The threat was thinly veiled. Sloppy more than bold. Numair smiled pleasantly at the other mage and rose his glass in a toast—playing the fool. Best let them think they were the ones laying a trap. He looked at Daine, who had glanced at the mage under the pretense of asking for a dish to be passed. She was smiling and he, perhaps more than anyone, understood just how distracting that could be. Her eyes, though. There was glint in them even he rarely saw. Something that brought him back to sidestepping flame and the smell of charred bone. The lesser mage continued on, unaware that empires had fallen for little more.