First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Legacies and Unimportant People

The lawyer was waiting for them, all prickly and officious. “Miss Senga Monmartin, Mr. Erramun Silence. Here are the full details of Mirabella’s behest to the two of you. It encompasses all that was read in the will – both the rewards for compliance and the punishments for a lack thereof, as it were – but includes also this statement:

“‘Now, Silence, I know you, and you’re going to try to give up as little as possible, and Senga, I know you, and you’re going to try to be nice, because that’s what you do. Neither of those things are bad traits – but they don’t suit this plan of mine. If I’m gone – and if I weren’t gone, you wouldn’t be hearing this, now would you – you’re going to have to trust the plan, both of you, because nothing else will keep you both above water.

“‘In that vein, I will only consider you to have followed the letter of my will and the spirit if you swear to the Belonging in front of Mr. Maladono, my favorite lawyer, and if you do so with no qualifiers. Nothing but you, Silence, saying you Belong to you, Senga, that and nothing more.’”

Senga looked at Silence. He was growling softly under his breath, glaring at the lawyer and the paper the lawyer was holding. The lawyer, quite sensibly, took a step backwards. Senga resisted the urge to do the same as Silence turned his glare on her.

“This was not my doing,” she pointed out, “or I wouldn’t have bothered to be negotiating terms with you.”

“You’re fucked if I say no, aren’t you?” There was something amused under the growl. Senga struggled not to show anything on her face.

“You’re fucked if you say no, too, aren’t you?” she countered.

“Oh, yeah. But it’s nice to know we’re fucked together…. or not-fucked together.” He smirked at her. “Which defeats the purpose of me being under your Name, I suppose.”

She snorted. “I don’t think Great-Aunt Mirabella arranged this all just so my bed would be warmer. For that, I can imagine she’d have picked someone who wanted the collar. She had a few of those, didn’t she?” She turned that question on the lawyer, who was doing his best to pretend he wasn’t listening to this discussion.

He cleared his throat. “If you mean, were there people in Mirabella’s will… there were three. Those disbursements were handled separately, as that is obviously against the law in this state.”

“All states, I’d think?”

“Oh, actually, there are special laws in three states, including California, that were presumably put in place stealthily and under the aegis of other laws by powerful Ellehemaei. That being said, if you wish to discuss inheritance law vis-a-vis Ellehemaei, I’d be more than willing to do so – at another date. Right now, I need to know which path the two of you are pursuing.”

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First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Negotiation

The security guards wrapped up with Muirgen and headed back into the lawyer’s office, just as someone in a well-fitted but cheap suit stalked out of the room. Senga watched the man go with curiosity.

“One of Mirabella’s bean-counters,” Silence murmured. “Always thought he was underappreciated. Guess the will hearing justified that.”

“Maybe she threatened his life and reputation too,” Senga responded in the same low term. “Maybe he didn’t appreciate being treated like someone she ‘appreciated’ after all.”

“I’ll note she didn’t do that with her daughters.”

“Neither did she give her daughters diddly. They’re – well. You probably know them better than I do.”

“Ah, but they’re your family. And it’s their mother’s funeral.”

“And they’re on par with Mister cheap suit there,” she added in the same casual, quiet tone. “They don’t get the big things. They’re just not as important as they think they are. Of course, that won’t stop them from killing me,” she added ruefully. “And they’ve wanted to do that for a while.”

“‘Cause you’re more important than them?”

“Ha. Hardly. I’m a glorified errand girl and beat-er-upper. Not exactly high on anyone’ totem pole.”

He looked down at her. Senga tensed, ready for the wise-ass remark. She wasn’t short, but, then again, she was neither tall nor that muscular. “You probably do a good stealth attack, don’t you? People aren’t expecting it, and then there you are, sharp and deadly and under their block.”

She raised her eyebrows at him. That was the quickest assessment of her skills she’d gotten since she’d been in training.

He smirked back in return. “Don’t tell me. It wouldn’t do to give away secrets you might need. But old fa – farts, the smart ones, they know that it’s not just brutes like me that have the power. Besides, I’m really good at knowing where metal is.” The last was barely a whisper.

“That’s a useful skill.” One she might actually have a lot of use for, in addition to those times when his looming growly intimidation might come in handy for the team – never mind that they’d specifically avoided hiring a thug because they could do this themselves, damnit; it wasn’t like she was choosing to hire him.

