Yuah didn’t eat at the family dining table on any of the following four days either.  It wasn’t because the dragon was there.  In fact she wasn’t.  Neither was Augie, and Yuah didn’t know if Iolanthe was or not.  In any case, she certainly had no desire to eat alone or to eat alone with her sister-in-law.  She took her meals in her room.  She hadn’t gone anywhere during the day either, spending the mornings in the garden and the afternoons in the parlor or the library.  She wasn’t brooding, she told herself.  At last though, she could take the solitude no more.

Waking up early, Yuah decided that today would be a fine day to order a new dress.  Opening up her closet however revealed that there was not an inch of room for such an addition.  She immediately began pulling dresses out and tossing them into a big pile. Once she had taken out all the clothing that she would no longer have worn, she had a mountain some three feet tall in the center of her room.  From the remaining collection, she chose a black dress with a red satin mock coat and a frilly bodice.  It was far more traditional than she usually wore, but she remembered having appreciated how it had looked the one time she had worn it.  Narsa, the lizzie dressing maid, helped her get into it, after she had donned the numerous undergarments required by Brech fashion.

“Get one of the males to take this out to the car,” Yuah told her, indicating the pile of dresses.

“Yesss.”

She went downstairs and notified the cook that she would not be home for luncheon.  The lizzie did convince her to have a crumpet and a cup of tea before going out.  She took them with her to sit in the enclosed back porch, where she found Walworth Partridge cleaning his pistol.  Walworth, a tall and handsome man of twenty-eight, had been working for the Dechantagnes since he was a teenager, employed as a driver, bodyguard, and general problem solver.

“Good morning, Mrs. D. Going out?”

“Yes, and I would appreciate it if you could drive me.  The lizzies are filling the car with some old clothing that I’m taking over to the McCoort house.”

“Right-oh.”  He finished cleaning the weapon, reassembled it and loaded it, and then put it in his jacket pocket.  “I’ll go get it warmed up.  Enjoy your tea.  Whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Walworth.”

When she had finished her tea and crumpet, she dropped off her cup, saucer, and plate in the kitchen on her way through, eventually going out the front door and down the steps of the portico where Walworth was waiting in the steaming carriage.  He hopped down and helped her into the passenger seat, and then started off.

Though she might have meant either one of the two well-known McCoort couples, her handsome young driver knew Yuah well enough to know that it was her best friend Honor that she intended to see.  It took less than fifteen minutes to reach her destination.

“Do you mind waiting a moment?” Yuah asked.

“Of course not.  Let me know.  I can unload this.”

“You are a dear,” she said, climbing down and walking up the path to the stone-faced cottage.

She knocked on the door, which was opened by a lizzie servant.  Silently, the reptilian ushered her in and led her to the parlor, and then turned and left. Yuah found her best friend Honor reclining on a sofa.  Honor looked up and opened her mouth in surprise, and for a minute Yuah didn’t realize why.  Then she saw that her friend had only one leg sticking out from beneath her dress.  Yuah’s hand went to her mouth and she quickly turned around.

“I wasn’t expecting you,” said Honor.

Yuah said nothing.

“You’re going to have to turn around and help me, unless you want me to hop across the room.”

Turning slowly back around, Yuah saw that a shapely wooden leg was sitting on an end table. Hurrying over, she picked it up and brought it to her friend.

“Why was it over there.”

“I had Ziggy polishing it with furniture wax.  Then he left it there when he was called away to help in the garden.  I was going to wait until the lizzies came through and could hand it to me.”

She pulled up her dress and fitted the prosthesis onto her leg stump, strapping it to her thigh. Then she smoothed her dress back down, pushed herself to her feet, and gave Yuah a hug.

“Can I ask you…?”

“What?”

“Do you keep your leg on in bed?  With your husband?”

“Of course not.  So what are you doing here?  I thought you had sequestered yourself away to prevent any unwanted male attention.”

