It was never a good sign when Lord Regent Cephal Lorentus bought a mug of ale for Baron Maegar Varn.

  The two of them were sitting in an alcove of the Varnhold Town inn, Cephal chanting a long spell and making funny movements with his hands in the air, his fingers dipped in some green powder, Maegar adjusting his new black manticore fur cloak spread over the chair, leaning his sword cane against the table, then getting bored and drumming on the table with his fingers until his old friend finished his preparations.

  Due to the aftereffects of the Bruiser's venom-induced confusion, he had to miss out on the footwork training session held for interested members of the Host by Nangatrad Aldori, one of Kassil Aldori's aides, as part of the Nightvale treaty's provisions on exchanging military know-how. Sooner or later, when the barony's financial state allowed for it, he would have to invest into some diamond dust for a Greater Restoration process, unless he wanted to spend the rest of his days limping. At the moment, the treasury had one single diamond for emergency cases, which would go to Felicia, either in the form of an engagement ring befitting her rank and status, or (as she preferred) raw, hidden in a secret pocket sewn into her underwear, as an extra safety layer for dangerous missions instead of the cursed rescue ring. She was better off without that, even if it was her father's inheritance. Luckily, she didn't want it back, happy in the knowledge that it would watch over his life – and Maegar had decided she didn't need to know about the curse at all. Why make her question her late father's love for her? Whoever had been enough of a prick to mess with a six-year-old orphan twenty years ago was probably off her trail by now, anyway. Now that either a divine intervention or Felicia's own dedication had removed the effects of the curse, she would be golden, provided that she'd never touch the ring again.

  "There," said the wizard at last, dusting off his hands. "Nobody can hear us anymore."

  "Out with it, then."

  "Well, before I cut to the chase, I thought you should know about this."

  Cephal reached into his pocket and put a piece of jewelry on the table. It was a thick jade bracelet, decorated with unknown glyphs and some sort of reliefs or frieze, the likes of which the Varnlings had already seen amidst the cyclopean ruins peppering their country. Then he started to fill his pipe in a leisurely manner, waiting for the baron to get curious.

  Maegar complied before the silence would become awkward.

  "What's that?"

  "A present for young Darlac. From none else than Willas Gunderson."

  The baron frowned. Now that Cephal mentioned it, he remembered to have seen the same bracelet on the Chronicler's wrist. He never checked it out from closer up, though. He generally avoided inspecting other people's jewelry, unless it was an enemy he had to defeat, lest he made the impression of coveting his subjects' possessions.

  "To be delivered by yourself? A curious choice."

  "Not exactly. Still, it's my job to keep an eye out for anything strange going on in the barony or outside it. You can't say this doesn't fit the bill."

  Here they went again. This had to be Cephal's brand-new scheme to sow discord between the baron and his beloved.

  Of course, that was something to be expected. Felicia had been changed by the experience of fighting her way through Lostlarn Keep without divine support and then being stranded in a chaotic dimension for weeks. Still unaware of the ring's role in the impairment of her abilities, she was convinced that she'd caused her own fall from grace by abandoning her allies, if only in thought. As a result, she advocated the interests of Restov and Nightvale with more enthusiasm than an ambassador of either state would, and it came as no surprise that Cephal took issue with that. Sometimes Maegar did, too. Not to mention her strange paranoid fixations or her stubborn insistence that they had cleared the wrong dungeon and the Ancient Evil was still out there, biding its time to crush Varnhold underfoot.

  Truth be told, the baron was a little nonplussed about Felicia's state of mind. He gave her all the love of his heart and then some, but apparently, love in and of itself couldn't heal every wound. He tasked Gekkor with keeping an eye on her, and following Cephal's advice, he tried to decrease her workload by taking some of the decisions (for example, those related to hiring out mercenary troops) into his own scope of responsibilities. She would continue to lead the army, supervise the training of soldiers and organise the barony's defences, and she would continue to be loved. Hopefully that would help. If not...

  "Did you examine it for enchantments or curses?" asked the baron, twirling the bracelet between his fingers.

  "Of course. If there was any magic to it, that dissipated long ago. As to its historical value... Well, I'm not an expert on cyclopes, and apparently Gunderson isn't one, either, regardless of what he makes himself out to be."

  Maegar took a good swig from his ale.

  "So, are you suggesting that I should be worried about a man Felicia wouldn't touch with a barge pole?"

  Cephal took a deep breath, rubbing his chin, as he prepared to veer onto dangerous waters.

  "Well, yes and no. Before her disappearance, I wouldn't have given a single thought to this. But... Look, Maegar, I'm not blind, and I know you aren't, either. The Darlac we got back from the First World is not the same as the Darlac we left in Lostlarn Keep. She has been changed in ways we can't really fathom, as we have no way to know what exactly she's been through. I fear there are details she didn't mention in her report."