His smile looked tired. “Ah, and so it begins. You may be the white sheep, but you’re a member of your family through and through.”

She wanted to take offense. She was offended. But she lifted her eyebrows and grinned at him, because he’d meant for her to be offended, and she had no time for that bullshit. “Of course I am. Daughter of Aonghus, himself the son of Sláine, who was Mirabella’s sister and, let’s be honest, her better, until they were murdered. I’m more my family than they are, and if they’ve been setting the tone for so long, now, that’s my fault as much as theirs.” She raised her chin and let her smile edge from happy to challenge.

He looked down at her and twitched his own eyebrows. “But you’re not the one she left the ledgers to.”

“Of course not.” She winked at him. “I’m not the one she left the ledgers to.” There was more than one reason for Clause Seven, even if Mirabella had been the only one who knew that.

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First: Funeral
Previous: Funeral: Silence’s Inheritance.

Muirgen was still being handled by the security men; they had her in a corner and one of them was speaking very quietly to her. Senga ignored that situation as firmly as she could. Muirgen would not forgive her for having seen her in a foolish state, any more than she’d forgive Senga for having gotten something she wanted.

If today went as typical, Muirgen and Eavan would probably blame her for Muirgen’s loss of her inheritance. That was on par with their normal behavior around Senga or any of the other cousins who weren’t them.

She’d worry about that later. Right now, she had more important things on her mind.

She looked around; he’d only been gone a few moments before she stepped out of the office. Where had he gotten to? Had he left? She resisted the urge to swear. If he didn’t hold up his end of the bargain, he was going to leave her in a pretty precarious position. He’d need to be here after the reading. Otherwise… well. It was going to be a mess.

Not like she should expect that to matter to a complete stranger when her own family had put her in this situation….

There he was. She could’ve sworn she’d looked at that corner of the room before and seen nothing, but he was standing there, looking at her. Senga crossed the room, moving around mourners while trying not to lose sight of him. Mr. Silence. Erramun.

He was playing with an unlit cigarette. He noticed her coming up to him but said nothing. She thought about saying something, but the situation was a bit awkward. Hello, please agree to Belong to me so my family doesn’t kill me…

“My Name isn’t Silence.” His voice was gravely this time. “It’s just something I use to have a last name on the papers.”

She looked at him and waited. That sounded like an opener.

“It’s Death Comes Silently. You know what I did for your aunt.” He looked down at her. He looked considerably taller than she’d noticed him being before.

She cleared her throat. “I have a pretty good idea.”

“I’m not going to kneel.”

She was about to say something, to plead with him, when he continued.

“I won’t wear a leash. I won’t beg for food.” His gaze seemed to bore into her. “I won’t be told what to wear. Except for your funeral.” His lips curled upwards a little. “I can agree to wear black for that.”

No wonder his clothes looked new. She cleared her throat and made herself meet his gaze. “Those are acceptable terms. Anything else?”

She was going to work under that assumption, that they were terms, because otherwise he was using too many words to tell her that she was fucked.

He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t object to any of that?”

“Why would I? I didn’t sign up for a…” She remembered where they were and changed mid-sentence. “-a bond servant. I didn’t sign up for any sort of inheritance at all. I don’t know what Aunt Mirabella’s holding over you-”

“And if I have my way, you won’t. Ever.”

“-and that’s fine. What she’s holding over me is survival, among other things. As long as Clause Seven is in effect, the family won’t kill me.”

“Nice family you’ve got. What did you do to them?”

“I. Well, most of it, I don’t want to say here. Some of it is, I survived. My father didn’t. I wasn’t supposed to survive.”

“Mirabella always did work by some interesting rules. So. Those terms, they don’t bother you? Maybe I should have more.”

“I think you should,” she agreed. “Something about your emotions, probably. Something about sleeping arrangements. Hrrm. Sex.”

“Excuse me?” She’d either managed to startle or offend him.

“Sex,” she repeated. Her voice was quiet enough that she didn’t think it would carry, but she lowered it a bit anyway. “If you get it. If it can be a reward or a punishment. How much say you have in it.”

“…You’re being quite thorough. You don’t want to determine all that yourself?”

