Night, and Martin seeks out his cousin Antonio in the front dining room
where Antonio is eating a late dinner, comprised of roast chicken and
baked vegetables.

He is a lean young man standing about 6 foot tall with blue-black hair,
a moustache, goatee, tanned skin and dark mocking eyes. He is well
muscled and his hands are covered with callouses of the sort you might
expect from a life aboard ship. He carries himself with an air of
confidence and his voice is deep and commanding with a broad Amber
accent. He is dressed in a long black-leather coat, red and white ornate
waistcoat, and a white frilled silken shirt. His trousers are black and
have been tucked into high leather boots. A silver cutlass hangs from a
leather belt on his left side, its pommel topped by a large ruby.

Antonio glances across to Martin as he enters. He nods and says,
"Martin."

Martin closes the door behind him, wanders over into the room.
"Antonio."

"Just passing through?"

Martin shrugs, grins, "always." He moves over to a chair at the table,
"how was your trip?"

Antonio says "Satisfactory. How have things been here?"

Martin pulls up a chair, slouches into it. "Dull. Annoying. Too damned
quiet."

Antonio nods, "So dull even Gerard has taken leave of the castle."

"Yeah," Martin agrees, then smiles a crooked little smile. "I think he's
gone to talk to your dragon."

Antonio arches his brow, "My dragon?"

Martin gestures airily in the direction of Arden. "Big fellow, flies,
wears a pretty necklace. The one you warned about poaching."

Antonio says "If warning him makes him mine, then half of the poachers
belong to me as well."

Martin hehs, stretching out his legs under the table. "Probably, except
the dragon's now a licensed hunter."

"Says who?"

Martin eyes Antonio, "actually, one of your men suggested it."

"Who?"

"Daneel, I think his name is." Martin says. "Good man there."

Antonio takes another sip of wine. He just nods.

"I'll need to talk to Niara soon," Martin says after a while. "About the
letter that was delivered to her."

Antonio says "Find anything about it?"

Martin answers, "not enough."

"How much is that?" Antonio takes another sip of wine before returning
his glass to the table and retrieving his cutlery.

"He covers his tracks reasonably well, acts through various agents, who
don't neccessarily know they're doing his work."

"But he exists? It's not a joke played by you or Hal?"

Martin quirks an eyebrow at his cousin. "Not Harold's style," he says,
adds quietly. "And I don't play these sorts of jokes."

"Have you at least managed to track down who left it?"

Martin nods, "girl from the kitchens. I've talked to Henden about the
staff. He's checking through them."

Antonio nods. "Have you personally spoken with her?"

"Yes," Martin says. "She doesn't know a thing. Met an old biddy in the
markets, and thought she was doing Niara a favor, delivering a letter
from her dear old auntie." He waves a hand, "and yes, we went looking.
The old biddy's gone."

"Didn't occur to her that Niara was from Virga?" Antonio continues
eating his meal.

Martin shrugs, "the girl isn't overly bright, just earnest. Our mystery
hag convinced her she was doing a good deed. So."

Antonio smirks and asks between mouthfuls, "Wasn't Mira was it?"

Martin grins at that, "now that you mention it... Hmm." he shakes his
head with a rueful smile, "as much as I would like to think so, no.
Probably not. Which leaves us with a problem."

Antonio nods, "How do you plan to fix it?"

Martin considers, drumming his fingers together. "Our friend doesn't
have to get in here. He acts through the staff. Henden's checking their
records and suchlike, discreetly, for anyone who might be used against
us. Debts, grudges, whatever."

Antonio nods, "This is something that should have been done long ago."

"It was," Martin says. "Long ago. But people get lax after a time." A
pause. "I don't expect Henden to find anything there, though. It's just
a precaution. I mean, his checks wouldn't have uncovered a sweet,
well-meaning, idiotic kitchen girl."

"Perhaps it should have. It should at least be stressed to them that the
security of the household relies not only on the guards but all the
staff. One weak link and there could be a disaster. We were fortunate
that this time it was only a message that was sent. Does Gerard know
about this?"

