostentatious gold robes. He had a constant smug-asshole smile, and there was a woman on either side of him, arms looped through his, as he followed his father down the steps.

  You won’t get to visit your horrors upon the capital, Eric thought with vitriol. I’ll ruin you before you bring this kingdom down with your debauchery.

  Eric could barely keep his anger in check as the architect of future misery walked in front of him. But, he forced it down, simmering inside, and tried to do his best to swallow the knot that had formed in his throat.

  I can’t do anything about it now, or anytime soon. Patience. I need to be patient. I can’t just kill him outright, that would be too quick, too easy. He needs to suffer for what he’s done.

  The stairs turned in a wide spiral, studded with cool blue glowstones that, combined with the carved white stairs and tunnel, made the environment appear like a natural ice cavern in a glacier. When the air became warmer, Benson walked up alongside Eric and offered to take the heavier cloak. Eric doffed it and handed it to the man, who with a flick of his glove seemed to manifest a floating, phantasmal cube. He put the cloak into it, along with the others he had grabbed from the other Summoned.

  Huh. Neat Skill or Rote. A pocket dimension. That’s handy.

  The stairs ended in a massive, long, vaulted-ceiling chamber. The soft, blue lights within were now replaced with warm, orange glowstones that bathed the space in a cozy glow. Tables had been set up all across the room. Long, rectangular tables, with a head table at the far side of the chamber that was raised up on a high pedestal. The king’s table, where he would sit alongside his son.

  Just below it, a lower pedestal had been set up which was for the guests of honor. Seraphine and her husband were seated on a table of equal prominence as the Summoned, below his right-hand side.

  Eric followed Xeraphine to their set-aside table, and then stood back as the ladies filed into their chairs. He pushed Naomi’s in behind her, while Peter did the same for Shannon. After that, the two men took their seats, assisted by their accompanying servants. Benson and Mari then slipped out of sight, tending to their tasks.

  The other nobles filtered in and began taking their designated seats. Once the labeled tables were filled, the people who’d paid for entry filtered down the stairs and into the open seating area, jostling one another for the most prominent positions on the bench-style seats.

  Seraphine’s husband stood up and raised his hands. He was a man who appeared to be in his mid-thirties, with a shock of white hair, pointed ears of the same type of Body Enhancement Seraphine had, and clear, light-blue eyes. Eric had met him once before in his past timeline, but did not know much about him. He was a recluse, who kept to their estate, and was by all accounts one of the ‘big hitters’ when it came to the kingdom’s prominent dungeon divers who left the career behind.

  He was clean shaven, and there was a scar along his left eye from top of crown to bottom of jaw. “Welcome to our estate. I am your host, Cryomancer Tristan d’Orveil. My wife, Magistra Seraphine d’Orveil and I welcome you.” He gestured with a sweeping arm to the four of them. “We are gathered here on this wonderful day of festivities to celebrate the arrival of the Summoned. Their arrival, as you well know, marks possible upheaval.” The man turned to the king, bowed, and then took his seat.

  The king spoke, his voice soft yet carrying a hefty weight. “Our emissaries have discerned that it was the Empire of Pwish who activated their Summon Stone, and thus these four were brought into our kingdom.” There were some murmurs, but the king raised a hand and all chatter ceased. “That nation is not making any threats, and diplomatic endeavors have not become tense. From what was gathered, they activated their Summon Stone to deal with internal strife. We are safe, and we continue to enjoy peace and prosperity.”

  Once more, there was applause, and Eric fought to keep the scowl off of his face.

  Internal tension, my ass. But he’s right that war is not on the horizon for Trok. Directly, at least.

  The king continued, “These Summoned have declared their intentions to aid our kingdom and help us prosper.” He looked around the room at the gathered, then sat as well.

  Also somewhat true and somewhat false. We’re prisoners in the capital. But, yes, we’ll help and then in time get a longer leash. Eventually, we won’t have any leash at all.