“We’re into negotiation territory.” She lifted her chin and looked him in the eyes. “Like you said, I know what you did for Great-Aunt Mirabella. It behooves me to make sure, if you’re going to not risk Envelopes A, B, and C, that I don’t end up with you hating me.”

“You’d care if your… bond servant… hated you?”

“Even if you weren’t… what you are, sa’Death Comes Silently.” She was certain he deserved the honorific and, from his expression, just as certain he rarely got it. “Yes. I’d care. As I said.” His eyes were not brown. They were gold and brown and green all at once. “I’m the white sheep of the family.”

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This follows The Funeral and Further Funeral and Funeral: Will-Reading and Funeral: Senga’s Inheritance. It’s set in Fae apoc, pre-apoc era, possibly 2010.

Senga stared at the lawyer. She didn’t dare look at Mr. Silence; she didn’t dare look at the rest of the room.

Clause Seven. That was the clause which had kept her alive. That answered a question she hadn’t wanted to ask yet – did Great-Aunt Mirabella’s protections continue after her death? It appeared that they did, or at least that they might.

If she agreed to Own someone who was clearly averse to the idea and clearly dangerous.

Well… he might be less dangerous than the rest of the family and of Mirabella’s empire.

“Now. Erramun called Silence, Mirabella here leaves to you one million dollars from the general fund, these three blue envelopes here, and her 1963 split-window Corvette, under the requirement that you agree to serve as Senga Monmatrin’s bond servant for no less than six years under the Law of the People. In addition -”

“Why does she get him?” The voice was shrill and loud.

“Miss Muirgen, if you engage in one more interruption, I will be forced to remove you from the premises and from the will, as allowed for in provision three of the will and as you have already been warned.”

“I’d like to see you try!”

“Very well, that does count as another interrupt. Joseph, Henrich,” he nodded to the two large men.

Muirgen was removed from the room with a surprisingly small amount of fuss.

“Now, as I was saying, Mr. Silence. If you do not agree to those terms, not only do you not receive your inheritance, but I am ordered to publicize the contents of what is referred to as envelopes A, B, and C.”

He said nothing, but Senga could see the way his shoulders tensed and twitched. He nodded his head very slowly.

“Please see me when the will reading is completed to discuss these terms.”

The lawyer moved on to the next person on his list. Erramun-called-Silence stood up and stalked out of the room.

Senga considered for two or three heartbeats before she followed him out.

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This follows The Funeral and Further Funeral and Funeral: Will-Reading. It’s set in Fae apoc, pre-apoc era, possibly 2010.

The room did not seem very crowded, but the list seemed to go on forever. Great-Aunt Mirabella’d had extensive holdings, after all, and with those holdings came promises, deals, arrangements, and piles and piles of sealed envelopes.

Senga had her eyes on the envelope that held her deal, but that one hadn’t gone up yet; the cousin had gotten only what the lawyer called the “common” envelopes, which Senga thought probably involved human dealings or dealings that appeared human.

She had ended up sitting a few rows away from her tall, dark, and handsome friend, and as the readings went on, she could see that he was growing more and more tense. His attention seemed to be aimed at the same pile of envelopes she was worried about, but he was very nearly vibrating.

“Senga, daughter of Claudia, called Senga Monmartin?” The lawyer cleared his throat. “Ah. Yes, miss, there you are. To you Mirabella has said: ‘I leave to you the house on Monmartin Hill, which should have been yours anyway, and the number bank accounts listed in the gold book, as well as one million dollars from the general fund, and the small pink notebook of names. All this however-’” here the lawyer had to raise his voice to talk over various upset relatives. That was more than she’d left her daughters, if there was anything other than pennies in the gold book accounts. “-However, is contingent on you, that is, Senga Monmartin, taking Erramun Silence as your bond servant for a time no less than six years under the Law of the People.” His eyes bored into her.

There was no question what “bond servant” meant here. Great-Aunt Mirabella wanted her to Keep someone. Some Erramun. Some -”

“No.” The voice came from tall-and-dark. “No.”

“I am not yet finished,” the lawyer admonished. “And your name is next on the list, Mr. Silence.”

Tall and dark fell – ha- silent.

“In addition, if you, Senga Monmartin, do not agree to the terms of this inheritance and do not fulfill them, then the protections listed under Clause Seven will be revoked.” The lawyer flipped pages, leaving Senga sitting stunned, feeling as if the air had just been knocked out of her. “Please come see me after the will-reading to discuss these terms.”