"I wanted to see how bad the breaches were first," Martin says. "Which
seems confined to just this one incident so far."

"That we know about."

Martin nods without comment.

Antonio takes another bite of food.

Martin presses his fingers together, parts them. "What did Niara say to
you, about the letter?"

Antonio says "She thought it was a joke from Hal."

"She claimed no knowledge of it at all?" Martin asks, dubious.

"I was there when she received the letter."

"You believe her, then?"

"Regarding what?"

Martin smiles, irritably, at Antonio. "Her ignorance regarding who sent
the letter, the significance, if any, of the accompanying flower, and
the meaning of the letter's contents."

"I'm fairly certain she doesn't know who sent it."

The mechanical, jewelled bird on the mantlepiece chimes once, softly.

Martin regards Antonio levelly, refrains from asking any more. "Alright,
then," he says. "But I suggest we should be concerned about who her
letter-writing friend is, and why he's so interested in her. I can make
damned sure nothing else like this gets to her, or anyone else, for that
matter, but that doesn't get us any closer to finding him."

"I suggest that you place a man or two on her whenever she leaves the
castle."

Martin snorts, "I suggest you tell her to *stay* with the man or two who
escort her when she's in the city."

Antonio chuckles, "She'd never agree to that."

Martin grins, "no... but maybe she'd agree if it was us instead of just
the guards."

Antonio grins, "Why give her a choice? But no. "I don't have the time to
babysit my sister."

Martin hehs, "nor I." He shakes his head, chuckling, "she was right, you
know. We *should* have locked her up in the dungeons. Easier all round."

"I'd rather begin her training and then have her walk the Pattern when
she is ready."

Martin mms, "agreed. I just don't like this other thing hanging over her
head."

Antonio says "We just have to wait for him to make the next move and be
ready when he does."

Martin nods, glum again, "not much more we can do at the moment." He
frowns a moment, says, "another thing..."

Antonio pushes his plate away and raises his glass to his lips. He nods
in reply to you.

"You knew Eric, right?"

Antonio nods, "Briefly."

"Do you know if he had a son?" Martin asks.

Antonio shrugs.

Martin hmms, "there's a lieutenant, name of Gavin. Been with the guard
five years now. Thought you might want to talk with him sometime."

Antonio says "Why? Is he making claims?"

Martin shakes his head, "not in so many words."

Antonio shrugs, "It matters little in any case. Eric failed to recognise
him, at least officially. Even your father did that. If he's been here
five years then Eric had plenty of time in which to make the proper
arrangements. I'm very skeptical about any claim that is made just now,
given the sudden rush of them."

Martin doesn't answer immediately. Then, "as I said, he hasn't made any
overt claims. I've sort of known him a while, never had a reason to
suspect. Until recently." He shrugs, "it's just another one of those
damned little things to tell Gerard, when he gets back."

"If he's smart he'll stay out there where its nice and peaceful."

"If he's smart, he'll shave that beard off and stop wearing Eric's
colors."

Antonio frowns, "He's doing that?"

"Everything but actually saying it."

"On duty?"

"He was in the city when I ran into him," Martin says. "Hal, too. Not
that Hal's said anything about it. So, I don't know. Maybe I'm just
seeing something that isn't really there. But then, I never met the real
thing. So."

"Consider yourself lucky."

Martin lifts an eyebrow, grins. "That tough, was he."

Antonio says "I wouldn't call him tough. Just pigheaded."

Martin nods, "you didn't like him much, then?"

Antonio chuckles, "He and I didn't have a favourable relationship, no."

Antonio says "Gavin looks like Eric?"

Martin shrugs a shoulder, "to me, yes. But all I've got to go by is a
picture on a card."

Antonio says "Haven't noticed it myself, but its been a while since we
last spoke. We might want to keep an eye on Mira concerning him."

"Mira's seen him, but she didn't say anything to me at the time. No
reason to, I suppose. Hal's been friendly with him lately, though."

Antonio nods. He sips his wine, considering.

Niara opens the door a fraction, and peeps inside.