  The prince then stood, and his slick, suave, yet smarmy voice echoed through the chamber: “Let’s celebrate their arrival!” He raised a glass and glanced at the sides of the room. Servants, waiting in the wings, approached with cups filled with a deep, blue wine. “A toast to the Summoned!”

  Everyone raised their glasses.

  Eric glanced at Benson and Mari, who had brought the four of them their glasses before scampering back to the outside edge of the room. Drugs in the drinks were a concern, and thankfully Mari had a Rote due to her secondary Chef Class to examine food and drink at a glance. She would subtly notify the Summoned if something they were about to eat or drink was drugged with a light pinch on the shoulder or neck.

  They were in the clear for this first round of drinks. Eric knew that some nobles would likely try to dose them with something to make them more affable, or agreeable, or uninhibited, in the hopes of gaining leverage in conversation and manipulating them. It had happened last time. He was certain that it was one of the contributing reasons why the group had splintered and separated in the previous timeline—the nobles had driven them apart from one another for their own ends.

  Well, not just the nobles. The small council had a larger role in that. Scanning the room, Eric spotted each of them in seats of prominence. He had briefed the other Summoned to avoid them at all costs, and thankfully they had unique attire compared to the rest of those who were present. Keeping away from them would be easy enough.

  We just can’t afford to interact with them at all. Not until we are ready to handle their machinations, scheming, and plotting. Seraphine will keep them at bay, I’m sure, by sending other nobles of note their direction. She has been doing an excellent job of keeping them away from us thus far—she knows the dangers they pose.

  “—luxurious!” the prince finished. This was cheered by much of the nobility, and Eric knew well-enough why.

  Summoned almost always brought new ideas with them from Earth. New ways of doing things: whether technology or the framework of ideas. Summoned did not always come from Eric’s version of Earth, though. From what he knew, they could come from all eras of that world’s history, which explained the lack of overall technological progression on Elyndor.

  Everyone drank. The wine tasted like blackberries with a hint of vanilla, and it had the acrid bitterness of a chardonnay. His younger body and taste buds were not used to the taste and he almost gagged, but forced it down his throat; swallowing it like a bitter pill.

  The prince sat and food was brought out. Ther were all manner of breakfast delights that made Eric’s mouth water. He immediately piled his plate high with delicacies that he knew cost a fortune, and savored every single bite he took. Food like this was something many would never experience. He wouldn’t taste its equal for some time.

  Well, not until lunch, at least.

  The meal concluded after an hour, and the tables started to be cleared as the first traditional dance began, led by the host and hostess. Eric watched from the sidelines with his allies as Seraphine and Tristan performed an excellent Elyndian waltz. Their footwork and coordination were flawless, and Eric saw the authentic happiness on her face. The music drifting out from the stringed instruments and gentle horns gave off a haunting, lilting melody that he recognized immediately: The Clarity of the Hallowed Halls, by a famed composer Eric had the chance to meet in Flescion.

  For a moment, he was green with envy. Envious of the obvious love the two had for each other. They were not just nobles who’d married for power or largess—they actually had a connection.

  Unlike his past timeline, where the Admiral had cornered him right after his arrival at the Summoned estate. She had all but thralled him with sex, and to an eighteen-year-old, graced with sudden power, money, and prestige, sex was love. It wasn’t until Luciana that Eric knew what real, authentic love was like—and that was cruelly ripped away from him. It wasn’t long after that he was betrayed.

  Now that I know what that authentic connection feels like, I might get lucky and happen to feel that with a possible, eligible match. Ley Lines below, that would be a blessing. Not just having to marry for the political power it will bring, but to actually have what they have? I pray to The Paths that is what finds me in this life.

  Naomi nudged him. “Our turn,” she whispered.

  They were expected to pair off and dance as the guests of honor. Eric nodded and took Naomi’s hand. He led the way, and once on the floor Naomi had only the very occasional footwork fumble that he supported her through, given the dance was second nature to him.