“Well, I had,” said Yuah, looking around as if she expected a clandestine observer to have his face pressed against one of the windows.  “I’ve cleaned out my closet and I thought you might like one or two of my old dresses.  Plus, you could tell me to whom I might give the rest.”

“Are they back at your house?”

“No.  Walworth has them out in the car.”

“Ziggy!” called Honor, and when the lizzie stepped in the room.  “Go out and get the clothing that is in Mrs. Dechantagne’s car.”

The lizzie had to make several trips before all of the dresses where transferred to the couch in the McCoort living room.  Yuah stepped outside to tell Walworth that he wasn’t needed anymore, and he drove off, presumably back to the Dechantagne Estate.

“You say these are just the dressed you don’t want?” asked Honor, holding a blue and white walking dress up to her.  “This isn’t too bad.”

“That would look lovely on you,” said Yuah, “but it is somewhat colorful.”

The wind whipped at Zoey’s hair.  She laughed. This was almost as much fun as flying. She pressed her feet down on the clutch and the brake as she zoomed around the corner of Forest and Ivy. Then pressing the forward accelerator again, she zipped in and out of traffic as the candy apple red Bromfeld X shot past other steam carriages and riders upon the backs of iguanodons. Zoey was at the corner of Newlands Street before she knew it, and brought the car to a screeching halt.

Pulling the brake into place, she grabbed her purse, hopped out, and danced around to the back, where she opened the release cock.  A whistling scream of hot gas shot into the air.

“Oops, too much heat,” she said, opening the firebox with her bare hand and sticking her face into it.

Reveling in the warmth for just a moment, she then closed the door and walked up the cobblestone path to Martin & Shinde Men’s Emporium.  The bell rang as she stepped inside.  As she breathed in the smell of leather and wool, her mouth watered.  The store, some twenty feet wide but at least four times that deep, was packed with suits, shoes, belts, hats, and sundries for men.  A stack of round tins filled with mustache cream drew her attention.  She picked one up and opened it, taking a sniff.

“Mmm.”

“May I help you, young miss?”

Turning to her left, Zoey found a thin bespectacled man in a very crisp pinstriped suit.  He had a large nose, but a narrow mustache.  He gave her a close-mouthed smile and a slight bow.

“I would be very grateful if you could.  You see, my young man has recently given me a wonderful present and I thought I would get him something nice too.  Can you help me, Mister..?”

“Shinde, Mattius Shinde.”

“Oh.  Like the name of the store.”

“Exactly.”

“Do you think you can help me, Mr. Shinde?”

“Of course.  I assume, since you are here, that you have narrowed it down to something in menswear.  Is your young man a snappy dresser?”

“Indeed.  He always looks his best, and he enjoys quality in his things.”

“And you say he bought you a present?”

“Yes.  He’s very thoughtful.”

“May I ask what he gave you? Perhaps that will help us judge just what sort of present you should get him.”

“A car!” she said, her eyes lighting up.  “It’s brilliant, and red, and extremely fast for something limited to the ground.”

“Well…” Mr. Shinde looked around.  “We have some of the finest new suits from Brechalon.”

“No.  I don’t want to get anything he has to get fitted for.  I want to give it to him today.”

“We have some of the very finest hats.”

“He has a lot of hats already.”

“How about some aftershave lotion?”

Zoey sighed.  “Maybe I’ve come to the wrong place.  Aftershave lotion?  I mean really!  He bought me a car!”

“How about shoes?”

“He does like shoes,” she said.

“Excellent.  We have the very finest walking boots and pumps, as well as very nice dress shoes.”  He led her across the room to a section of the wall filled with footwear.

“I like these,” said Zoey.

“Excellent choice,” said Shinde, picking up one and handing it to her.  “Cap toe oxfords of high quality cow hide.”

She held the shoe to her nose.  “Why do cows smell so yummy?”

He shrugged.

“These are just the thing. I want a pair in brown and a pair in black, and of course I want spats to go with them.  Laces too.”

“Excellent.” said the proprietor.  “Now about the size.”

