Author's Notes:

Warcraft and all applicable trademarks belong to Blizzard.

Hey everyone! As you may or may not have noticed - I've been on hiatus for a while. I would claim writer's block, but the truth is I got a TON of books and video games and CDs for Christmas, so I've basically been gorging myself on media for the last month and a half. You may continue to experience lengthened delays between chapters until I've either gotten sick of the video games or beaten them. (I already tackled the books.)

Anyway, the next chapter (which I've been working on for quite some time) is finally here!

Act I Scene XI

Unexpected Trial

Mattran smelled trouble the moment Desna quietly, even timidly opened the door. The human girl's face was pale, and she stepped quickly and silently inside, closing it behind her, her brown eyes worried. He felt a fondness for the girl, had ever since she was seven and she'd been bold enough to try and steal his coinpurse while he was surrounded by fighters who could break her in half with one hand, though she was such a small, scrawny thing he could have done it himself.

She'd almost gotten away with it too.

Grendala had grabbed her by one too-thin wrist hard enough to make her squeal, held her up by that single, solid grip, her little feet kicking above Stormwind's cobbles, taken one whiff of her, and her nose had wrinkled.

"You," she'd declared "need a bath."

Desna had been with them ever since.

At slender sixteen she could handily gut men with the knives she kept close if she were so inclined, though she generally preferred to show them that she was their better without need of a weapon. She had a fondness for seeing the sting of humiliation in their faces. Her fingers had only gotten nimbler, and her mind wasn't too far behind it for spryness.

She was supposed to be minding the front desk, keeping an eye out for individuals who shared her own unique talents as well as welcoming potential clientele.

She brushed her shoulder-length hair back behind one ear. It was a nervous habit, one that Mattran was not pleased to see.

"There are guards in the foyer. Kirin Tor. They're accompanying an Inquirer Thamas. They want to speak with you directly."

Mattran's brows furrowed slightly. "The Inquirer may see me in my office. His goons can wait in the foyer. Have Mohirn keep an eye on them, but let him know to be polite about it."

Desna nodded, and slipped back through the doorway like a shadow.

Mattran didn't like seeing Desna move like that. It meant she was on edge and she felt like she needed to watch her back. Not an entirely unreasonable reaction in light of her background, but those days were well behind her, and she generally adopted a swinging, almost swaggering step. A pair of Kirin Tor wouldn't scare her. That meant Thamas was something a little extra on the crunchy side of the law.

Crunchy like soot from roasting felons.

Desna's instincts were right on target.

Inquirer Leopold Thamas was a neat, tidy man that somehow gave a distinctive impression of narrowness, as though he were walking around in a strange, invisible box that kept his posture perfectly correct and slightly cramped. His motions were spare, not a movement wasted, his robes clean and pressed, the purple fabric of good cloth but not luxurious or of expensive cut, the fist and torch of his department embroidered on his right breast, his thinning hair combed from right to left over the dome of his balding skull. He introduced himself, and smiled politely as he took the seat Mattran indicated, teeth perfectly white and even. It was a smile with no personal warmth to it.

His pale, watery gray eyes burned with a light that Mattran had seen a great deal of, one he disliked even more than he disliked the compressed, tidy, regulated aura the Inquirer seemed to exude.

He was a fanatic.

Mattran could almost smell the ash of convicted criminals incinerated in magical flame.

"I will not waste time," Thamas said simply. "One of your employees, a night elf male by the name of Nathiel Highfury, is a person of interest in an allegation of sexual assault upon the person of the daughter of Colonel Epomenos Lloys. I am conducting an investigation into this matter. As his employer, and as the alleged event was reported as having occurred during an excursion under protection provided by Vir Aegeae-"

"I get the idea." Mattran's tone was crisp and slightly dry, setting down a report he'd been pretending to glance over. "I'll ensure that a full inquiry is made internally and that the mercenary in question-"

"Is turned over for questioning?" Inquirer Thamas's eyebrows had risen slightly.

"Is aware of his rights and is ensured a fair trial." Mattran bit the words off, eyes narrowing. "I will also make certain that he is notified and conduct an investigation personally, since the matter touches not only on his reputation but on that of my business." He sat back. "Unless you're going to make an arrest?"

Thamas didn't look fazed in the slightest. "I can assure you, Master Helfenheimler, that the Justice Department is only interested in thoroughly and efficiently retrieving the truth of the matter. While we regrettably do not have sufficient evidence at this time to make an arrest, I think you can understand that the investigation still requires certain . . . cooperation in the due process of law."