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This follows The Funeral and Further Funeral. It’s set in Fae apoc, pre-apoc era, possibly 2010.

“What are you doing in here?” Eaven glared at Senga as a small group of the mourners trooped into the office. “It’s not like you’re the most favored relative or anything. And you.” She glared over Senga’s head at the as-of-yet-unnamed black-clad cowboy Senga had been talking with. “This isn’t for the help, you know.”

He smirked. It was the sort of smile you might imagine on a shark, right before it had you for dinner. “I was invited here to listen to the will-reading. It falls within my agreements with Mirabella. So here I am.”

“Same,” Senga agreed. “Great-Aunt Mirabella wanted me to be here. I haven’t told her no yet.”

“You don’t dare, do you? Even with her dead, you can’t go against her, or-” Eaven ran her finger across her neck.

“I’m a dutiful niece.” She knew her voice didn’t crack on that one. “And that is, like the man said, the agreement I have with my Great-Aunt.”

“Who is dead now. In case you haven’t noticed.”

“Ahem. Ahem. Please be seated. Thank you. This is a long will, and there are many parties involved, so I am going to attempt to get through this as expeditiously as possible. If you have any arguments, please wait until the very end, when I will be taking questions in the order of the will-reading.”

The will started with Mirabella’s children, unsurprisingly, and from there to her grandchildren and five great-grandchildren. Senga amused herself by guessing what the bequests would be and how much fuss the relative in question would throw.

Eaven seemed pleased enough by her inheritance, although it was a fraction of Mirabella’s wealth and none of her empire. Muirgen, Eaven’s older sister, was not nearly as content with her similarly-small share.

Everyone was holding their breath for the Black Books. It might have been the computer age, but the wealth of Mirabella’s empire lived in a small stack of black leather-bound ledgers and a much larger stack of sealed envelopes.

When they went to a cousin – not one of Mirabella’s direct descendants, even, but her sister’s child – every single blood descendant of the former Empress of the City started to snarl and yell.

The lawyer merely cleared his throat. “At this point I will read a note from Mirabella herself.”

The room fell silent, Great-Aunt Mirabella’s heavy hand coming down on them from beyond the grave.

The lawyer cleared his throat again. “Dear family, frends, and others I’ve chosen as my inheritors.” The lawyer’s voice seemed to harden. “You will either take what you’ve been given without argument or fuss, or you’ll get nothing.”

The room stayed silent.

“Very good then. Now, onto the next inheritor…”

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This follows The Funeral. It’s set in Fae apoc, pre-apoc era, possibly 2010.

“Do you think they did it?”

Senga found it interesting that he used they and not the more traditional it.

She shook her head slowly. “No. No, if Alencaustel was going to do it, they’d either have left absolutely no trace at all, or put up giant signs. Besides, no matter what shit Eavean is throwing around, they’re not a Nedetakaei.”

She dropped her voice to a murmur for the last part of the sentence. For one, it wasn’t a word the Mayor or the Chief of police would (presumably) know. For another, considering her Great-Aunt’s friends, she couldn’t be entirely certain there weren’t Shenera Oseraei – children of the Gods, Law-breakers – in the room. And it was considered ill manners to start a fight at a funeral, no matter what Eavean over there was going.

For a third, she didn’t absolutely know the person she was talking to wasn’t one of those Law-breakers himself.

He raised his eyebrows at her. “You seem confident of their methods.”

“We – yes. I know my cousins, even if we don’t get along well. The way Eavean is screaming and putting up a fuss, I’d put even money on it being her. Or someone else who stands to gain.”

“Did you do it?” His tone didn’t change from lazy curiosity and his body language didn’t shift at all.

Senga made sure hers matched him, all casual-conversation and nothing-to-see here. “Nope. To be honest, I don’t think I could have. Did you?”

And what would she do if he said yes?

He shook his head. “Oaths and promises.” His voice was rueful, even if he still looked nonchalant. “So many oaths and promises. Your Great-aunt there, she had a way of getting those out of people, you know?”

“Yeah, yeah I do know. I guess the question isn’t so much who as why now. Was she working on any new projects?”

“You don’t know? You’re her family.”

“White sheep, remember?” Senga raised her eyebrows. “I hadn’t talked to my great-aunt in years. So?”