Martin is seated at the table, talking quietly with Antonio.

Antonio is seated at the table, a glass of red in his hand and a plate
filled with the remains of a roast dinner in front of him.

Antonio says "I'd keep an eye on her anyway. She and Eric were close and
it ended badly. She might care to take her revenge upon him."

Niara asks, quietly, "Have you scared all of the servants away?"

Take the Mona Lisa. Make her darker and elfin boned, and substitute her
straight brown-black hair for a wealth of ebon curls. Widen her
almondine eyes. Color them bronze, like those of some leopards. Re-draw
that famous smile onto a Dionysian mouth. Give her slender, fragile
hands, impossibly tiny feet, and indolent grace that is the stuff of
scientific treatise. Then lightly bruise her face and splint her nose,
and stitch a short line in the skin above her left ear. Envelop her
limbs in rich purple velvet, a garment that wears like a gown from
collarbone to ankles, and like a tunic from ankles to each hip. Slip
soft trousers underneath, golden velvet under a tissue thin layer of
orange faille brocade. Tuck her feet into dainty black slippers. Make
her smell like apple blossoms.

Antonio turns towards the door. He answers, gesturing to his near empty
plate, "Just finished off the last one."

Martin looks to the door, smiles. "Well, well, the lost little lamb's
home again." His smile hazes over into a slightly pained expression as
he takes in her bruises and bumps.

Niara purses her lips. "Pity. Now I shall have to go set the kitchen on
fire."

Antonio says "Come join us and we can make it a family affair later."

She chuckles, and begins to close the door. "Please ex ... Hmm?"

Martin grins to himself.

Niara says "Ah, no need. Besides, I need the practice."

Antonio twirls the stem of his glass betwixt index and thumb watching
the wine whirlpool inside the flute.

"Setting the kitchen on fire?" Martin smiles, "Wouldn't have thought you
needed the practice, cousin. Come sit with us a while."

Antonio says "Yes, come tell Martin how you managed to help rescue a
fair maiden from the evil clutches of the Virgan Emperor."

Martin quirks a brow, "this sounds... interesting."

Niara's eyes do not quite roll upwards. "In a little while, if you do
not object severely." She pulls the door shut, this time.

Martin looks at Antonio, "*what* did you have happen to her?"

Antonio says, still watching the swirling wine, "It would be better for
the answer to come from her lips."

Martin just shakes his head again, smiling, "at least she doesn't break
easy, huh."

Antonio chuckles, "Ask Wayland."

Antonio glances at the door as it opens again.

Niara taps on the doorsill with her left hand when she opens the door.
In her right swings a little silver pot, and three small china cups,
carefully nested upside down and one atop the other.

Niara murmurs, "Sly dog, you're fattening up one for later." as she lets
the door close behind her.

Amongst themselves, Martin just smiles, "I just might, at that."

Martin looks to the door again as Niara enters, again, watching her
balance the tea-things.

Antonio chuckles.

Niara walks over to the center of the table and sets down the pot and
cups, the latter one by one. Cup number three she tips the pot over,
letting out a thick brown liquid, and with it, the aroma of chocolate
and cinnamon.

Antonio watches his sister, glass still swirling slowly in his hand.

Martin mmms, catching the scent. "Smells nice."

Niara says "There is more in the pot."

Antonio says "Evidently."

Martin nods, reaching for the pot, and a cup, "thanks." To Niara, he
says, "Will you sit with us?"

Niara releases the pot, and lifts a shoulder, before leaning against the
edge of the table.

Martin pauses in the act of reaching for the pot, quirks a curious brow
at Niara. "Something..?" he asks her.

She brings her cup to her nose and sniffs it.

Niara has a sip, after scratching her splint. She shakes her head a
little once her mouth is full of chocolate.

Henden comes in from the main corridor.

Martin nods, continues for the pot. "Want some?" he offers Antonio.

Henden walks in and bows to those present. "Good day, nobles."

