[b]Handmaidens![/b]

This guy is silent a moment. Above him, beams are moved by pulleys and mighty Paladin thews. Civil chants fill the air, extolling the virtues of hard work, cooperation, and taking breaks in order to rehydrate and rest.

Spread the mind’s eye outward. Across the city, nuns and magicians and gardeners are working in concert to shore up towers, to clear debris, to feed and shelter people who have spent the night unable to go home— and most of all, to cut, burn and uproot the growth of the Wildwood into their city. It’s easier than they expected. The roots are withdrawing. The wilting flowers allow themselves to be uprooted.

Further. All around the city, the Wildwood is closer, denser, full of the creaking of branches. They scrape against the walls when the cold wind comes howling out of Kel. The trees are full of an alien will conversing with itself: long, slow, hateful.

And down at the place where all roots begin, beneath the bones of the dead, there is a bier, and on that bier lies a king who is not alive and neither is he dead, and his dreams are dreams of rot, of shattering, of a refusal to end. His thoughts are on Vespergift, and now they are on Hazel Valentine, too.

“Mock me if you like, Heron. It is your [i]perogative.[/i] But you should rush the bosses of that frilly rabble before they undermine your helpmeet. Morning, Noon and Evening— chastise them, bind them, wake them. Leave them unable to meddle in [i]our[/i] affairs.”

[hr]
[b]Yuki![/b]

The tea is bright, sharp citrus, and it’s got a [i]sparkle[/i] to it. Like an actual fantasy sparkle on your lips when you sip it. The teacups are have brightly painted panels on each side.

“…who do you think Hazel is going to pick?” It’s an odd tangential shift in her train of thought. The teacup looks small in her fingers as she looks out the window. Sunlight filters through the now-crooked towers of Vespergift, and the glass of the window almost glows.

With her, it’s not an attempt to sway you one way or another. She’s just admitting that she doesn’t know and that you probably do.

[hr]
[b]Hazelnut![/b]

You’re doing a good job, you know? At least, when you stop talking, that is. Sure, the babbling is cute. But when you let the words die, and you lie there waiting for approval, so nervous but so eager to do the right thing…

She lets the silence stretch out as she finishes cooking. The quiet tap of a silver fork on a gilded bowl. The grind of one more round of spices on the eggs. The crackle of the fire. She glances over to you. Your eyes meet. She smiles, just a little bit.

Then the tent flap swings back; Juniper ties it back as several sluzhankas, in colorful aprons and skirts, bear in a treasure chest. Olesya gestures, and the chest is placed off to one side. The attendants (sneaking the occasional glance at you) set it down and bow on their way out, bells and charms swinging. When Juniper closes the tent flap and lowers her rain-slicked hood, it’s just the three of you.

The chest’s lock rattles.

Just the three of you?

“Welcome to the Khaganate, Hazel,” Juniper says with a warm smile. Olesya pats the floor by the fire and June barely moves through the intervening space, getting her legs under her and her shoulder up against Olesya’s shoulder. “May I take him his food?”

It’s an eager, hopeful question. The kind you ask because you really, really want the answer to be yes. She’s not looking at Olesya, but her tail betrays her excitement. She wants the command. To be of service.

Olesya glances at you and then looks away, definitely not blushing. She answers with a grunt and a nod, and Juniper giddily starts heaping up breakfast into your bowl.

[hr]
[b]Eclair![/b]

Cards flick between her fingers as sharp as shards of glass. Her laugh is a gracious expanse. Naturally she is good at it, very good; this is a clue, too. You’re welcome for it.

“How forward, Miss Fullbright. No, you are not late, you are [i]early.[/i] We are waiting for the other players.” Suits flash between her fingers: Knots and Crowns, Stars and Stones. “[i]Liar’s Hand,[/i] as played in Pearl. We gamble with questions, Miss Fullbright. Being the private eye, you may have played this before, [i]jah?[/i]” She can’t help it. Probably. There’s all the beaches of Aestival in how she says it.

When she brings the two halves of the deck down on the table, they make a noise like cracking stone, but she fans them back together easily. “You may stay. And play. With us. Or you may go find someone to pour tea. As you like.”

She feigns indifference. What do you feign?