By the time Tybalt, Victoria, and Kistana arrived, the sun had set, and the feast was ready to begin.

  Torches were lit everywhere, and a great table with chairs was set up for the most important people, along with placemats lining the village path for everyone else. Two large boars were being turned over spits above large fires, cauldrons of liquid boiled, and from the smell of the wooden cups people were drinking from, the alcohol was already flowing.

  Over a hundred beastfolk were present, most of whom sat at those placemats. There weren’t just fox beastfolk. Ibexfolk and harpies had come too. Tybalt had not alerted the catfolk, so they did not make an appearance, but he guessed that would have overstrained the food supplies in any case, since- if their leader, the necromancer, had told them to- the catfolk all would have appeared.

  Everyone was seated already except for those who had been at ground level, dealing with the scorpion attack. Tybalt guessed that he had created some impatience in the gathering by being late for his own celebration, but he trusted that the beastfolk would be understanding once word spread of the reason why he’d been delayed.

  At least we beat Dero and Carlos here.

  The necromancer admired the political savvy of the seating arrangements as he was guided to his place by a villager.

  “Hello, lover,” said Mariella as he sat down. Her voice was somewhere between teasing and sultry, which was a thin line in Tybalt’s experience. Mariella was placed to his left, Andric to his right, the Eldest and Chief Mihalic to the right of the two war chiefs, while Elder Elswyth the shaman and Elder Sybil the alchemist sat to Mariella’s other side. Vidalia, Victoria, Uncle Edmund, and Hayden sat across from Tybalt and Andric. Placed neutrally so that the people courting the two foxgirls could easily see and speak to both of them as well as their family members.

  The table was full of the village’s most important people. Mainly elders, but also a few key strategic individuals. There was Vidalia, the dream seer, and her family, of course, and there was also Andric’s brother Zorin the shaman, who Tybalt recognized from descriptions. Beside Hayden, there was Tatiana from the harpies, who Tybalt imagined might be something of a link between her tribe and the fox tribe. And the village bowyer had a good place, too. He was the one behind crafting every bow and sling the beastfolk had used against the squad. Behind Tybalt, a small table had also been set up for Kistana, to keep the bodyguard close to her charge.

  Tybalt greeted Mariella with a long, hot kiss on the lips. She tasted of ale but still mostly smelled of her usual intoxicating rosemary scent.

  Call me “lover,” and you’ll get a lot more of that, he thought. I’m already thinking about calling it an early night and spending the rest of it with you on your back… but we must keep up appearances.

  “Right,” she whispered, slightly breathless as they separated. She seemed to have picked up on his energy. “Everyone here knows that you and I are together, and they all already judge me for it. We may as well take advantage of it.” He raised an eyebrow, uncertain of what she meant. Just little public displays of affection like that? He was pretty sure he wasn’t into any more intense forms of exhibitionism.

  As the necromancer sat down, Eldest Isak rose to his feet.

  “Good evening!” he called. His voice quieted the rumble of the crowd. “This evening, we are blessed to honor our village’s heroes!”

  A cheer erupted at his words- whether of enthusiasm for the heroes or excitement that they could finally eat, Tybalt would never know.

  “Let us all give thanks to the gods that Lord Tybalt of Greentear and Lady Mariella Sevenhills arrived to fight alongside war chief Andric and help save our village!”

  Well done, Tybalt thought admiringly. No one will feel slighted by that phrasing. Very safe.

  The Eldest seemed to have the makings of a politician.

  The gathered beastfolk burst into applause.

  “Without further ado, let the festivities begin!” he declared.

  Two serving maidens brought stew and haunches of boar for Tybalt and Mariella to take portions from first, and then they were passed around the table and down the village path. This was done with every dish, from the savory porridge to the roast vegetables to the candied dates for desert. Only the alcohol remained in its place, large flagons of what Tybalt learned was barley wine spaced carefully along the table.