“So?” His smirk looked a little strained. If he were an interrogation subject, she’d say he was just about ready to crack.

This wasn’t an interrogation. This was a funeral. A funeral for a relative who had, to be fair, done Senga a number of favors.

“Was she working on any new projects?”

His casual half-smile vanished. “Even if I knew, I couldn’t tell you.” There was a crack in his voice. Interesting.

“Oaths and promises,” Senga guessed. “Great-Aunt Mirabella had a fondness for them. Did you get something good in return, at least?”

His smile was back, a little thing that turned up half his mouth and creased a set of wrinkles he might have had for hundreds of years, right at the sides of his eyes. “I don’t think I know you that well yet. Besides. This is about her. Her funeral and all.”

“Everything’s always been about her.” Senga said it with no malice. She had long ago learned to scrub that from her voice around her family. “That’s the thing about Great-Aunt MIrabella.”

He smirked. “That it is — was? No, looks like it still is. You think it finally bit her harder than she could bite back?”

“I think whatever bit her, it probably had something to do with — her being her,” Senga temporized. She muttered another Working, just as something squish and heavy hit her in the small of the back.

“And you!” Eavan’s screech was unmistakable. Which meant Senga had just been hit with a purse. Well, there were worse things to be blindsided with. “What are you doing, flirting with the help when my mother is dead?”

Senga turned slowly. SOme part of her said she shouldn’t turn her back on the stranger, but Eavan was family, which made her the more immediate threat. “Eaven. I’m glad you could make it. How has your little business been going?”

It did what she wanted it to, which was make her cousin take a step backwards. Eaven was a handsome woman, dressed to the nines for this as for everything, her dress not so much low-cut as suggestive. Maybe Lady Tabitha would offer her a position in her House.

“What would you know about business ventures, you ridiculous low-life assassin?”

“Oh, Eaven.” Senga made soft noises like she was worried about her cousin. “First you accuse Alencaustel, and now you think I’m an assassin? The grief must really be getting to you.” She took her cousin’s arm and steered her, using a bit more force than her concern suggested, towards a seat at the side of the room. “Why don’t you rest for a while, and I’ll see if your boy — what’s his name? Ah, Henry — can get you some water.”

She had Eaven in a seat and was off, ostensibly in search of Henry (Eaven never called the boy by name, and Senga wasn’t sure she knew it), before her cousin could come up with another line of attack.

“That was impressive.” She’d almost forgotten about the tall, dark one. “Do you always handle your family with such – ah – targeted grace?”

“Targeted grace?” Senga raised her eyebrows. “That’s a phrase for it.”

“You were unfailingly polite and brutal at the same time. I don’t want to face you in battle, miss.” He smirked at her, but even though his tone was joking, there was a serious tension in his body language. “You’d still be telling me my vest wasn’t quite buttoned right and helping me with my tie when you stabbed me through the heart.”

“Oh, but I’d be tidy about it.” He’d definitely made her as a killer. If he was as old as he said he was, she probably shouldn’t feel too bad about it. Why, then, did Senga feel like he was sizing her up for a coffin next to her aunt’s?

“Ahem. If those who were asked to be present for the reading of the will – and only those – would please join me in the office right off to the side here?” The suited man suddenly had a power and strength about him that he hadn’t demonstrated before. He also had two very tall men in suits that had to be tailored to them – nobody made suits off the rack that large – standing to either side of him. “We are about to read the will.”

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This started out as something else, but it appears like in addition, it wants to be a murder mystery. Fae apoc, pre-apoc era, possibly 2010.

Senga didn’t believe it until she saw the body. Ellehemaei did not die very often, and they almost never died of natural causes; until she did a very quiet Working on the body itself, she was still working under the assumption that this was some trick of her Great-Aunt Mirabella’s.

The confirmation that it was real took her breath away. She walked past the body again, looking at what her diagnosis told her more than the corpse. Natural causes? Well, hawthorn was natural, she supposed, and her aunt was chock full of it.

“Miss Attenoin? Do please come to my office at noon. There’s the will reading.” The suited man stank of lawyer, and his suit stank of money. No surprise, considering her great-aunt. But…

“The will?” Senga frowned. “Great-Aunt Mirabella and I weren’t all that close…”

“Nevertheless, she has listed you in the will. Noon. It’s quite important that you be there on time.”