Henden is not an imposing man: he stands just over five foot nine and is
quite slim. He carries himself with a quiet assurance that comes from
long years of dealing with royal and noble whims. He appears to be in
late middle age, and his short brown hair is beginning to turn silver,
especially at the temples. His wide brown eyes are constantly moving,
seeking any flaw in the Palace's appearance. 

Henden wears a simple outfit of a style that was in fashion some ninety
years ago. A tight-sleeved robe of deep burgundy velvet falls to just
below his knees, belted at the waist by a chain of heavy golden links.
Beneath the robe is a pair of black hose, and on his feet are ankle-high
suede boots of the same burgundy. There is a plain gold wedding band on
his left hand. His only other jewelry is a brooch of a Unicorn's head in
ivory, with an emerald eye and a spiral horn of carved amber--perhaps a
badge of office. From his belt hang a black pouch, a ring of keys, and a
blade just long enough to be called a short sword rather than a dagger.

Antonio shakes his head to Martin as he glances towards the door.
"Evening, Henden."

Martin peers round, acknowledging the Steward with a nod.

Niara looks up, mouth determinedly closed. A thin line of chocolate
details where her lips come together.

Antonio gestures to a vacant seat, "Come join us in some hot chocolate."

Martin pours himself a round, the cinnamon chocolate burbling thickly
into a little cup.

Henden inclines his head. "You are kind, Lord." He takes a chair a bit
closer to the table's foot than any of yours.

Antonio says "My sister will tell you differently, Henden."

Niara shifts where she leans against the table so she can sit on its
edge. She runs a finger over her mouth and looks at the smear of
chocolate on the digit.

Martin pours out another cup, and hands it over to Henden, "might be a
bit hot."

Henden accepts the cup with a nod. "My thanks." He looks relieved at not
having to reply to Antonio's comment.

The mechanical, jewelled bird on the mantlepiece chimes once, softly.

Antonio turns and asks Niara, "Splint holding?"

Martin settles back in his seat, savoring the aroma from his cup. He
raises an eye towards Niara.

Niara's head moves in a shallow nod. She swallows the chocolate in her
mouth, gradually.

Antonio says "It should be ready to be removed soon."

Henden lowers his gaze and sips, carefully.

Martin turns to where Henden is seated, smiles, conversationally, "how's
the palace holding together?"

Niara looks crosseyed at the bridge of her nose, fleetingly, then
shrugs.

Antonio chuckles softly, sipping his wine.

Martin puffs the steam away from his cup.

Henden returns Martin's smile, equal to the millimeter. "Well enough,
Lord, I'd say. Now."

Niara puts her cup down on the table, and folds her arms loosely.

Antonio says "Did Gerard speak with you before he left, Henden?"

Henden says "Nothing beyond a goodbye, Lord. The same as everyone else,
I should think."

Antonio purses his lips and nods.

Henden tilts his head a bit to one side. "Is this unexpected?"

Niara senses "Martin watches you from the side, with something like
concern and curiosity."

Antonio says "I've been away. I don't know the circumstances."

Martin nods, "he left while most of us were away during the hunt."

Antonio says "How'd that go?"

You sense Niara's gaze is turned toward the conversation at hand, but
perhaps even a blind man could see that her thoughts are not entirely
there. Her expression is pleasant, but curbed, almost bland in its lack
of mobility.

"Interesting," Martin says. "Hal and Dannik scored a manitcora. The
bandits we divvied up. And a dragon showed up. Good hunt all round."

Antonio frowns. He turns to Niara, "Care to tell your tale, yet?"

Henden looks at Martin. "So it is true? About the dragon? I'd heard
whispers, but no more."

Niara senses "Martin's gaze drifts back to Niara now and again, but he
does not ask, though it's clear from his expression that he would like
to. But. Not here, not now, not before these others."

"Which particular one?" Niara asks, a shade huskily, after clearing her
throat. She does not make further inquiry, after canting her head toward
Henden and Martin.

Martin turns to Henden, considers, shrugs. "He looked real enough."

Henden's snort is barely audible. His lips quirk upward, though that may
only be to accomodate the cup which he raises to them again.