“Augie’s foot is exactly this big,” she said, pointing to her chin with one index finger and her hairline with the other.

Shinde looked like a man who very much wanted to ask a question, but wasn’t going to do so.  At last, he picked up a shoe sizer and held it awkwardly to her face.

“Size nine,” he reported. “I’ll get those ready for you.”

A few minutes later, he had the purchases secured in boxes wrapped with twine.

“That will be fifty-four marks, twenty p.”

Zoey opened her purse and withdrew a huge wad of banknotes.  She stopped and narrowed her eyes, and looked at Shinde like might at any moment pounce on her money.  Turning away, she counted out fifty-two marks, and then fished out four two-toned five-pfennig coins.  After putting the rest of her money away, she turned around and held it out.  Shinde had to pull the notes out of her tightly clamped fingers, but at last he had the payment and handed her the merchandise.

“Thank you so much!” she called, as she slipped out the doorway.

The clouds were low over Brech City, turning everything to a dull monochrome.  A wave of drizzling rain dropped without cease—tiny drops that a person scarcely noticed until he was wet through.  Smoke from fireplaces, steam carriages, and factories barely rose above the tops of houses and lingered there just below the proper clouds, making everything that the rain touched dirty, greasy, and grimy.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” asked Prince Clitus from beneath his umbrella.  His usual uniform had been replaced by a formal black suit, making him as monochrome as his surroundings.

“Do what?” asked his older half-brother Prince Tybalt.  “Stand out in this Kafira-wretched rain?”  He too was dressed in black formal.

The two of them stood surrounded by a massive crowd at the dockside, staring at a great black steam liner: S. S. Lied des Vaterlandes.

“No.  Are you sure you want to marry Princess Henrietta?”

“It’s time for me to marry.”

“You love her at least, don’t you?”

“Love her?” Tybalt frowned. “I don’t even know her.”

“But you’ve corresponded.”

“She wrote me some stupid letters.  I didn’t read them.”

“Why then did you agree to marry her?”

“I have to marry someone. With Henrietta, we will cement our rule over Freedonia.”

“You could have picked anyone you wanted,” said Clitus.  “You had a choice.”

Tybalt rolled his eyes.

“What choice?  That fat Bordonian pig Lady Enid?  I don’t think so.  Princess Ophelia of Mirsanna?  She’s a whore.  Maybe you think I should have chosen the idiot Hortence Moorn, or the egghead Iolana Staff?”

“Lady Iolana is the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” said Clitus, exasperated.

“She talks all the time. Have you noticed?  Henrietta doesn’t even speak Brech.  I’ll never have to listen to her.  All I have to do is mount her a couple of times and pop some heirs into her.  Then I can send her back to Freedonia to her family, and I can spend my time doing something more exciting with someone more exciting.  That’s the beauty of it all.  As King, I can have any woman I want, any time.”

Clitus sighed and shook his head.

* * * * *

“She’s actually quite pretty,” said Lady Esther, holding up latest issue of The Daily Review.  “You look very handsome.”

“Thank you,” said Clitus, sitting across from her, sipping his tea.

Lady Terra entered the library carrying a large clock.  Clitus stood up.

“Good afternoon, Lady Terra.”

“Please sit, Your Highness,” she said, walking past him and setting the clock on the mantel above the fireplace.

“And what are you about on this miserable day?” he asked, taking his place once again in the comfortable chair.

“Clock repair,” she said, turning on her heel and retracing her path.  She stopped and looked over Esther’s shoulder at the picture on the paper’s front page.  “How is that fair?  She’s got huge tits.”

Clitus gasped, getting tea up his nose.  Lady Terra didn’t notice.  She was already stepping out the doorway.

“Please don’t mind her,” said Esther.

“No, of course not.”

“You look tired, Clitus. You’re working too hard.  You need to get out and have some fun.”

“Well, I am going hunting the day after tomorrow at the Tottsbury Estate in Wills.  It should be a good time.  I hear the pheasants are thick this year.  Why don’t you come up with me?”

