Hard to have an appetite with a knife at your ribs.

That’s what it felt like. A sense of dread she herself had championed. Whenever she spotted someone who looked too at ease, she reached into her bag of historical horrors and related some awful magical nightmare. Lightning bolts hitting people but not quite killing them; fireballs and flying icicle daggers; and her personal favorite for the occasion where she found sentries dozing: creatures that ate the faces of people who fell asleep.

She wanted everyone as jittery as she was. If she didn’t hear people scream in terror because someone dropped a plate, she knew they were all doomed. It was little wonder then, that the moment she popped open her chamber door that her venison pastry, smear and all, fell from her hand.

Kile winced as the plate broke against the floor. “Hello, Farilane.”

She ignored the mess and stared at him. Kile had been seated at her desk, but he stood the moment she entered.

She looked around the room carefully. Nothing was out of place—which was to say, nothing was different from when she had left. Farilane allowed herself to breathe again. After two quick inhales, she swallowed half her wine, wishing she hadn’t picked the watered-down version. “You scared a century off my life.” She stepped over the mess, closed the door behind her, then finished the rest of her wine. “You might not be aware”—she wiped her mouth—“but we’re expecting a visitor, and we aren’t certain when he’ll be showing up or what he’ll look like.”

“I guessed as much.” Kile gestured at the walls, where an unbroken ring of symbols was painted at chest height. “Your redecorating was a hint.”

Following her recent meeting with Martasen Dray, Farilane had spent hours meticulously drawing the dwarven symbols. This required the elimination of certain bookshelves, and due to a growing sense of impending threat, she hadn’t been careful about how she cleared them. What was once a cluttered chamber of neat stacks was now a debris field with a narrow path.

“You like it?”

“Very stylish.”

Farilane sighed as she looked down at what was to have been her meal.

“Sorry about that,” Kile said.

“Doesn’t matter.” She crossed the room to meet him at the desk. “My appetite has once more run off.”

“That’s too bad.” Kile moved out of her way, letting her have the chair. He shifted to the window and looked out at the blue sky, where a flock of sparrows flew. “The weather has been quite nice lately, don’t you think?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Splendid, especially after that cold spell.”

Kile nodded. “Seemed like summer was never going to get here, didn’t it?”

Farilane nodded, then slammed her palms on the desk and screamed, “Where in the name of the three nonexistent realms of Phyre have you been?”

“Around,” he said sheepishly.