Martin blows on his hot chocolate, "yeah, it's true. We've got a
dragon." He sips at his cup, purses his lips, says to Henden, "mm... You
wouldn't know anything about the great drgaons of old, would you?"

Henden lowers the cup, shaking his head. "Not much, I'm afraid. It was
the hunters of Amber who dealt with their kind. You might do better to
ask--" He cuts himself short, frowns a moment. "There may be something
in the library," he finishes lamely.

You sense Niara's expression loosens a fraction when she cants her head
at you. For a moment there, the distance in her gaze slips, and her
polite half-smile grows true and soft. The mask comes back when Henden
mentions the library.

Antonio arches his brow, "Hunters?"

Niara senses "Martin starts to reply to her smile with one of his own,
when hers fades, and he's left stifling a puzzled frown."

Henden says "Hunters. The Rangers are long-established, Lord, as I am
sure you know. Of course, there are dragons and dragons ... but the
speaking ones are long gone."

Niara picks up her cup again, and ventures another sip.

Martin whistles softly, "those must have been some hunters. The dragon
we have up there's the size of a house."

Martin reconsiders, "a big house. With wings. And that eats manticora."

Henden says "That was *very* early on, though--legends long before I was
born. They may have been exaggerated somewhat. One the size you
describe, though ... that sounds like their era, not ours."

Antonio purses his lips, deep in thought.

Martin shrugs, "well, it's in our era now."

Henden says "Odd. It was thought that their breed had died out long ago
... still, enough has changed of late that I suppose we should not be
surprised by much of anything."

Antonio says, placing his glass down upon the table, "Henden, do you
know if Eric sired a child?"

Niara's chocolate-daubed mouth quirks slightly.

Henden's expression is bland to the extreme. "If he did, sir, he never
saw fit to inform me of it."

Antonio glances at Martin.

Martin sip carefully at his cup, returns Antonio's glance with a shrug.

Antonio's gaze falls upon Niara.

You sense Niara is perhaps stifling a sudden laugh.

Antonio quirks his brow as he watches Niara.

Martin smacks his lips, setting the cup down, and glancing to Niara.

Henden sips at his chocolate, apparently oblivious.

Niara senses "Martin quirks a brow at your (yet again) sudden change in
mood."

Niara flicks a curl off her brow, puts her cup down, and wipes chocolate
off her mouth onto the back of her right hand. "That is silly," she
murmurs. "I really think she would just scream a lot. Perhaps tear her
hair."

She adds, lightly. "And flounce."

Martin blinks, and looks to Antonio for an, uh, translation.

Antonio glances at Martin, and then his gaze returns to Niara.

Henden clears his throat. "She? I'm afraid you have left me behind,
Lady."

Niara waves a hand negligently, and hops up off the table.

Martin says to Antonio, "you haven't damaged her already?"

Henden mutters to himself, "Someone... it..."

Antonio answers, "No more than necessary. Perhaps Wayland has had his
revenge?"

Niara uses her waving hand to cover a mild yawn. "Not yet, though I
believe I am overdue for a spanking."

Henden looks sharply at Niara, but says nothing.

Antonio smirks and glances to Martin.

Niara inclines her head a little. "Good evening, everyone."

Martin smiles, raises his cup to Antonio, "a toast to the family, eh."

Antonio raises his glass before draining it.

Henden rises and bows to Niara. "Good evening, Lady."

Antonio says to Niara, "I will walk you back to your room."

Niara has already turned from the table, and is walking toward the door.
"I do not believe I will get lost from here to there."

A low wind keens softly through the castle.

Martin drinks, shrugs, turning to watch Niara leave.

She chuckles, and shrugs.

Antonio pushes out his chair and stands.

Henden sits again and reclaims his cup, just holding it for now.

Antonio says "I've seen how lost you can get. I'm sure you can find a
way to lose yourself in your own bed."

Niara says "Hardly. It has walls now." She looks over her shoulder at
Antonio. "And whose idea was that?"

Antonio chuckles, "Yours."

Henden decides the cup is a much safer subject for his attention than
the bantering nobles.

Antonio moves over to join Niara.