“I’m not one for hunting really,” said Esther.  “Lady Iolana cured me of it quite early on.  You should ask her.  I’m sure she would be interested.  She used to kill things all the time back in Brechalon.”

“You really think she would come?”

“I’m sure she would.  Terra might even be interested.”

On the small street of Ghiosa Way, right next where it came to a dead end, was a small yellow cottage, with a white railing and posts on the front porch, a white-framed window just left of the white front door, and a similar window looking down from the attic between the eaves. The cobblestone pathway leading up to the front steps was lined with large ferns of the type commonly found in the area, and the yard was filled with pines and a maple that had been there far longer than the house.

Near the back right corner of the little cottage’s yard, about halfway between the house and the nearest trees, was a large barrel in which trash was burned once or twice a week. The smell of fire wasn’t quite enough to cover the smell of paper that had once held wrapped food.  It was these smells that sometimes drew velociraptors to the yard.  They were two and a half feet tall and five feet from the tip of their many-toothed snouts to the ends of their tails.  Hairy feathers covered their bodies—yellow near their small arms and green everywhere else, but for a black band around their necks and a black tuft at the ends of their tails.  Easily mistaken for a more benign bird from a distance, those familiar with them were wary because of the teeth and clawed hands, but mostly because of their feet, each of which had a three-inch claw curving upward, used to disembowel prey. On this day, half a dozen of the creatures invaded the carefully cultivated yard, sniffing and searching.

“Get out of here, you horrid beasts!”

A woman came running out the door of the house, waving a broom.  She made every effort to swat the velociraptors, but they easily evaded her, running around in circles until she tripped over one and went sprawling.  Then they were no longer mere birds, but feathered monsters.  They snapped at her, one biting her ankle and tearing the skin.  Another leapt on her, preparing to use its toe claw to best effect.

Suddenly the velociraptor on the woman exploded.  The others jumped away as five colorful balls of magic, just like that which all had failed to see flying at their leader, flew toward them.  These little missiles, blue, green, red, yellow, and orange, didn’t fly straight, but soared around in a swirling pattern.  But each eventually reached its target and one after another the remaining velociraptors were hit, and they exploded into a bursts of feathers.

“Why, Bryony Byenthal, you were almost eaten by velociraptors,” observed Senta, coolly. “Has no one told you not to chase after them?”

“You saved my life!” cried Bryony, still lying upon her lawn, bleeding from the ankle.

“Yes, I did.  Didn’t I?  Come along.  Let’s get you inside and see to your injury.”

Helping the woman up from the ground, Senta put her shoulder under Bryony’s and led her in through the side door.

“Mommy!  You’re hurt!” cried a small child, barreling from the parlor and colliding with his mother’s knees.

“Mommy is fine, Kerry,” said Bryony.

“Well hello, Little Baxter,” said Senta.  “Not to worry.  Auntie Senta is here to take care of everything.”

She reached into her purse, pulling out a brown bottle of healing draught.  Biting off the cork and spitting it on the floor, she handed the bottle to the little boy.

“Pour this on Mommy’s boo-boo.”

The boy dumped out the bottle, some of which landed on Bryony’s injury, fizzing, but most going on the floor.

“Now, about tea,” said the sorceress, sitting down at the table.

“I honestly wasn’t expecting you,” said Bryony, removing her shoe and wiping away the blood and excess healing liquid from her leg and the floor with a tea towel, before slipping the shoe back on.

“I can see that, obviously, or else Little Baxter would have been hidden away with some friend or another.”

At that moment the front door opened and in walked a blond girl of eleven.  Her straight hair was parted in the middle, but a fringe covered her forehead.  But for the bright yellow day dress she wore, she looked very much like Senta.  In fact, she looked exactly like Senta had looked at the same age.  Seeing the sorceress, her eyes and lips became very thin.

“What are you doing here, Mother?”

“I’m here for tea, and to save Bryony Byenthal’s life, apparently.”

“Bryony Baxter,” said both Bryony and the girl at the same time.

