:Very nice for us, too,: his Companion Kantor commented, as Alberich sat down and allowed himself to drink in the color and composition. :We get the best view of it at night, when the light is coming from inside. Clever of you to station lanterns with reflectors shining outward at the bottom corners. Gives us a lovely piece to look at.:

:And prevents any shadows falling upon it and telling people what goes on in my sitting room,: he pointed out. :After paying no small fortune for such a piece, I’ve no mind to have it shattered by an ill-considered crossbow bolt from outside, because I was foolish enough to show a target.:

Since there was no graceful reply to that, Kantor wisely declined to make one.

The leaded glass was thicker and heavier than the window it had been mounted against, and Alberich realized after a moment of sitting there that the drafts he’d become accustomed to were gone. Well. An unforeseen advantage.

And a third—as he bathed in the golden light from the Sun-In-Glory, despite the fact that on the other side of the glass, there was a bleak winter landscape under overcast skies, he understood why Master Cuelin had insisted that the Sun dominate the panel. No matter what the weather outside, the light coming in would be warm and welcoming. Already Alberich felt his spirits become a little lighter.

:For which my gratitude to Master Cuelin knows no bounds,: Kantor observed dryly. :Anything that sweetens your temper makes me grateful.:

:Indeed?: Alberich countered. :Alas, that he cannot do me the return favor of creating such a thing for you, since you spend your days out of doors. Perhaps I should query Bardic Collegium about the possibility of serenading you on a thrice-weekly basis to sweeten your temper?:

:Then who would chastise the greenlings properly?: Kantor asked airily. :Disciplining the youngsters requires a certain acidity of temper to deliver correction with the appropriate degree of sting.:

Alberich shook his head. He should learn never to try and exchange barbs with his Companion; Kantor would always win. Kantor was at least as old as his Chosen, probably a few years Alberich’s senior, and twice as witty.