Martin waves a Good Night absently to Antonio and Niara, returns to
nursing his drink.

Niara mouths, "Mine?" but does not voice it.

Antonio says "Goodnight Martin. Night Henden."

Martin slumps a little lower in his seat, mutters "'later," to Antonio.

Antonio opens the door for his sister.

Henden says "Good night, my lord, my lady."

Niara murmurs something in vague acknowledgement before she walks
through the door.

Antonio's dipping his head to mutter to the squared-shouldered Niara is
the last that can be seen of the pair as the door closes.

Martin glances round the chair when he hears the door shut, turns back
to his drink. "More chocolate?" he asks Henden.

Henden shakes his head slowly. "She continues to puzzle me ... hmm? Ah,
no, Lord. I think I, too, should probably retire."

Martin shrugs, "if you wish." A pause, then, "How goes the search?"

Henden shrugs slightly. "One seamstress who eats at finer places than
her purse can manage; two cooks who sometimes need to be carried home.
Other than that, very little. But it continues."

Martin nods, says, "I don't expect we'll find much, but it's been a long
time since this has been done."

Henden nods. "True enough. Have you perchance spoken with any of the
Guard? They may well know more than I."

Martin is a while answering, "I have spoken with the guards, yes."

"Well, then. Any luck?"

Martin eyes Henden, replies evenly, "the guards know their duty."

Henden's eyes narrow a bit. "Meaning what, Lord?"

Martin has a drink from his cup, says, "Meaning, they know their duty."

The muted footfalls of a patrolling guard pass slowly by just outside
the door.

Henden nods as he deliberately sets down his cup. "Very well, Lord. Is
there anything else you require of me?" His voice is not quite cold.

Martin lowers his cup, shrugs, considering the pot. "Not tonight."

Henden nods and rises. "Be well, then, Lord. And good night."

Martin returns the nod absently. "Keep me posted," he says.

Henden turns and walks out, just slow enough to be polite.

Martin drains his cup, pours himself some more chocolate, before it all
cools.

Some time later, a messenger arrives with a note, which Martin reads,
after dismissing the servant.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It fits! Even the gloves! 

Please let me know when I can thank you in person. 

-N.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He crumples it up, moves to toss it onto the table, reconsiders. With a
shrug, he slips it into a pocket, and returns to his cooling drink.

Later again, the door opens the slightest fraction.

Martin is slouched deep in the same chair he was in before. No one else
appears to be there.

Niara slips inside the room, and shuts the door behind her quietly.
"Martin?"

If Martin hears Niara, he gives no sign of it.

Niara walks over to and around the table almost on her tiptoes, her
hands splayed to catch the sussuration of her clothing. "Martin?" she
asks again in time, this time from a good two paces beside and slightly
behind his chair.

The hangings stir, moved by a sweet-scented breeze from the windows.

"Thought you'd be in bed by now," he says then, not turning to regard
her. He's resting a hand over his eyes.

Niara murmurs, "It was a diversion. A bad one."

Niara dips her head a little. "Antonio moved before you did ... it was
meant to extract you from your conversation." "Evil of me. I should not
have."

Martin shrugs, "I wanted to talk with Henden."

"But ... I ..." Niara lets out a breath, nodding. She says, "I know.
Will he be coming back?"

Martin hehs, a dry laugh, with little humor in it. "No. Probably not."

Niara closes a pace, and leans against the table. She looks down, gaze
mired in her own thoughts, rather than the immediate scenery. "Alright."

"The chocolate's gone cold," Martin says, not looking up.

Niara scratches between her brows, just above the splint. "I know you
are angry with m .. it does that," she says distractedly. "In the cup or
the pot?"

Martin shrugs again, noncommital.After a pause, he says, quietly, "I'm
not angry with you."

"The pot may have some warmth left in it." Niara says. "You received the
message I could leave?"

Martin raises the hand from his eyes, "mm?"

"I left Mother's pendant here. I did not lock my little box, hoping that
you would come across it. I wanted you to know I ..." Niara whispers,
after a pause, "Would be coming back."