“Quite so.  Quite so.  But you are still Senta Bly, the bastard child of a much more accomplished and altogether more impressive Senta Bly.”

“Why don’t you go away and leave us alone?” said the younger Senta.

“Why don’t you make me?”

“Uuthanum eetarri,” hissed the girl, waving her hand.

“So disappointing,” said the woman, unaffected.  “All that natural talent and you refuse to learn anything.  You’re not hurting me, you know.  You’re the one who will be sorry in the end.”

“I’m going to my room,” said the girl to Bryony.  “I have no appetite.”

“When I was your age, I was casting all kinds of crazy spells and raining destruction all over the place!” the sorceress called after her, as she retreated down the hallway.

“Can I go play with Sen?” asked the little boy.

“Yes, but take a biscuit,” said his mother, retrieving said biscuit from the kitchen, along with another. “Give one to Sen, too.”

“Goodbye, Little Baxter,” said the sorceress.  “Now about tea.”  She raised her finger and made a circle in the air.  “I could just whip something up.”

“No, no,” said Bryony.  “I’m sure I can put out an adequate high tea.”

“So, how was it?” asked Honor McCoort, leaning over the table.

Yuah Dechantagne shrugged.

The two of them sat at one of the tables in the outdoor portion of Finkler’s Bakery, Port Dechantagne’s first eating establishment.  The outside portion had recently been expanded to twelve tables, but the inside remained small, accommodating only three.  Summer squash soup and cress sandwiches on herb bread were the order of the day.

“The play was very nice,” said Yuah.  “I thought the young lady in the lead was smashing.”

“How about dinner?”

“Oh, Café Ada is always lovely. They had wiener schnitzel in honor of Oddyndessen.”

“And Mr. Wissinger?” asked Honor, leaning forward once again.

“He is a brilliant man—a pleasure to talk to.”

“That sounds like faint praise indeed.”

“I can’t help it,” said Yuah. “He just seems so old to me.  He’s my father’s friend.”

“Yuah, he’s not that much older than you.  You’re forty-seven.  That’s no longer middle-aged.”

“My body may be forty-seven, but my brain still thinks I’m thirty.  I still expect some handsome young cavalry officer to sweep me off my feet.”

“I can understand that,” said Honor.  “Maybe it isn’t realistic though.”

“Says the young woman married to a still younger man,” responded Yuah.  “Don’t presume to understand me until you’ve spent a day in my corset.”

“I’m not that young,” said Honor, absentmindedly running her fingertip down the length of the scar that ran from her cheek to her chin.  “It’s not my fault that Geert is younger.  Who else would have a one-legged woman with a scar face?”

“You’re face is beautiful,” said Yuah, her eyes starting to fill with tears.

“Now, don’t start that.”

“I can’t help it,” said Yuah, as the tears spilled over.  “It’s all my fault.  You were almost killed and it’s all my fault!”

Honor got up and stepped around the table, and hugged her friend from behind.

“It was an accident.”

“I forgot to set the relief cock! It was my fault!”

Honor stepped to the side of the chair and Yuah hugged her, pressed her face into the younger woman’s bosom, and wept.

“It was a long time ago, and it was an accident,” said Honor, running her hands over Yuah’s hair.  “I don’t blame you, and if I did, I would have forgiven you by now anyway.”

After about three minutes, Yuah gained control of herself and Honor returned to her side of the table.

“Now, do you feel better?”

“No.  I feel horrible.”

“Well, show me that stiff Brech upper lip.  You’re only allowed a twice-annual cry about my accident.  Now people are looking at you.”

“I don’t care if people look at me,” said Yuah, not bothering to check.  “They look at me all the time anyway.  I might as well be doing something worth watching.  Oh, no.”

“What is it?”

“I’ve gotten snot all over your dress.”

“So you have,” said Honor looking at her simple but nice brown dress.  She picked up her napkin and wiped it.  “Well, it will all come out in the wash.”

“Why are you never upset about anything?”