  "Cephal, that report is eleven pages, written in the smallest letters a quill can physically produce. I read it all, to the last blotch of ink."

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  "Fair play to you, then. And do you find it plausible that she spent six weeks without meeting any of the fey, anyone but that old gnome and the Nightvale crew? Well, I don't. My guess is that she was tortured by the fey for much longer and much more cruelly than she admits. They messed up her mind, then got bored with her and left her stranded, only to be found by the baroness. She might have blocked those memories even from herself. As to the beast woman... I suspect she presented herself as Darlac's saviour, and now she is using her for her own purposes, since Darlac feels she owes her life and more to her."

  The baron stared into his mug. What Cephal listed were the exact counterparts of some of his own fears. He generally preferred not to dwell on those. He had his love back. Nothing else mattered. And still...

  "Get to the point, old friend. What's your advice?"

  "Make her feel as safe as you possibly can. Leave her no reason to feel insecure in her relationship with you."

  "Huh?"

  Cephal sighed in dismay.

  "Marry her, Maegar. I mean, soonish. You don't want to lose her ever again, right?"

  The baron took another gulp of ale to wash this off. Cephal advocating love marriage? What was next? Flying pigs?

  "Thank Desna you've finally abandoned your plan to set me up with Guelder," he said, a little sharper than intended.

  "Back then, I thought Darlac was a goner, for Hell's sake! Seriously, Maegar. You might think I'm a callous old fart, but I do want the two of you to be happy."

  "Oh."

  "Also, you know you won't get any younger as the years go by. You're a human, with a very limited lifespan, and whatever magic you do with the ledgers, you will never get rich enough to afford a treatment of sun orchid extract to keep your vigour for a few more decades. You'll need an heir, sooner rather than later."

  He just had to trample into the hornets' nest, didn't he? Felicia was not good with children, and motherhood had no appeal for her. She was, first and foremost, a soldier. Still, she didn't shut down outright the baron's fantasies about a handful of little angel-blooded Varn scions running about in Varnhold Keep and terrorising the rabbits in the cabbage fields. She just said she needed more time to make her peace with the idea – which was not very promising.

  "Felicia is not ready for that," he muttered into his mug.

  "She will never feel ready, especially not after what she has been through. Not unless she is forced to make up her mind. She is nearly 26 now, right? How many kids did your mother have at her age?"

  "Seven. Four of them reached adulthood. I don't think Felicia would be happy to swap with her."

  "Of course not. But still, upgrading your relationship would be beneficial to both of you, and that includes procreation. If persuasion fails, use your cunning, or just be a little oblivious. That's all it takes. Once you've planted your seed in her, she will have no other way than to keep and love it. After all, it's a part of you. Give her a new purpose in life, one that will take her mind off her trauma. This is something only you can do for her."

  The baron couldn't help but feel a little warm and fuzzy. Even if pushing Felicia into childbirth was clearly a messed up idea, the mere thought that Cephal cared so much about the two of them was comforting. Or at least a pleasant surprise, considering that Maegar had been expecting him all along to crack the ancient wisdom: ‘don't stick your dick in crazy.’

  "This is all well and good," he said, "but I'm not sure she would be happy to give up her position. And I don't want her to, either. It wouldn't go down well with the Host."

  "You don't need to replace her. Just make sure you don't put all kinds of non-military tasks on her shoulders. Remember the Galtan agitator? You made her deal with it all, from calming down the people to finding and arresting the mastermind, to having the graffiti removed, even to healing up those cows or whatnot. In happier countries, this would have been the job of two or three different government officials. You should only fall back to Darlac and the army if every peaceful approach fails. Make a proper job description for her, and resist the temptation to squeeze everything in from rodent control to counting blades of grass."

  "Both of those are Faeli's responsibilities."

  "Don't pretend to be daft, Maegar. You know exactly what I mean. Streamline her duties so she'll be able to stay on top of them even with morning sickness or a newborn in her arms. Have your cake and eat it, too."

  It felt so good to have a thoughtful and understanding friend around. Even though Cephal had never managed to keep a woman by his side for more than a fortnight, let alone start a family, tonight his words sounded unusually wise and true. The baron loved to imagine his life with Felicia, as a married couple. Laying a hand on her rounding belly to feel the kicks of a new life growing in there, safe beneath the body armour of her muscular abs. Holding her hand during her heroic effort to push the baby out, teeth gritted, without a single sound of woe. Watching her gentle, motherly side unfold, letting her become the guardian angel of an entire family. The scarless healing ability of her body would guarantee a quick and complete recovery, so if she felt she had it in her, she could give birth to multiple children without getting out of shape. Maybe the promise of an idyllic, peaceful existence would distract her from her constant worries bordering on paranoia. But it had to happen by her own choice, otherwise the heaven he imagined would quickly go to hell.

  Was that really too much to ask for?