"Vir Aegeae is only too pleased to cooperate with the laws established by the Kirin Tor." Mattran looked into Inquirer Leopold Thamas's face, and was faintly disturbed by the complete lack of reaction in those watery gray eyes.

Thamas smiled that same polite, empty smile, fanatical light still burning in his gaze. "Thank you for your time, Master Helfenheimler. Please notify me when you are ready to live up to those words." He stood. "Good day."

Mattran didn't wish any particular harm on Leopold Thamas on a personal basis, but he would feel much, much more comfortable if all such neat, creepy little men were locked up in small rooms in dark places with the doors bricked up. The only consolation was that so would a number of criminals, and that was small consolation indeed.

He was still staring at his folded hands on his desk when Desna returned.

"Get Reiyad. Tell him to find Nathiel." Mattran looked up and met Desna's faintly worried gaze. "Tell him to hurry. And tell Grendala I'm going to the Darnassian embassy."

She nodded, pulling the door shut behind her again, and Mattran stared at it a moment longer before he got down from his chair. He hated sitting in the damn thing, well aware that without the steps up hidden behind his desk, the only way to climb up would have been to claw his way into the seat with an undignified jump. There was no help for it however. He knew from experience that unless he looked at them from an equal height, many of his clients would never take him seriously.

The dossier with the figures the ambassador's secretary had dropped off gripped securely in one hand, he got his top hat and his good cloak out of one of the cabinets against the wall, and prepared to venture out.

The Darnassian embassy wasn't close, but Mattran walked anyway, cloak wrapped around him against the faint chill in the air that persisted despite the magical spells of the Kirin Tor. Without those spells of course, living at (or even reaching) such an elevation without moderation of the temperature (and the breathability of the air to boot) would have been completely impossible. Still, Mattran sometimes privately contemplated the idea that the mages kept the temperature lowered so they wouldn't overheat in all the elaborate robes they wrapped themselves in.

He walked because walking gave him time to think, and lately, he'd had an awful lot to think about. The flood of requests for Nathiel's personal service was where it had started, the visit from the Ambassador's secretary . . . and now this allegation.

He didn't think for a moment that Nathiel had done it. The night elf warrior showed a marked preference for males whenever any were available. He was more likely to have bedded one of the knights that had accompanied the officer's daughter.

Still, Mattran couldn't figure it. Why start off with subtle attempts to get Nathiel out of the city, and then suddenly jump to trumping up charges? Why not go straight to the mattresses from the top of the game? Ambassador Dellani could have had Vir Aegeae drowning in bureaucracy if he'd wanted to, so why even resort to this?

Mattran couldn't figure it, and it made him worry that there was just the slightest chance that there was actually something to the claim . . . but he couldn't see how it fit together.

He hated mysteries.

The night elf consulate in Dalaran was a small one, just the consul, a couple of functionaries, and a small staff of guards. Either he'd come at the right time, or the consul just wasn't that busy, because he only had to wait a few minutes while the receptionist conferred with someone in the inner office before he was shown in.

Consul Hinishma Ravensong had pale blue hair and a light, lavender complexion, dressed simply in a dark purple tunic and slacks, a blue robe with the crest of the night elf nation tied loosely at her waist. She regarded him with polite curiosity.

"Can I assist you?"

"I hope so." Mattran looked up at the chair opposite her desk, and with a sigh, clambered up into it. His indignation was partly mollified by the complete lack of amusement or condescension in her gaze. "It's about one of your people, a man I'm employing." Mattran frowned. "He's been accused of rape."

The consul's long, feathery eyebrows rose. "That's a very serious allegation."

"He didn't do it," Mattran said bluntly. "The supposed victim is a colonel's daughter. He prefers almost exclusively men."

"A defense that would weigh heavily in his favor," she acknowledged. "I'm assuming that you've come here for legal representation for your employee, then."

"It's not just his reputation that would suffer from this kind of accusation, but the professional reputation of my business."

"Perhaps you could explain what manner of business you run and the circumstances of this allegation?"

"I'm the guild master of Vir Aegeae," Mattran said plainly. "We're a mercenary guild. Bodyguards. That's another reason I wanted to come see you. I wanted to verify whether or not Ambassador Dellani is planning a trip to Darnassus."

Hinishma's eyes became hooded. "If you're looking to solicit-"

"He was soliciting me." Mattran tossed the dossier onto her desk. "I want to know if it's authentic."

