They traveled deep down into the city, to the poorest stretches located near the docks, where guard patrols were few. Their destination was once a confectionary. Based on the half-broken sign and the boards over the windows, it had been months since it last opened for business. The faintest hint of candlelight shone through gaps in the boards. Stasia pressed against the wall beside the entrance, and she gestured for Cyrus to take the opposite side.

“On your lead,” she whispered. Cyrus nodded, lifted his swords, and then smashed in the door with his shoulder leading. He barreled inside to find it well lit with dozens of candles across shelves and tables. Waiting for him at one such table, their faces a mixture of surprise and amusement, sat Thorda and Clarissa. His master wore an expensive green-and-gold robe from his homeland, and Clarissa, though less fanciful than during the clandestine meetings in ballrooms and mansions, was still radiant in a frilled, long-sleeved shirt and crimson skirt.

“Is something amiss?” Cyrus asked as he removed his mask.

“I have been a poor caretaker,” Thorda explained. “But tonight we celebrate an occasion I neglected to properly mark the past few years.”

Cyrus glanced between him and Clarissa, confused.

“Which is…?”

Mari answered by coming down the stairs, having changed into a simple blue dress. She carried an enormous silver plate in her arms, stacked high with honey cakes.

“Happy nineteenth naming-day!” she called. “I baked these myself.”

“And spent a fortune on the jarred honey in the process,” Thorda said, but his ire was entirely false.

Cyrus’s confusion melted into amusement. Gods help him, they were right. He’d forgotten completely, for the previous two birthdays while training with Thorda had come and gone with nary a mention at the mansion. Stasia smacked him on the shoulder as she followed him inside, her grin so smugly satisfied, it bordered on the profane.

“A party after a jailbreak?” he asked her as the two of them stashed their weapons by the door. “Isn’t that a bit, I don’t know, morbid?”

Stasia laughed as she swept Clarissa into her arms and set her on her lap as they shared a chair.

“We could have had the party before the jailbreak, but I worried you’d be nervous and distracted.”

Cyrus took a seat opposite Thorda but had hardly a moment to settle down before the door opened. He turned to find Rayan and Keles come together to join the celebration, the paladin in his platemail, Keles with her hair back and a black dress laced with gold underneath the heavy coat she wore to hide it on her journey there.

“Excellent,” Rayan said as he unbuckled his sword belt and rested the weapon beside the door. “I see we are not late for the festivities.”