“That way you can be upset about everything,” explained Honor, “and we even out.”

The two women stopped speaking as a tall man in a black suit with a green waistcoat stopped beside their table. He appeared to be in his late forties, with a touch of grey in his dark brown hair.  There was no grey in his handlebar mustache.

“Mrs. Dechantagne?  Pardon my intrusion.”

“Do I know you, Mr…?”

“Galbright.  We met at your sister’s office a week ago.”

“Oh, yes.  My sister-in-law’soffice.”

“Yes, of course.  When we were introduced, I did not realize that you were entertaining suitors, or I would have given you my card.”

He stuck out his hand containing a social card.  Yuah looked at it like it was a poisonous snake.

“Pardon Mrs. Dechantagne, Mr. Galbright,” said Honor, reaching out and retrieving the card.  “She’s out of sorts this morning.”

“I quite understand.  I caught you both unawares.  Please pardon me.  I look forward to seeing you again, Mrs. Dechantagne.”  He bowed at the waist, turned on his heel, and walked out of the eatery.”

“Ask and ye shall receive,” said Honor.

“What are you talking about?”

“Didn’t he look like a handsome cavalry officer?”

“No.  He looked like a middle-aged shipping tycoon.”

“Well, what do I know?”  Honor pushed the card forward.  “It seems the word is out that you are receiving callers. There will be many of these forthcoming, I imagine.”

“I don’t want it.”

Zoantheria soared above the lizzie city of Xiatooq.  It couldn’t have looked more alien in her eyes if it had been on another planet.  Surrounded by great walls of copper-colored stone more than a hundred feet tall, the city faced the empty plain that surrounded its northern side, while its southern side climbed up the slope of a great mountain, higher and higher, built upon terraces carved into the rock.  Xiatooq was filled with round structures, large and small, that tapered near the top so that they resembled giant hornets’ nests dotted with windows.  The higher up the slope one traveled, the grander these structures were.  The city was all the more impressive because this was not just any mountain.  It was a massive volcano with an open caldera at the top, out of which belched a constant stream of black smoke and white steam.  Occasionally, blobs of red lava were tossed up into the air.

The coral dragon was still musing on the strangeness of the sights below her, when something shot out of the city directly at her.  She swerved, but the object, nothing more than a streak of blue, swerved with her. Then it hit her in the midsection. It was another dragon, a little more than half her size: one with shining scales of dazzling sapphire.  The newcomer opened its mouth and sank its fangs into the base of Zoey’s neck, while it’s claws raked her belly.

Zoantheria rolled onto her back, using all four limbs to pry the beast from her.  She folded her wings and dropped from the sky.  For nearly thirty seconds, the two struggled, the coral dragon trying to pry the other from her body, and the sapphire dragon seemingly determined not to let go.  At the last moment, Zoey threw out one wing, flipping them both over and they crashed into the stone street, the coral dragon on top.

Dazed from the same amount of force that had not so long ago killed a kronosaurus, the coral dragon staggered to her feet.  The sapphire dragon lay unconscious on the ground.  She grabbed it at the top of the neck, wondering whether to cast a spell or merely bite its head off.  But she paused.  The shining blue dragon was beautiful.  A dozen spikes poked back from behind its face, but unlike any other dragon that Zoey had seen, including the one in the mirror, this one had no whiskers. Instead, a small horn grew from its chin, pointing downward.

Suddenly two solid blue eyes opened.  The sapphire dragon sucked in a huge breath.  Zoey squeezed her claw until the airflow was cut off.

“Would you like to belch that fire in some other direction?” she asked.  “Or shall I simply wait to see if you pop, like a big balloon?”

“I submit,” came a small, breathless voice.

Zoey released her hold. The other dragon looked at her for a moment, and then turned and breathed a huge gout of flame into the sky away from her.

“You’ve won this time, ugly one.”  The sapphire dragon’s voice was clear and bright, like a silver bell.

“Ugly?  Explain yourself, you blue freak!”

“You were flying over our city—an intruder.”