Her pale, glowing white-blue eyes dropped to the folder, and after a moment she turned it around and opened it, lips pursing.

"There have been a number of communications between the ambassador's office and this consulate," she said after a long moment. "But the itinerary is still tentative." She lifted her gaze to his once more. "I'm curious to know, though, since this was obviously delivered directly from his office, why you felt the need to get verification on the subject."

"The same night elf mercenary that's been accused of rape is dating the ambassador's second son. It's pretty serious." Mattran frowned. "The father and son are currently estranged."

"You suspect that family politics may be playing a part in the allegations?" she asked, folding her hands.

"Bingo." Mattran nodded. "Anything you can do for him?"

Ж

Really, Nathiel thought to himself as he watched Ambryn and Annatta bustling around the human mage's kitchen, she wasn't nearly so aggravating once she relaxed. Ambryn hadn't looked even remotely surprised when she walked in without so much as a knock, as though this were her apartment. Apparently it was a fairly common occurrence.

Nathiel still wanted to start locking Ambryn's door though. He really didn't want her walking in on them during sex.

Still, Ambryn had smiled warmly at the sight of her, and the apologetic look as his delightful posterior vacated Nathiel's lap was mollifying enough to keep him from becoming genuinely annoyed.

For her part, the quel'dorei had kept the necessary pleasantries where he was concerned to a bare minimum. He could respect that. He obviously wasn't the reason she was here.

So he kept back while they talked about spells and cooking and ley-line cycles. They'd migrated to the kitchen, and he was leaning against the doorway now, watching as the two of them sliced, diced, measured, poured, and retrieved ingredients and spices like they were two bodies with the same mind, still talking.

Standing there, watching, Nathiel began to get more of an idea of just how she must have felt about him that first day they'd met. She barely even glanced at Ambryn half the time, never taking the time to admire his curls, thick and golden amber like rich honey in a jar, or the perfect shape of his mouthwatering bottom, the curve of his lips. Their conversation wasn't particularly deep, dancing from topic to topic, sparkling with hints of laughter, and though there was an occasional silence between them, it lasted only for a minute or two.

If Ambryn had shown even a hint of interest in her as something other than a friend, it was strange to realize he would have felt definite jealousy, but it was clear that while she was devoted to him, Ambryn didn't look at her as a presumptive mate.

It was reassuring, but it was also the slightest bit sad, because Nathiel could see all too clearly that she didn't feel the same.

"Is this sauce too sweet do you think?"

"No, but it could use just a little more ginger. Here."

"That's mmm . . . yummy."

Ambryn glanced over his shoulder, and met Nathiel's gaze with a bright smile, spoon in hand. Annatta too, turned to regard him, expression less benevolent, but at least she wasn't bursting into flames today.

"Would you like to try some?"

Nathiel grinned and stepped forward, closing his fingers gently around Ambryn's, guiding the spoon to his lips. The sauce was pleasantly spiced without being too sharp, and the slight sweetness only enhanced the flavor. He savored the taste for a moment.

"It's delicious," he said honestly. "What's it for?"

"Almond-ginger chicken." Ambryn's smile had turned more intimate, lips parting ever so slightly. Nathiel pretended not to notice that he still had Ambryn's hand gently imprisoned in his own, just looking into those beautiful eyes. His gaze dropped to Ambryn's marvelous lips, now gleaming ever so slightly with moisture. He was just leaning in for a taste of something even more delectable than the sauce when someone started pounding on the front door.

"Stay in here," he said quietly.

He grabbed the long knife he'd left lying on the table in the living room and tucked it into the back of his waistband. The asshole in the hallway was still pounding, hard and fast. Nathiel felt a hint of irritation. He might not use the knife, but if whoever was trying to beat the door down didn't have a damn good explanation, he had two fists he'd didn't have any compunctions about employing to teach them some manners.

He opened the door, and Reiyad yanked his fist to a halt, expression worried. "Nath! We gotta go!"

Nathiel frowned. "What's going on?"

Reiyad made a subtle gesture with his chin at the other occupants of the apartment. "I'll explain on the way. We have to leave now!" he said rapidly, dropping into Darnassian.

"Nathiel, is something the matter?" Ambryn was standing next to Annatta, both of them in the living room now. Nathiel felt his irritation increase. Neither had obeyed his orders to stay in the kitchen and out of sight.