He was a pushy little man. Senga gave him her best eats-bullets-for-breakfast smile. “I’ll be there. Now, if you’ll excuse me… my aunt is dead.”

“Yes, yes, of course.”

He scurried off, presumably to bother someone else. Senga stared at the body. At least she’d worn black, and something respectful, at that. There’d been this urge to wear something flamboyant, just to show Great-Aunt Mirabella that she wasn’t bothered by all the spectacle.

Some part of her still thought it was a farce of some sort. She muttered the diagnostic again, just to see if she’d missed something. A fake-death working? It would be hard to pull off with all that hawthorn in the blood. But, then again, the hawthorn would mask it.

“It’s real.” The voice came from above her left ear. She looked up nonchalantly to find that one of the other mourners had moved close to her. He’d snuck up on her. It offended her professional pride. “I didn’t believe it either.” And he seemed entirely unaware that he shouldn’t have been able to sneak up on her.

She looked him up and down — with a good deal of up. He was wearing still-black black jeans, a white button-down, and a black vest. Everything looked as if he’d bought it new, everything except the (also black) cowboy boots. His face was so clean-shaven he had to have used a Working for it, and his hair looked like it wasn’t used to being so freshly washed or so tightly ponytailed.

He looked her down in turn. One eyebrow quirked as his gaze slid over her hip — had he noticed the sheath there? if he had, had he noticed the other two? She was fairly confident about the one at the small of her back, at least.

He was wearing — she looked again — at least two weapons.

“It’s real?” she parroted back at him.

“Her. She’s really gone.” He frowned. “I thought she’d outlive us all.”

Senga stepped away from the coffin, tilting her head to invite him to do the same. “You knew her well?” Great-Aunt Mirabella had run a tidy, if stealthy, empire of businesses, many of them legal. Many people had thought that they knew her.

“I did some work for her, now and then.” He followed her invitation towards a corner of the room, and their place at the coffin was replaced by other funeral attendees — Senga hesitated to call them mourners. She was not here to mourn and she doubted this tall man was, either. “And what about you? Were you one of her associates?”

She chose to ignore the suggestion that she might have been one of Mirabella’s employees. “She’s — she was — my father’s aunt. She outlived him, his mother, and their parents.” By having at least one of them killed. Senga had never been sure about the others.

“Ah. Family.” His expression changed. His whole body language changed. He didn’t quite take a step back, but his hand did drop towards his hip.

Senga smirked. “I don’t suppose you’d believe I was the white sheep?” She kept her own hands where they were, holding her ridiculous clutch purse.

He relaxed infinitesimally. “That would explain why I’d never met you.”

“Ah, so you’ve met some of the other family members, then?” As if on cue, her cousin Muirgen entered the room, with entourage, sobbing loudly and unconvincingly.

He winced. “Yes. DId some work for some of them, too.”

“Great-Aunt Mirabella must have been paying you very well.” There were things she could say that he couldn’t, even now. There were things she could say that, as far as she knew, nobody else could. That had been her condolence prize for her father’s untimely death.

“Something like that, yeah.” He shifted his weight. “Damnit, if it weren’t for that will-reading…”

“You must have done very good work for her.” A glance around the funeral home told Senga that about a third of of the mourners were family; she recognized about a quarter of the rest of them as staff, friends of the family, and important people in the city, including two local newscasters and one woman who ran the highest-class brothel in the city out of her East Ave Mansion. There was the chief of police, and there was the current CEO of the Gleason Steel Works.

“I’m the best at what I do. And I go way back with Mirabella. Been working for her since —” He noted the people standing close enough to overhear and modified his original sentence. “—we were both up-and-coming.”

Hundreds of years, then. Senga hopes her own nerves didn’t show on her face. “I see. So you’ve done a lot of work for her.”

“I—” He was cut off by a wail from cousin Eavan.

“I can’t believe she’s really gone! She can’t be! It’s a lie. You’re making this up to get her money, you bastard law-breaker, you no good half-blood!”

She was swinging her designer purse at an exquisitely dressed person — their back was to Senga, but the cut of the suit was impeccable — with a braid of black hair that reached their thighs. The hair, and the specific (and inappropriate for the setting) insults Eavean was throwing told her who it was.

“Alencaustel,” she breathed softly. “This family reunion just got interesting.”

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