  During the dance, he looked over at Shannon and Peter, who were managing very well for only having a few days of practice. As the song came to a close and the partners bowed the traditional Elyndian way, applause resonated through the space. Then, the band struck up a more lively tune, and Eric turned to face the first person to approach. It was expected that the Summoned would stay on the dance floor as people of prominence would approach them to dance.

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  She was a young woman, dressed immaculately in cream-colored dress robes similar to his, but a little more industrial and form-fitting. From the attire, she was some type of Service Class. Her deep, auburn hair was curled and tied up in a bun that had loose sections almost floating down the back. Dark, hazel eyes contrasted against her paler skin. She curtsied. “May I have this next dance?”

  Eric put on his best smile and held his hand out. He was familiar with the youngest bachelorette of the Baxter family, having worked with them after the war in the charity hospitals throughout Tenebria to heal the diseased and war-ravaged populace.

  She took his hand and curtsied. Just loud enough to be heard over the instruments, she said, “I am Chirurgeon Misty Baxter. Please, call me Misty.”

  Chirurgeon was one of the Profession Classes. Specifically, it fell under the category of Service-type and was an Elite Class. Eric was very familiar with the progression, given some of his students had followed that route through The Paths at his teaching hospital. It was one option that Doctor could upgrade to upon reaching level fifty. That implied she was already ahead of her peers in milestone progression, and possibly had a second Class.

  Eric moved alongside her in a brash, bold movement that only an experienced dancer in the more upbeat style would attempt. She keyed in on his prowess and followed along with expert poise; and the sudden, intricate movements caught some of the surrounding nobility off guard.

  They either think I’m a genius, or know I studied very hard the past few days to impress. In any event, this shows that I have dedicated myself to blending into my new environment.

  “Misty. That is a pretty name,” Eric said during a downbeat of the song, holding his palm up against hers after a gentle spin.

  She smiled. Her visage was dazzling, which Eric had expected. She was from the oldest family of healers who ran many of the hospitals and houses of recovery throughout the Kingdom of Trok. They were the type of family that would perform Skill-based cosmetic surgery on themselves to obtain their perfect, desired appearance. “I must say, I did not expect you to be this skilled,” she said.

  “Practice,” Eric replied before pulling her into an unconventional and very advanced, dizzying spin. He had been good on his feet, thanks to years of cultural dances back on Earth due to his Portuguese heritage, and when he’d come to Trok the first time, he frequented dance halls as a hobby.

  It was an easy means of keeping in okay shape and having fun. It was a great way to forget about the betrayals he had suffered, just being able to lose himself to the drink and the music. And, he regretted to admit, it led to the beds of many willing dance partners that he could lose himself in. Sex while drunk or high was a great distraction from the sorrows of the past.

  Misty raised an eyebrow. “Want to put your practice to the test?”

  Eric grinned. “I’ll try to keep up.”

  She ended the spin, and as the music’s tempo increased and even more people stepped onto the dance floor, she took the lead. It was not unconventional to have the lead of the dance shift between the partners; the dance was a gentle ebb and flow. Misty pulled off a movement that required Eric to respond precisely or else risk her being injured. Low-to-the-floor catches, pulls and spins, and paired chassé steps in perfect harmony.

  Eric almost kept up. He never dropped her, nor did he miss a spin, but his timing was slightly off on the paired steps. After a solid two minutes, the song concluded and, heart racing, he offered her his arm. Eric was sucking in breaths, but tried to keep his composure. “Shall we grab some refreshments? Perhaps some air?”

  Eric kept his gaze locked on her eyes despite her heaving chest—Misty was exaggerating her breathing to push her bodice up. He had already anticipated that trick; she was trying to bait him in, get him interested sexually, and then use that as a starting point to bring him into the family.

  As he’d said to Naomi, romance moved quickly in the upper nobility of Trok, especially when politics were involved.