  For those not at the high table, the event seemed to be a bring-your-own-flask sort of affair, but Tybalt and the elders were among a privileged class. It was a first for the necromancer, and he decided to enjoy it.

  As Eldest Isak sat down, Mariella grabbed the flagon closest to her and Tybalt and poured a heavy portion into the necromancer’s cup. As she held the container, she brushed close to his neck.

  “Tell me if you want anything more, my lord,” Mariella said as she served him, half whispering, half nibbling his ear.

  Is she already drunk? Or is this what she meant by taking advantage of everyone knowing we’re together? She’s going to turn me on over dinner? If she does… do I mind?

  The next hour gave him his answer. Mariella fed Tybalt from her own plate, enticed him to feed her in turn, left long, lingering kisses on his neck, and ran her hands over him a lot, including below the waist. She also continued drinking, though she slowed down when Tybalt quietly told her to pace herself.

  “I’m here with you,” she said, “So I don’t have anything to worry about, getting drunk. But I’ll be good.” She winked.

  Tybalt tried to continue having normal conversations with Vidalia, Victoria, Uncle Edmund, Hayden, Andric, Eldest Isak, and Elder Elswyth despite the very enthusiastic distraction. But the noise from the other celebrants made conversation with everyone except his closest neighbors all but futile, so Tybalt ultimately gave up on talking to half of those he had been trying to speak with.

  Still, it wasn’t entirely a wash.

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  “I notice there aren’t any catfolk here,” Tybalt said quietly. “Besides my bodyguard.”

  “They don’t consort with the likes of us,” replied Elder Elswyth, quietly snorting.

  “It would take a miracle to get more participation from them than you did, Lord Necromancer,” said Eldest Isak, smiling.

  Tybalt frowned in response. “You understand that unity among the tribes is absolutely necessary, right, Eldest? I don’t mean to tell you your job, but the threat that will come when the squad’s disappearance becomes obvious will be existential.”

  The Eldest still smiled, but there was a sadness to it now. “As you grow older and see the stubbornness of other people on display, you gradually realize there are some tasks that diplomacy alone can’t achieve. The beastfolk have not been unified for a long time. Perhaps it’s the arrival of the Army that will do it. If it truly becomes an existential threat, the catfolk will at least have to fight. Why not do it beside us?”

  “Haven’t been unified since there was a Beastking,” Vidalia put in quietly.

  “Well, if Tybalt can get the catfolk to show up to one of these things, I’ll support him as king myself,” broke in Chief Mihalic.

  Through the whole exchange, Andric was carefully focused on his plate, but Tybalt could tell he was trying not to laugh by the end.

  “I’ll tell them to show up in a few days for group training,” Tybalt said quietly. “Just as the fox tribe is sending people. I’ll also work on getting the other tribes there.”

  “That’s the spirit,” said Chief Mihalic, laughing boisterously. “We’ll put a crown on you yet.”

  Remember those words, Tybalt thought. I’ll make you eat them.

  “Seriously, Tybalt,” said Eldest Isak, entirely earnest. “If you could somehow influence the catfolk to tie themselves more closely with the other tribes, that would be of great value to us.”

  The conversation continued in a similar vein, with several other Council members likewise interested in the remote possibility of Tybalt accomplishing something that he could do as easily as opening his mouth.

  The necromancer noticed when Dero and the caravan members appeared, around fifteen minutes into the feast, despite the fact that quite an elaborate show was being put on for his entertainment at the time. The diminutive dark elf wore a white dress of a similar fabric to the shirt and skirt she had been fighting in earlier. With spaghetti straps holding the top of the dress up, cutouts around the waist, and fabric that might have been slightly see-through in places- hard to tell in the dying daylight and flickering torchlight- the dress felt somehow almost as revealing as her fighting clothes had been.

  The effect was altered by the way her violet skin almost blended into the twilight sky, making it look as if the clothing was walking itself into the village escorted by a guard of large men. The image made Tybalt smile and chuckle quietly.

