Apologies in advance for any inaccuracies to Lackey's Valdemar-I'm afraid I've forgotten a few details since last I visited this.

Even livid, Rahlen carved his chicken perfectly. Jedeth expected no less from his peers, though he did wish they would change the subject sooner rather than later. This was tiresome.

"These Greys are simply out of control," Rahlen huffed. "How I shall suffer once this Midwinter is over."

"The king is too soft on them," Shendelle added. As host, she sat at the head of the table and further away from Jedeth, though her voice carried over to him just as well. He could even hear the bitterness under her polite tones. "It really is a shame that all of our monarchs are required to be Heralds; the favoritism has only compounded over the years."

"Propriety be damned, so it seems," agreed Jedeth. "It's rather unthinkable that the lowest peasant believes she may freely mingle and argue with those above her station simply because she is a Grey." He was pretty tired of arguing with that Alys-the Greys' etiquette classes must amount to very little. There was a murmur of assent.

Rahlen sliced off a strip of meat. "I say we teach them a lesson. Since the king hasn't the sense to do it, it falls upon us." Rahlen surveyed his companions; although this was the Fairtheld house, the center of their group always seemed to be somewhere in his vicinity. "Of course, our families cannot be bothered with something so trivial-they have grown versions of these brats to attend to." Jedeth joined in the polite laughter that ensued.

"I do not exactly look forward to the prospect of dirtying my hands on that farm garbage," Shendelle sniffed.

This time Virenth spoke up, a wry smile on his face. "Who said we have to use our own hands? We have those dogs of Exile's Gate."

"That's silly, the Greys are penniless," Shendelle said, echoing Jedeth's thoughts.

"Who said they'd be paying in money?" Virenth grinned, and Jedeth's knife stilled. The corner of Rahlen's mouth turned up.

"So shall we teach our old dogs new tricks? You're right, Virenth-we are the better class, so it hardly makes sense to do the work with our own hands. Those Greys are insolent because they are on their own ground; let us see how they flap their gums in ours." The new look on Rahlen's face could only be called a sneer. "In fact, I know who would be perfect as our first demonstration. That effeminate brute fresh off the farmlands-does anyone know his name? Ah well. Unlike many of the Greys, he likes to loiter outside, perhaps reminiscing over his previous life as trash on the streets. It would be a trivial matter to round him up and teach him a lesson."

Jedeth remembered the dark-skinned boy with the short hair. A quiet kid, who had taken the blows Jedeth gave him in weapons class without word, who had never sought revenge nor attempted to insult. As far as he was concerned, that Grey was the ideal Grey; ignore him and he stayed out of your sight. Besides, unlike say Alys, that Grey actually did seem capable of protecting Valdemar, so his training might not be wasted. Jedeth had advised them not to go hunting for the boy the other day, and sure enough, they came back with their tails between their legs. No, now wasn't any time to gloat...

A few rounds of opinions were exchanged all around the table, the level of severity increasing with each pass as everyone tried to outdo each other.

"He would be lucky if a broken arm was all he came out with this time-"

"If he never stepped foot in the Collegia again, well, perhaps I could finally breathe clean air in the courtyard-"

"-Frankly, I find it ridiculous that one cannot be hanged for such atrocious behavior; do we not put down mad dogs, after all?"

"Actually, I believe Kerchen does not need that sort of punishment."

Although he had tried to mention this point as casually as possible, Jedeth felt every pair of eyes at the table turn to him. As their judging gazes raised the hairs on his arms, he was compelled to continue. "Of the Greys, he is rather well-behaved."

"Jedeth, what in the name of the gods have you been drinking?" Virenth asked.

"He does not speak unless spoken to," Jedeth plowed on. "He keeps out of the way of nobles. If anything, he is much more proper than the majority of the Greys-at least he knows when he lacks the manners to continue a conversation."

"I fail to see how you came to this conclusion, unless you've entirely forgotten what happened at the market?" Rahlen remarked coldly.

"We were playing that merchant, and you said as much," Jedeth replied, averting his eyes. "I'm not saying he is innocent of insolence. We simply have more appropriate offenders of which to make examples." Both Shendelle and Virenth opened their mouths, but Rahlen held up a hand.