“I was invited, you half-wit.”

“Invited by whom?”

The coral dragon just pointed up at the top of the volcano.

“He didn’t tell me.”

“Why would he tell you anything, foolish child?  What are you anyway?”

“I am Xenarra, the Goddess of War.”

“Some goddess!  Some war!  I beat your ass.”

Zoantheria looked around. A vast see of lizzies surrounded the two dragons.  They were different than lizzies elsewhere.  They were larger, with bumpier and darker skin, and they wore animal skins as clothing.  The lizzies watched the dragons, whom they worshipped as gods, in silence.  Then she saw him, sitting on the edge of a roof, above a crowd of lizzies, a dragon, no bigger than a pony, with emerald green scales, as bright and shiny as those of the sapphire dragon.

“And you, whelp?  What are you?”

“I am Urie,” he said, his voice sounding like a teenaged boy.  “I am the God of Life.”

Zoey rolled her eyes.  “All around me—idiots with delusions of grandeur.”

Twelve thousand miles away from Birmisia and the rest of the huge continent of Mallon, on the other side of the world, was the much smaller continent of Sumir.  Thousands of years earlier, it had been the home of the ancient civilizations of Zur, Argrathia, Ballar, and Donnata.  Now it was home to the powerful kingdoms of Mirsanna, Bordonia, and most powerful of all, the United Kingdom of Greater Brechalon.

Nineteen year old Brech Prince Clitus sat in his office, carefully examining a map of the northern third of Sumir, which included the land of Freedonia, which was both in theory and in fact a vassal state of Brechalon.  His finger traced a line from Bangdorf to the industrial cities of Butzbach and Hagerforte to the coastal cities of Friedaport and Eineburgh.  He frowned.

“And these acts… these bombings are politically motivated?” he asked.  “You’re sure of it?”

“Yes, Your Highness,” said a man in a dark suit and dark glasses, seated across from him.  “They are political and they are organized.  These aren’t random events.  They’re designed to destabilize Brech power in Freedonia.”

“What is the Prime Minister doing about it?”

“He’s… he’s still waiting for guidance from the King.”

Clitus rolled his eyes.  “And my father has nothing to offer.”

“He’s not concerned.  He calls them ‘isolated events by a few ne’er-do-wells.’”

“What about my brother?”

“I doubt the Crown Prince knows anything about what’s going on in Freedonia, or elsewhere outside either Sinceree Palace or Madame Fleurchaud’s establishment.”

The prince closed his eyes and rubbed his temple.

“And what about Madame Fleurchaud’s?”

“Your Highness?”

“Are there loose ends to be attended to there, Mr. Meanie?”

“It’s an open secret that your brother is a regular there, but as of yet, none of his… um, companions have come up pregnant.”

“That’s something, at least,” said Clitus.  “I feel like I should celebrate.”

“What do you want me to do, Your Highness?”

“About my brother—nothing. Keep an eye on things in Freedonia. Do we have any magic assets we could use?”

“Not much.  I have a few people in the War Ministry, but we used to count on the Zenith.”

“Yes, well they’re gone and they’re not coming back.”  He sighed. “We may need to build something like the Zenith for ourselves.  One thing that we will make clear from the very beginning though, is that they are to stay as far away from the Birmisian Sorceress as possible.”

“I could locate one or two high-level wizards that could start such an organization.  Your Highness could write to Lord Dechantagne.  He could let her know that we’re no threat to her—it would help recruiting if we were proactive there.”

“Yes.  I’ll write him,” said Clitus.  “I’ll also go see his cousin.  She can guarantee that our message gets to the Drache Girl’s ear.”

Senta rapped neatly on the white door of the little cottage on Ghiosa Way.  She carefully straitened her necktie as she looked down to see that her black skirt and white blouse were both in order.  Reaching up, she tilted her boater ever so slightly to one side, and then, as an afterthought, spoke the magic word that made a large white daisy appear in the hatband.

“Who is it?” came the call from the other side of the portal.