"There's been a . . . mixup." Reiyad's expression turned sickly. "Nathiel and I need to get out of the city for a little while and get it straightened out. We have to go, but we'll be back."

Nathiel just stared at Reiyad for a moment. When he glanced over his shoulder, both mages' expressions were closed. He grabbed Reiyad by the front of his shirt, yanked him inside, and slammed the door. "What sort of mixup?" he growled.

"I'll explain later! The guards -"

Nathiel shoved Reiyad up against the wall, tone deadly. "Explain now."

"The last run we did to Valgarde – the girl. She's saying she was raped. She's saying it was you." Reiyad was pale. "An Inquirer came to the guild hall."

Nathiel almost hit him in that moment, except that he knew it wasn't really Reiyad's fault. He'd known the little bitch was trouble, but this . . . he hadn't expected this. Not so long after the fact. He took his hands off of Reiyad's shirt and stepped back. "How close behind you were they?"

"Maybe fifteen minutes." Reiyad reached for the door.

"Nathiel."

The soft sound of his name on Ambryn's lips was like the burn of poison in his veins. Nathiel looked at him desperately. It wasn't supposed to be this way. There was deep misgiving in the jade eyes. "Nathiel. Wait."

"Nath!" Reiyad grabbed his shoulder.

Nathiel shrugged him off, strode across the room, and pulled Ambryn into his arms, looking down into his eyes and wishing uselessly that they'd warm again.

"I'll fix this," he said softly. "I promise."

And then, bizarrely, Ambryn smiled faintly at him, only there was a strange bitterness in it, and those jade eyes were cold, so incredibly cold, like frozen emeralds. "You don't understand. I think I'm the one that has to. Stay in Periont's Tower until I come for you."

Nathiel was still trying to figure out what that meant when the world dissolved into shimmering rings of brilliance, the warmth of Ambryn's body in his arms fading to nothing. When the light died he was standing in a large, circular room, the light of late afternoon streaming in through the high, arched windows.

He was still trying to process the abrupt change in location when bands of light flashing with symbols of power expanded out from a single point in midair to his right, dying away to reveal a startled-looking Reiyad, Annatta at his side. Her expression was distant as she walked past him to the window.

Nathiel looked after her for a moment. "Are we-"

"In Periont's Tower, yes." Her tone was as remote as her expression. She stopped in front of those tall windows, folding her arms.

Nathiel drew in a long, deep breath. On the one hand, it was sort of staggering to think that without even knowing what was going on, Ambryn had moved to protect him. There was no other possible motivation. On the other hand, he was worried, because he didn't know what Ambryn was planning, only barely had an idea of what was going on himself.

He turned, heading for the door he saw across the room.

"Stay here. This will be the last place the Inquirer will think to look for you." Annatta's tone was disparaging. Nathiel paused, glancing back in time to see Reiyad wince.

"What did he mean, it's something he has to fix?" Nathiel asked quietly.

"You haven't figured it out yet?" Annatta glanced at him, shook her head, and turned her gaze back to the sea of rooftops and soaring spires on the other side of the glass. "Ambassador Dellani does not approve of his son's choice of paramour. I find it difficult to believe he hasn't mentioned that to you."

"He might have in passing." Nathiel grimaced. He'd known Ambryn and his father didn't see eye to eye, but this was a little extreme for a family quarrel, wasn't it? Besides, he hadn't raped their fare, and Reiyad was the one who gave her a rogering at her request. He found it a little hard to believe Ambryn's father would have dug that up and twisted it for something like this over a private family dispute. What was the point? All he had to do was tell the truth under one of the Kirin Tor's Veracity spells and that would be the end of it.

Wouldn't it?

Ж

Ambryn had known instinctively what was going on the moment Reiyad appeared at his apartment, expression close to panic. He'd seen Annatta stiffen at the word Inquirer, had felt his own breath stop in his chest, heart missing a beat.

He'd hadn't thought Tybalt would go so far.

He'd underestimated him.

He wondered if Nathiel had seen through him, seen through to the guilt that had risen up like bile, burning the back of his throat, the shame. It was his fault.

Now, sitting in his living room, he could feel ice forming in his belly, gradually spreading, until he felt as though he would shatter if he moved wrong. He felt so cold.

The worst part wasn't the choking feeling that was rising in him. No, the worst part was the cramping, gnawing burn at the center of that chill, like someone had lit a black-flamed candle in the center of his chest, sucking away the heat and light instead of bringing it.