"No, I see where you are coming from," he said. "Let us speak no more of the matter for now. Dinner is getting cold, after all, and what a shame that would be to your talented chef, Shendelle." The topic finally changed to something more appropriate and less harrowing, much to Jedeth's relief.

Alberich decided that he did not like holidays. There was too much rabble, too much mischief, too much unruliness excused as holiday spirit.

:You'd like it too if you weren't working,: Kantor said cheekily.

:I wonder if I'm not still working because it's a holiday,: Alberich drawled, eyes flicking . He didn't dislike keeping busy, but considering his line of work, it was better to have less to do than more.

Tonight, Mellien Fanvareld took up his usual corner in the Solid Oak. The tavern was itself but doubled-double the people, double the noise, double the smells, double the spills. It caused Alberich no little consternation to see that the cohort of Blues was one of the louder circles, drawing a crowd of old- and newcomers alike around their gambling table. Jedeth Levalen wasn't present, but it seemed whoever was playing now had the same luck the other boy did.

This stinks like pickled fish. There was no evidence to point to Rahlen Poitregas and his cronies as being responsible for the strange influx of money into the black market. True, the amount of gold and higher end goods being exchanged in the last two months was far greater than the months previous, but money was faceless, and Alberich and Talamir hadn't been so lucky as to find, say, a Fairtheld heirloom in a pawn shop.

And yet something nagged him. Perhaps it was something about how quiet this matter was in the usual circles, how reports of theft in the upper class had gone up and how no culprits were found. Perhaps it was the timing, or simply the fact that a spoiled boy like Rahlen should have been torn apart in Exile's Gate the first time he deigned to enter it.

:It's almost as if you used to patrol cities all your life,: Kantor remarked, not with disapproval.

:Bandits and sharps are all the same,: said Alberich. :Field and city mice can both be followed by their piss.:

Kantor chuckled. :No favoritism, I see. And these Blues, how strongly do they smell?:

:Strong. But the problem with children is that it's hard to tell mischief from malice.:

:Alas, a universal truth of little ones.: A silence, as Alberich's eyes swept the tavern again. It was simply too packed at this point to see who was coming in and coming out. Alberich regretted Mellien's tucked away corner, a great spot to squat in unnoticed but without the advantage of a more forward seat, where everyone had to pass by him. Kantor continued in small talk. :Have you ever thought of having children, Chosen?:

Alberich refrained from raising an eyebrow. :What prompted this?:

:Just a question. You spend a lot of time watching them these days.:

:True.: He watched the crowd at the Blues' table as a cheer rippled through it. :I've never thought about children, but becoming the Weapons Second, I feel that enough have been thrust upon me. I don't think I want any more.: Demon-Riders and sinners...all just children, trying to become adults. That Alberich could not lift the veil of hatred and fear from his countrymen in Karse was just another weight to carry in his chest, alongside the weight of keeping the students alive, and the weight of sending them into war against his country. Was it that he didn't want children, or that he could not bear to raise them as well?

:You've already helped them much, Chosen,: Kantor said gently. :Remember that, and that you'll do more good yet. I apologize. I shouldn't have distracted you.:

Alberich felt something warm through their link, down to his heart. :No need. A Karsite Weapons Second in Valdemar must have thick hide.:

:As your Companion, I would like access to the softer under-bits of you.:

:Enjoy it while it lasts.:

The Blues group stood up. There was some excited arguing, but Alberich couldn't tell what it was from the opposite corner of the crowded tavern, only that their venue was about to change. He did his best to pack up discreetly, but there was no quick way to do this, especially not after a few potential customers sidled up to his spot. It was in the middle of this that he had a sudden flash of blue-

Two boys on the ground. One still standing, facing a man twice his size. It was a Karsite boy with a knife. There was movement, and a girl-no, a Trainee cried out. Blood on stones-

Alberich staggered. The customers eyed him.

"D-drank too much," he muttered, sweeping up his wares. :Kantor!:

:I'm relaying it to Taver,: Kantor said, as Alberich ducked out, pretending to stumble as he did so. :That vision was definitely in Exile's Gate.:

:That means I might make it in time.: After that clumsy exit, Mellien Fanvareld would be too risky to use any more.

But that was fine. If he could reach Kerchen and Alys, it was worth it.