“It’s me.”

The door opened wide revealing a pretty young woman wearing an identical outfit, except hatless. Brown hair parted on the side, with a few curls in the back, she was a head shorter than the six-foot tall sorceress.

“Senta,” she said, displaying neither surprise nor pleasure.

“Am I in time for tea?”

“You know you are,” said the woman tersely, but stepped aside to allow the blond sorceress entry.

Senta swept past her, through the parlor, and without an invitation, took a seat at the table in the small dining room.  She removed her hat, which disappeared into thin air, crossed her legs, and folded her hands over her knee.

“Why, Bryony Byenthal, you look scrumptious today.”

“It’s Bryony Baxter… again,” said the woman of the house, closing the door and passing through the parlor on her way to the kitchen.  She returned with a large tray filled with cups, dishes, and a teapot, all of which she began to lay out.

“I think I have a very nice tea for us today,” said Bryony.

“You always do.”

“Yes, well, as you keep showing up at teatime, uninvited, I might add, I feel compelled to serve you.” She poured two cups of tea.  “Four lumps, isn’t it?”

“Yes.  How kind of you to remember.”

“I’m not likely to forget.” She began filling two plates from several small pyramids of dainty finger foods.  “I purchased these sausages from the butcher this morning. They look very nice.  And I’ve made cress and cucumber sandwiches.  I also made some stuffed mushrooms.  I gathered them from the forest, so with any luck they’re poisonous.”

“I’m sure they are fine,” said Senta.  “But fear not.  I always carry a detoxicant with me.”

“A wise precaution, considering the number of people who want to kill you,” said Bryony, setting a plate in front of Senta and one at the place across from her.  She carried the platter back to the kitchen, before returning and taking her seat.  “Have you been poisoned before?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. I’ve also been shot.” Senta paused to take a dainty bite of a stuffed mushroom.  “Several times, and stabbed.”

“Some people might take a hint.”

“I’ve never been very good at that.”

“Oh, I know,” said Bryony, removing a cozy from atop a breadbasket.  “Pumpernickel?”

“Yes please.”

“I’m afraid you’ve missed your daughter.”  The brunette buttered two slices of the heavy, dark bread, passing one to the sorceress.  “She’s spending the day and night with the Markhams.”

“Yes, I know.  She has no interest in seeing me, so I return the sentiment.”

“She may say she doesn’t want to see you, but I think she really needs to.”

“Children don’t know what they need,” said Senta.

“That’s what I’m saying,” said Bryony, with a frown.  “You should show her that you care for her.  How do you think you would have turned out if you thought your mother didn’t love you?”

“I turned out fine,” said Senta.  She took a bite of sausage.  “Anyway, I would much rather see little Baxter.”

“He’s with the Markhams too, though Mr. Baxter will pick him up on the way home.”

“Why is it you don’t have another little one by now?  Big Baxter not pressing the baby button?”

“What?”

“He’s not plowing the bean field?  Not negotiating the chasm?  You two not pressing your dangly parts?”

“You are horrible!” hissed Bryony, but then she narrowed her eyes.  “As a matter of fact, I shall be pondering the unicorn as soon as we’re alone together.”

“What?”

“Blitzkrieg mit dem fleischgewehr.”

Senta blinked.  “My… how very vulgar of you, Bryony Byenthal.”

“Bryony Baxter,” Bryony glared back.

Senta took a sip of tea and studiously ate her meal, as Bryony watched her.  After several minutes of silence, she looked up.

“You should eat too.”

“Yes,” replied the brunette slowly, forking a sausage.

“You’re not going to tell me?”

“No.  And you are to say nothing, or I’ll never serve you tea again.”

“But Bryony Byenthal…”

“Baxter!”

“… you know how much I enjoy our teatimes together, because of my deep and abiding affection for you.”

“You don’t like me at all, and I certainly don’t like you, and anyway, nobody must know until I tell Kieran.”

“I shan’t say anything at all.”

They finished eating and Senta leaned back to sip her tea.