There was a polite knock at the door. Ambryn felt the ice tighten its grip. He got up to answer it.

Two men in the robes of the Justice Department, the fist and torch on their breasts, were waiting on the other side.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," Ambryn said politely. "Can I help you?"

The one on the left inclined his head slightly, his beard making it difficult to see more than his brown eyes. "Good afternoon, Mr. Dellani. We're looking for a night elf – Nathiel Highfury. From what we understand he frequents your residence."

"I've been seeing him, yes." Ambryn wondered how he could be so calm. That dark flame at his core seemed to draw more of his heat away. "You just missed him. He departed not more than five minutes ago. His friend came and got him."

"Did he happen to say where he was going?"

"I believe he was intending to leave the city," Ambryn said, once again perfectly honestly. "They're mercenaries, so they do that quite frequently."

The other man nodded. "Thank you for your assistance. Will you be staying in tonight? We may have more questions later."

"I'm actually intending to go see my father this evening. I'm not sure how long I'll be." That was also the truth.

"We won't keep you then. Good evening, Mr. Dellani."

"Good evening." Ambryn's skin felt numb, but it was nothing compared to the chill beneath it as he closed the door, went to his room, and changed into a formal set of pale blue-white robes with a high collar, bell sleeves, and elaborate stitching in silver thread.

No one glanced twice at him as he rode the lift down to the ground floor. No one met his gaze as he stepped outside onto the grand porch and descended the stairs to the street. He walked, because he was waiting for the ice to loosen its grip, waiting to be able to think and breathe again, to feel something, anything besides the deep, deathly chill that had settled inside of him.

It didn't abate, only seemed to settle more deeply into his core as he walked through the dying afternoon light to the administrative quarter.

Ж

"Sir, Ambryn is here to see you."

Tybalt heard a strange note in Eanté's voice as the door opened, glancing up from a letter he'd received from the consulate in Stormwind, and his breath froze in his chest as he met Marianne's eyes.

They were hers from the jeweled emerald brilliance to the depth of the frigid, implacable, unquenchable rage that filled them, a cold fury he never thought he'd ever see again in this life, and it shook him to his very core as they stared out at him from his son's face. He sat, silent, stunned, as Ambryn entered like a very spirit of the cold, clear skies, steps quiet as the falling snow, and sat.

"Please leave us, Eanté." Ambryn turned his head slightly as he spoke, those unearthly eyes releasing Tybalt at last, and he sat back in his chair, trying to catch his breath.

Eanté hesitated, hand on the door, eyes going to Tybalt, and then she complied. The latch settled with a faint click that seemed overly loud in the abrupt silence.

"Name your price." The words were calm, even polite, but it was the calm of the deepest, darkest night of winter. Even so, Tybalt was startled by them. He'd planned this meeting. He knew exactly what he was going to say and how he was going to say it.

Looking at Ambryn now, seeing in him an unmistakable reflection of the fullest extent of Marianne's rage, Tybalt knew instantly it wouldn't work. By simple strength of presence, Ambryn had brought the bargain down to brass tacks and stripped away all the careful layers Tybalt had meant to put in place.

He was very much his mother's son.

Tybalt pulled a file out of his desk and slid it across the polished surface. "You should know that the mercenary has been accused of rape."

"He didn't do it." There was no assertion in Ambryn's tone. It was a statement of fact. "But you don't care. All you have to do is lean on the judge to seal the proceedings and admit no witnesses, and no one will ever know the truth. Then you'll be free to use your real weapons. Within a month just the rumors you've unleashed will have him hanged by those certain of his guilt and his employer run out of business, probably even out of the city."

Emerald eyes met his once more, darkened from pale jade to a color far more perilous, making it difficult to breathe. "We both know this. Now what do you want?"

"I want my son back." Tybalt didn't realize until the words left his mouth that he half-believed it really was Marianne, there across the desk from him, wearing her son's flesh as she confronted his father. There was a cold ache behind his ribs, a chill that rode the length of his spine.

It was she who smiled back at him, no warmth at all in the expression, pinning him with her stare like a moth on a collector's board. "Trouble the mercenary ever again, and I will see to it that you will never have that."

"I understand." The words came out cracked, and Tybalt watched as Ambryn stood, only he wasn't entirely sure it was merely him on the other side of the desk, and walked out as quietly and calmly as he'd appeared.