  There was a reason the gorgeous woman had beelined for him. The Baxter family saw a potent unique Class no one had heard of. Eric had no doubt that the other families would be sending eligible daughters his way to court him throughout the day’s events. He had been lucky that Misty was the first to reach him, or, more likely, the Baxters had bribed or even coerced others to back off while their precious daughter did her duty.

  He thought it quite fortuitous that the old-blood family he had assigned himself had been the first to approach.

  Maybe there is some play of fate or destiny at work. Fate-touched, there might be some truth to that word.

  Misty looped her arm through his and led him toward a long table layered with refreshments. Several high and low nobles, as well as some prominent merchants, introduced themselves to Eric as he grabbed two drinks. He briefly corresponded with them, exchanging names and answering simple questions. But he did not keep Misty waiting long.

  He handed her a cup of blue wine. “Here you are, my lady.”

  She twirled a finger through a strand of hair that had come loose during the dance. “Thank you.”

  Eric quickly glanced around and saw Mari giving him a subtle nod that the drink was in the clear. She was on watch for all food and drink that the Summoned touched, and if she could not reach the Summoned, she would tell Benson, who had some sort of Skill that let him move through crowds almost instantly, which he would use to warn them.

  Eric sipped the wine, wishing his taste buds were acclimated like in his past timeline. “Well, Misty, you are quite the dancer.”

  She smiled, looping her arm back through the crux of his right elbow. “Thank you. I know of a nice balcony over here if you wish to speak in a quieter place and cool off a bit.”

  “Lead the way. I am quite warm in all these layers.” Eric followed her lead, once more having to briefly interact with and introduce himself to various nobles and merchants on the way. It was an arduous thirty-foot distance filled with constant chatter, but Misty took the whole situation with perfect grace and poise.

  It was expected that one of the guests of honor would be assailed by other attendees. The number of social attackers increased because of Eric’s display of his power at their entrance earlier, and thus he was practically mobbed by people wanting introductions.

  Eventually, they broke free of the throng and made it to the small hallway. A few servants stood against the wall to permit them access, and Misty led him to a door. When she opened it, they emerged into the blistering, chill wind. It was soothing, given the warmth Eric felt from the exertion on the dance floor and press of bodies in the conversation.

  Misty took a few steps to the balcony railing and rested a hand on it. Eric joined her and looked out over the gorgeous landscape.

  It was late morning, about to crest into afternoon. The dappled sunlight shone brightly through the few lingering clouds that floated above the fields in their final days of harvest. Far in the distance, the river flowed quickly, powering the many water mills that fed nearby granaries. Down the slopes of the mountain estate, the personal miniature city of the d’Orveil family bustled with life all its own.

  “It is a nice view,” Misty stated.

  Eric nodded as he took a step back. “Even more gorgeous from where I’m standing.”

  Misty blushed. “Oh, such a charmer.”

  “Ah, I don’t know about that.” Eric tapped his chest with his fingertips, right over his heart. “I just have an intuition for romance.”

  “Do you now?” She returned a little smirk. “I’d be curious to see you prove that.”

  Eric stepped up next to her again, dropping his voice to a whisper as he said, “I know exactly what to say to a gorgeous woman like yourself.” He’d made sure to whisper in her ear, letting his hot breath hit her neck. The perceptible shiver that ran through her body told him all he needed to know as he gently put a hand on hers atop the balcony railing.

  “You do know,” he continued as he pulled back and slowly raised his voice to his usual speaking tone, “that I will need to court others to maintain appearances. The other families. Keep my options open. You understand, I’m sure.”

  She looked at him, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. She turned her hand to clasp his. “You would be foolish to not appear available. But let’s be fair, none of those other lacy ladies will match up to my . . . assets.”

  Eric kept his eyes fixed on hers. “I’m not interested in looks or assets. To me, the personality, the connection—that’s what matters.”

  He saw her swoon just a little bit at his declaration.