She folds her hands in front of her and looks down at them.

Martin nods absently, "I got it."

"Good." Niara says "Perhaps. I do not know." She unfolds her hands and
straightens. "I will retreat to somewhere out of your sight now."

"I missed you, you know," Martin says.

Niara stops straightening.

"No, I do not know," she says. "Though I did miss you."

Martin nods, perhaps, but doesn't say anymore for a while. Then, "how
have you been? Apart from the obvious, I mean."

"Feeling close kinship to your milkweed plant," she murmurs, hesitantly.
"Or a pod of it. Cracked open, plucked out, and ruffled off into the
wild winds. This at times, yes."

"Other times were ... better." Niara says "You?"

The mechanical, jewelled bird on the mantlepiece chimes once, softly.

Martin manages a faint smile to her reply, which fades soon enough. "I
haven't had your luck, I'm afraid."

Niara says "You call it luck."

Martin shrugs, "call it what you want. Luck, fate, stupidity. Whatever."

Niara's lips are likewise ghosted with a fleeting smile. She reaches
over and pulls a chair to where she stands, and sits in it.

Amongst yourselves, Niara says "In my case, it was a combination of
choices two and three. Same as always."

Martin turns is face partway to regard Niara, a hint of amusement in his
features. "Welcome back," he offers.

"Thank you. It is good to be home again."

Martin looks to Niara with surprise, perhaps. "Home, huh."

Niara moves her hands in a shrug, as opposed to her shoulders. One curl
sways, but she does not do anything about it. "I have accepted it."

Martin smiles some, reaches out a hand to one of Niara's. "I'm glad."

Niara takes the reaching hand, and squeezes it lightly. She whispers,
"Thank you."

Martin returns the squeeze warmly, says "I haven't done anything."

Niara leans forward as if to present a kiss, eyes sliding closed.

Martin hesitates, but does nothing to stop her. He says quietly,
"Niara.."

Niara's lips, still slightly sticky from chocolate, press against his
slowly, moistly, and do not twitch away.

Martin seems... reluctant, initially, but it passes, and he returns her
kiss.

Niara brings her free arm up, and begins to slide it over his shoulder.

Martin raises a hand to her arm, and gently removes it.

Niara freezes then, but her eyes do not open. A second later, she
retreats into the relative distance of her chair.

"Niara, I.." Martin starts to say, stops himself, says instead, "This
isn't a good place."

Niara's lips move, forming "Where?"

Martin shakes his head, "not here." He looks to the door briefly, says,
"you should be in bed. It's late."

She nods, distractedly.

Niara rakes a hand through her curls, and opens her eyes up just enough
to fumble the chair under the table when she gets up.

Martin gets to his feet, reaching for her hand. "..Niara?"

Niara lets her hand be caught. "Yes?"

Martin holds her hand uncertainly, then closes his other over hers as
well, and raises it to his lips. "Don't misunderstand me, please..." he
says, releasing her hand back to her.

"Do not worry," she says, as if slowly beginning to wake up, "If I do,
it may even be on purpose.

"Or not. Either way, eh. Good night, Martin."

Martin just shakes is head again, says quietly. "I'm sorry, Niara."

"For what?" Niara turns away, and begins to walk around the table.

Martin's gaze is regretful, as he answers, "it doesn't matter. It won't
happen again."

Niara bunches a hand up in her curls, fretting them as she walks. "You
are right. It will not. I am sorry."

"You haven't done anything to apologise for," Martin says.

"As you say."

Niara adds something soft and eloquent in Virgan, then snorts. She
shakes her head, and opens the door.

Martin doesn't move to follow Niara, returning instead to his chair.
"Good night, Niara," he says quietly.

He slumps into the chair, turning away as she goes out.

His tired mind eventually supplies him with the translation of her
departing mutter.

["I certainly would not have apologized had you permitted me to rut with
you on the carpet like a common whore. By the Holy Ones, I must be
possessed!"]

Wincing, he wonders who Mira's been talking to, and glumly swears off
women, 'cigars' and wine again.

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