Only after the silence had stretched into long minutes did he stop to fully contemplate what he'd agreed to. He barely glanced up as Eanté entered, her arms folded around her. She reached for the fireplace poker, and then stopped, raised a hand, and fire splashed from her palm over the logs, heat flushing out into the room.

"He really is Marianne's," she said quietly.

Tybalt shivered, and stood, moving to stand next to her in front of the fireplace. He held his hands out to the flames. "I need you to go and get the girl personally."

Eanté glanced up, startled. "But if he did-"

"He didn't. The mercenary will be present, but it is the girl who will be questioned under the spell. Take two Inquirers and a full squad of the guard. This has become a diplomatic matter."

Tybalt was thinking carefully about a letter he'd received with the crest of a moon and crown, penned by a scribe. He was thinking about Darnassus, and the correspondence he'd had Eanté begin with the Darnassian Consulate. It wasn't the path he'd been expecting to take, but a plan was forming.

In the back of his mind, emerald eyes lurked.

Ж

Annatta had left maybe half an hour ago. She'd brought bread and cider from stores the Tower kept on hand for its mages, and then departed again It was a piss-poor substitute for Ambryn's cooking.

Nathiel was restless. He wanted to move, to do something. He hated to sit here, waiting, thinking of Kirin Tor guards looking for him. They'd probably been to his apartment. There would be some serious explaining to do. His landlady already thought him a rake – there was no telling what she'd do if she thought that his depravity had sunk to new lows.

Reiyad was no help. He was quiet, guilt dogging his shoulders, leaning against a wall, arms folded, head down.

"So what were you planning anyway?" Nathiel asked coolly. "Flee the city like a pair of fugitives, running from the law?"

Reiyad flinched and raised his head. "I . . . thought we could go to Valgarde. I could talk to her. Hell, I would've even turned myself in if it came to it, but . . ." He shrugged uncomfortably. "You know what the Kirin Tor does to capital offenders. I was afraid that they'd . . ."

Nathiel drew in a long, calming breath, trying to keep a grip on his temper. "You thought they'd just kill me in cold blood without checking my side of the story?"

Reiyad dropped his gaze.

Nathiel let out his breath. Reiyad had meant well.

He turned at the sound of the door opening, and Annatta entered. Her expression was uncertain. "Ambryn's here."

The hesitancy in her voice made the hair stand up on the back of Nathiel's neck. He was past her and sprinting before he even realized he was in motion. Ambryn was a little ways down the hallway.

He'd changed his clothes, all cool, pale silver and snow-blue white, the robes giving him an austere air, even his honey hair seeming to have lost some its richness under the lights, washed out by the lack of color. He was looking out the window, his hands clasped in front of him.

He looked up, and there was something in his jade eyes, something cold and lost that made Nathiel ache even as he pulled Ambryn into him, drawing him close. Even his skin was cold, as though he'd been too long outside.

"I'm sorry," Ambryn said quietly.

"Stop saying the things I'm supposed to say," Nathiel retorted, breath catching in his throat, not quite managing the jovial tone he was trying for.

"My father-"

"It's not your fault," Nathiel interjected fiercely, cutting him off. He looked down into Ambryn's jade eyes. The cold was still there, and it hurt him to see it. He lowered his mouth to Ambryn's, kissing him deeply, searching for that spark, willing that warmth to return. For a moment the lips were unresponsive under his own, and then they softened, opening, and Nathiel deepened the kiss, feeling Ambryn melting against him, feeling the life return to him, until Ambryn was kissing him back, desperate and wanting.

It wasn't until he tasted salt that Nathiel realized he'd pulled Ambryn up into his arms, lifting him off of the floor. Tears traced glittering trails down Ambryn's face, but he was smiling, the chill gone, the sweet warmth returned to his gaze, as though the ice within had melted away.

Nathiel smiled back at him, his world gradually returning once more to an approximation of normal. He adjusted his grip, gathering Ambryn's legs in one arm so the mage was cradled against his chest, and turned to see Annatta and Reiyad standing in the doorway. Annatta blushed. Reiyad had the grace to look shamefaced as well, but there was a silly smile on his lips.

"What're you looking at?" Nathiel mock-growled, smile turning to a salacious grin.

Ж

Under other circumstances, Nathiel might have felt sorry for her, especially in light of the sheer number of witnesses packed into the court. She looked small and alone, a semicircle of three purple-robed Inquirers around her, one to either side and one behind. Her pretty little face was pale, no coquettish pout on her lips this time, not a trace of confidence in the way she sat on the low marble bench, shoulders hunched.