  He’d set himself up as a mercenary with a heart of gold, yet now he was showing a different side. That he was not just some catch to reel into the family. That he was seeking both an authentic connection and a lucrative match.

  It wasn’t a lie. Eric had a new chance at life. He wanted to make the most of it. Yes, he needed a politically advantageous marriage, whether that was Misty, another of the old-blood family, or even Luciana, who could potentially cement an alliance with Bhlast well before it would normally occur.

  But he hoped that he could have his cake and eat it, too. He felt the same sensations swirling in his torso as he did when he had met Luciana for the first time, and he knew it was not lust—he’d learned to isolate that emotion well enough from the churn of others in the heat of passion.

  “You are looking for what Magistra and Cryomancer d’Orveil have?” Misty asked.

  “How they truly appeared enthralled during their dance? How they clasped hands at the table and had eyes for only one another? Yes. I desire that. However, I know I’m young, and—to use a merchant term—a hot commodity.” He grinned. “If you seek my affections, you will have to try and earn them, just as I will try to earn yours. I wouldn’t expect you to be wooed by the fact I’m a Summoned alone.”

  “I accept that challenge.” She moved his hand to the small of her back, moved up so that her chest was pressed against his, and peered up at him. There was a slight height difference, and as he looked down into those dark, hazel eyes, they flared purple for a brief moment. She grinned. “Nothing wrong with you, health-wise.”

  “Using Diagnose?”

  She blinked in shock. “How’d you know?”

  “I’m more than I seem,” Eric replied. “I also know that you don’t need to get this close to use it, since it has a range of ten feet.”

  “Oh. I moved in to do this.” She leaned up and pushed her lips to his in a brief kiss. Her lips tasted like the wine from earlier. She pulled away just as quickly as they met.

  Misty let out a little giggle, and Eric chuckled.

  “Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” Eric returned the kiss briefly, seemingly to her delight, before pulling away once again.

  Misty twirled a finger through her hair once more. “What’s that from?”

  “A poet and playwright.”

  Misty’s eyes widened a bit. “You are far more than what you appear . . .”

  Eric leaned against the railing. “What is it you want out of a courtship?”

  Misty put her left hand on the rail and tapped her fingers, pursing her lips. “May I be frank?”

  “Please do be. Don’t just share that answers your family doubtless told you to give.”

  Misty smirked at that. “Well,” she said, “I am looking for someone who is willing to let me live my life. I want to find a man who will let me do my work in the middle-city, administering healthcare to the masses, and doesn’t mind me coming home later in the evening.” She moved a bit closer, and put her hand on top of his. “Someone who will be willing to listen to me at the end of the day, and hold me close. Take me out dancing to relax.”

  Eric replied, “That sounds like quite a lovely life.”

  She frowned a little bit. “I . . . ahem.” She turned away briefly, then back to him. “You are honest and forthright so far, and I would continue this conversation frankly, since you have stated your desire for what the Magistra and Cryomancer have.”

  That caused Eric a bit of concern, as it sounded like she was about to declare some revelation. He rifled through his Paths Within, pulling up every single iota of recollection when it came to Misty. But nothing came up as a red flag in his memories. “Please, feel free to be honest,” Eric said.

  Misty moved in closer and lowered her voice to a whisper as she said, “I am also the type of person who may not see my prospective spouse for a few days at a time. Sometimes, my duties in the middle-city keep me late into the night, and I stay at a family-owned house near the hospital.” The way she said it made it sound like it was something to be embarrassed about.

  Eric couldn’t keep in the laugh. He tried to, but he failed, and Misty went flush with embarrassment. Eric raised his hand as he recovered. “Sorry! I am not laughing at you, I promise.” He smiled and composed himself. “I am laughing that you think it would be a deal-breaker.”

  Misty blinked, seemingly taken aback, as the flush of embarrassment drained away. “What?”