The air shimmered around her, wavering like a heat mirage, the aura of the Veracity spell forming its own magical cloud of sorcerous potency.

He actually felt a little embarrassed himself as he listened to the whole tawdry little story.

She'd refused to be teleported back to Valgarde, not because she was afraid of the magic as she'd told her father, but because she'd been in the mood for an "adventure." Nathiel had turned her down, and rudely at that. Nathiel grimaced as she repeated his exact words verbatim to the court, raising a number of eyebrows. Apparently she'd been fairly stung to recall them so precisely.

Reiyad was her second choice. She'd been hoping to make Nathiel jealous enough that he'd reconsider.

He hadn't.

Her voice got quieter and quieter through the recitations and the questions, until the judge was forced to ask her to speak up.

Her father sat in the audience, face set in stone, complexion reddening further above his stiff military uniform with each question and answer, until he had a face like a brick wall.

The prosecutor, Leopold Thamas, seemed to take no real pleasure in each question, thorough and precise, his tone always perfectly even and completely polite, holding himself carefully as he stood in place, as though boxed in by some sort of invisible boundary, only his mouth and eyes moving, hands clasped in front of him.

The only saving grace was that Ambryn wasn't present to hear it. He and Annatta were back at the apartment, having a second go at making almond-ginger chicken.

"To conclude, your honor, given the witness's testimony under the Veracity spell provided by Inquirers Reed Salinger, Estes Laurence, and Valtus Therein, I believe that we have thoroughly established the innocence of the defendant." Thamas looked at the judge's raised desk like a hound waiting for the word of his master.

The judge's graying eyebrows rose briefly. "Does the defense have anything to add?"

Hinishma Ravensong stood and shook her head. "Only that I am reassured by the excellence of the investigation and the swift resolution of these allegations, your honor. It is a great credit to the judicial system established by the Kirin Tor."

"You are very kind," the judge said politely, stroking his beard.

"If I may, your honor." Thamas raised a hand.

"By all means, Inquirer Thamas." The judge waved absently.

"As your honor is undoubtedly aware, the plaintiff has committed the grave crime of perjury." Thamas looked at the throne-like desk expectantly.

The judge blinked. The girl's father was half out of his seat, eyes wide, shame turned to fear.

"While I appreciate your . . . fervent pursuit of justice, Inquirer Thamas," the judge said slowly, "I believe that the personal humiliation of these proceedings is likely sufficient punishment for Miss Lloys." His gaze went to a blond man with short, curly hair and steel gray robes who sat near the back of the chamber. "We've also been petitioned for leniency in the interests of preserving harmonious relations with the people of Lordaeron."

Thamas looked deeply disappointed, but he nodded.

"If that is all, then I hereby declare the defendant not guilty. The charges are dismissed." The judge stood, and everyone else followed suit, waiting for him to depart so that they could make their own way out.

"I believe congratulations are in order," Hinishma said as she neared, her pale blue hair brushed back behind her ears. She smiled politely. "Your employer was quite concerned over the outcome."

"I wasn't really," Nathiel said with a shrug he didn't feel. "If I'd known she was going to be repeating what I told her that night in a courtroom full of people though, I probably would have used a different turn of phrase."

Hinishma's eyebrows rose, lips curving into more of a genuine smile. "Indeed. I confess that this trial was not conducted in a manner I was expecting." She coughed politely, smile fading. "It is, however regrettable, my responsibility to remind you that here in foreign lands, we are all ambassadors for the kal'dorei nation. Perhaps the next time you refuse a young lady, you might recall today's proceedings."

"I don't plan for it to happen again, but I'll keep that in mind, Consul." He knew why she was saying it in the common human language. It was purely for show, an attempt to convince those listening that at least the kal'dorei government wasn't full of vulgar elves. Shysters and the patrons of the human whorehouse near the Silver Enclave were obviously already weighing fairly heavily against her in that endeavor, but he didn't argue.

"Mr. Highfury."

It was the blond man the judge had looked to before, dressed in the elaborate steel-gray robes, runes stitched across the surface in elaborate dark blue embroidery. His brown eyes were cool as he held out a hand. "I'm Ambassador Tybalt Dellani, Ambryn's father. I understand you're seeing my son."

Nathiel blinked, startled. Now that he looked at the human, the facial structure was similar, the lay of the eyes, the height of the cheekbones, the shape of the chin, but the eye color and the lips were different, the hair paler.

"Yeah." Nathiel hesitated a moment longer, and then took the offered hand. If this was going to go downhill, it was a fight he wasn't going to start. He could see out of the corner of his eye that Hinishma was watching very closely. "He mentioned that the two of you are currently not seeing eye to eye."

Tybalt smiled faintly as he released his grip. "I'm quite confident that we've made significant steps toward reconciliation." He glanced around the court chamber, rows of pale gray stone benches almost empty now, the insignia of the Kirin Tor on a purple banner above the judge's seat. "The trial turned out very much to my satisfaction. I was not originally expecting to be pleased at the outcome." Those brown eyes returned to Nathiel. "I didn't approve of you at first, but perhaps my son's choice has more merit than I had initially considered. I'd like to assure him of my changed opinion."

Nathiel nodded slowly after a moment. "Thank you for your words, Ambassador."

Tybalt returned the nod, and turned away. "Hinishma, I'd like to meet with you regarding my plans to travel to Darnassus. I'll send Eanté to your office to work out the details for our appointment."

Hinishma nodded quickly. "Of course, Ambassador. Our office will be pleased to offer you assistance, and I have no doubt that Darnassus will be equally pleased to host you."

"Please, call me Tybalt." The ambassador smiled that same, polite smile and took her hand briefly. "Until then." He glanced at Nathiel. "Please take good care of yourself. My son's welfare is of great concern to me."

Then he was gone, moving with an air of confident certainty, almost seeming to radiate authority.

The whole conversation had left Nathiel feeling slightly uneasy, with the distinct impression that a great deal had been said in those few sentences.

"These humans, they have a way with implications that can be . . . disquieting, do they not?" Hinishma's tone was pensive.

"The dangerous ones," Nathiel said back before he'd thought better of it. Hinishma only nodded however.

"We'd better both stay on his good side," she replied quietly.

Ж

"Are you worried?" Annatta looked at Ambryn. He'd been silent all day, ever since Nathiel and Reiyad had left this morning for the Justice Department. "About the trial?"

"No. Whatever else he is, my father is a man of his word." Ambryn hesitated in putting the top back on the small clay jar of powdered ginger, and then completed the motion.

"You're going to need a little more of that," she said gently.

He looked at her, and then smiled faintly and took the top back off, adding a touch more to the sauce in its pan on the stove, stirring it with a wooden spoon. She continued to watch him. Something was bothering him, though thankfully he wasn't the cold shadow of himself he'd been last night. She hadn't asked him what happened. She didn't dare invite back that stranger who'd worn his flesh, chill and somehow terrible.

"I don't know what he's going to ask for in exchange for Nathiel's safety." Ambryn had stopped stirring. He was staring at the wall over the stove, expression worried.

Annatta hesitated, feeling just a little bit guilty because she wasn't doing it just for him, and turned and gave him a hug, and after a moment, his arms came around her as well.

"It'll be alright," she told him, uncertain of whether or not she was lying. In truth, she was uncertain of whether she even wanted to. If Nathiel had really done it – if he was truly guilty – it would put an end to her plans. But Ambryn would be all hers.

He wouldn't really. She knew it deep inside. But it was terribly hard not to listen to that tiny, perverse voice in the back of her head that whispered maybe, just maybe . . .

"Thanks Annatta." Ambryn squeezed briefly, and pulled back. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

She smiled into his jade eyes and his sweet, lovely face. "Any time," she said honestly. She let her smile quirk into a grin. "I think the chicken's just about ready."

Ambryn drew in a deep breath and smiled. "I think you're right."

"You know," she said as they were chopping up the chicken carcass. "I think our teleportation spells went really well considering both Nathiel and Reiyad came out in one piece and on the right plane of existence. I actually have a new tome I was thinking we could look at about gates. It's theoretical instead of practical, but it looked like great reading. I thought we could study it before Circle."

"I have to admit, it did come in extremely handy." Ambryn helped her get the chicken into the sauce, and they left it to simmer. "Of course, I was never expecting to actually use it in that kind of situation."

She winked at him. "It could come in handy if you're ever in a tight situation yourself too."

Like when we finally reach Khalimdor and the roots of Nordrassil, and we've stolen all the water from the Well of Eternity we can carry.

Ж

Author's Post-Script Notes:

Thanks goes once again to my reviewers, and as always, I'd like to invite you to leave constructive criticism. What's awkward? What doesn't fit? Is there a turn of phrase that just plain blows? Is it even just a typo? Let me know!