  “You have multiple properties,” Eric said, “and that alone is impressive to someone who comes from the socioeconomic bracket I came from.” He shook his head. “I don’t think it would be a problem.” He clasped her right hand with his left. “I anticipate that I would be spending decent lengths of time in the Twilight Depths, and perhaps even—once I build trust with the crown—go outside of Tenebria to seek out wild dungeons to built my power. That would mean there may be lengths of time we would go without seeing each other.”

  Misty nodded curtly at that. “There are items that allow for long-distance communication. Gear that is not overtly expensive.” She let out a little sigh of relief. “I would be amicable to the arrangement, though I would crave physical intimacy upon your return.” She giggled, then continued, “I am honestly relieved that you don’t think my odd schedule and haphazard need to stay away from a marital household as a deal-breaker.”

  “I worked at a hospital,” Eric replied. “Well, I volunteered while I studied for medical school. There were rooms set aside for Doctors and Nurses who were working overnight shifts where they could sleep on-site. I am well aware that those who want to serve others and help the community often sacrifice their own happiness to do so.” He brushed a stray hair, whipped free by a gust of wind, out of her face. “It’s an admirable quality.”

  Eric glanced at the door. “We are lingering a bit too long, I’m afraid. That tutor Magistra d’Orveil brought to the estate told me that short jaunts with eligible young women—at this type of event—should be brief.” He gestured to the door. “My lady. You are always welcome to call on me to visit, or come to the Summoned estate. I would be delighted to continue this courtship.” He frowned slightly. “But, I do need to tell you that from what the Magistra said, normally events progress rapidly in the engagements of nobility. That . . . is an odd concept to me.”

  “Oh?”

  Eric nodded. “I would ask that you give me some latitude in this regard. I would love to court you, what we call dating where I am from, over a more elongated period of time. It will really give us a chance to get to know one another, and ensure we are the best possible match for one another.”

  She matched his frown, nodded, then moved a hand to his cheek, pulled him down, and kissed him once more on the lips. When they separated both were smiling, and she replied, “I understand, and am more than happy to acquiesce to your request.”

  She curtsied, and he opened the door in front of her. The two returned to the dance floor, arm in arm, and he bowed in the proper manner, then watched her depart into the crowd. He felt a little pang of sorrow at watching her go, but could appreciate the view.

  There’s definitely potential there. Paths Within, that felt right.

  Eric immediately went looking for his allies. As he went around the exterior of the room, he greeted and mingled with nobility, making introductions, receiving offers of employment, and acquiring minor contacts.

  He spotted Peter, who was busy on the dance floor, looking awkward in his movements but appearing to authentically enjoy himself. He danced with a young, quite tall lady Eric immediately recognized as being from the Ghulara family—she had tried to get into Eric’s pants in the previous timeline.

  Shannon looked to be thrilled with her current companion. She was sitting on a couch, talking to a black-haired young man with bright, twinkling, sapphire eyes. One of the Valagonia bachelors that Eric recognized. His name was Cecil, and he was a young banker who was not part of the family’s corruption. The two of them were deep in conversation, and the smile Shannon had was absolutely beaming.

  Naomi was the last person he spotted. She was sitting at a table, surrounded by three young men from the Marshall family. All of them were playing a game that was similar to Jenga, but in reverse: pieces that had to be put together in a structure able to support its own weight. Those pieces were a bunch of jagged, weirdly shaped ones. She seemed to be well-enough engaged and was fielding conversation with the three.

  Everyone’s playing their part. Alright. Let’s keep this going.

  Scanning the room, he spotted the shaved head and broad, fur-cloak-covered shoulders of the Admiral on the opposite side of the dance floor. She was beset on all sides by merchants, and seemed to be stuck in the niceties of upper class social graces. Eric performed a brief visual search for the other small council members, and was able to spot them all similarly embroiled. It seemed that Seraphine was still keeping them at bay and far away from interaction with the Summoned.

  Good. Everything is going according to plan.