  In front of him, the dancers who were putting on their show seemed to take heart at his reaction. They moved with more enthusiasm and energy as the necromancer demonstrated some actual positive feeling. Before, he had seemed almost indifferent.

  Tybalt recognized the change in them and rebuked himself.

  I have to remember to show my appreciation, he thought. Even if I think the performance is a little odd. I should be honored.

  The fox tribe’s interpretive dancers had created a choreography to imitate Tybalt and Mariella’s dynamic. One of them wore what looked like a papier-mache skull and bone armor and wielded a slender wooden sword carved with grooves to imitate the shape of a spinal column. The other dancer juggled lit torches and wore red and orange face paint. The two danced back and forth, slaying invisible enemies around the village.

  Considering how little time they would have had to create and practice this dance of fire and death, Tybalt should have been more impressed. But he just wasn’t very into dancing as an art form. He wouldn’t have enjoyed it any more if it was his own culture’s form of artistic dance.

  The necromancer tried to keep watching them, but he found himself much more curious about what Dero and the caravan were doing. They seemed to have integrated themselves quickly, and the dark elf was already eating. She looked to have quite an appetite.

  Then again, her stomach was growling pretty loudly down in the desert…

  “Who is it you keep sneaking glances at?” Mariella asked quietly. She slurred a few of her words, but at least she kept a low voice.

  “I’ll tell you later,” Tybalt said, not bothering to deny it.

  “Another woman, isn’t it?” the fire mage said teasingly, running a finger down his neck and lightly into his collar. “Greedy! You already have th-three of us…”

  He shushed her. “Behave,” he whispered. “We’re not alone, and remember, I don’t have Victoria or Vidalia. I’m only courting them. As is Andric.”

  “Oh.” She swallowed and took a deep breath, and Tybalt could tell she had realized she’d made a mistake that could cause actual problems later. “Right. I’m sorry.”

  He gave her a little nod, trying to convey, Just don’t do it again.

  She added, a trace of mischief in her voice, “You can discipline me later.”

  “Have no fear, I will.” He rose. His food was almost entirely eaten, except for the candied dates. He would save desert for later.

  “You’re leaving after saying that?” Mariella asked.

  “I am. I want to go and sneak a conversation with that woman you accused me of looking at. And Vidalia knows the man she’s sitting with. I’m sure she wants to say hello. Plus, this is our feast. For you and me. You and I should be meeting and greeting, making new friends. It’s time to make the rounds, before everyone is too tired or drunk to enjoy our company.”

  “Oh, I… I didn’t think of that.”

  She was drunk, of course. That was the unspoken thing. And Tybalt could tell she would feel bad about it if he didn’t say something.

  I didn’t pick you because you were your mother, the necromancer thought. I don’t expect you to be the person with the best political instincts or the woman who knows how to navigate a party. I just expect you to have my back in the real world. Talking to people at feasts and parties is all about faking who you are, and most of the men here won’t take anything you say seriously anyway. You’re doing a great job with the things I care about.

  He wanted to tell her all that, but it felt very personal, and too much of their personal business had already been aired for his liking, both that night and in the course of the Council’s previous efforts to learn more about their guests. He would tell her later, when they lay in bed.

  “I know you didn’t think of it, my love,” he said gently. “I meant to go over our evening plans with you on the way here after the walk with Vicky, but some unexpected things happened to delay me.”

  “Sorry. I’m being a liability.”

  He bent to speak very close to her face, looking deep into her dark brown eyes and placing one hand on her lower back. “Don’t ever say that. You’re nothing but an asset. And you have a good tolerance, so you’ll sober up quickly. I remember from… that other time that you and I got drunk.” He gave her a fond but suggestive smile, which she returned after a moment. “Wait until you’re sure you can stand up straight, then join us, Ella. Even if you’re still tipsy. You’re a cute drunk, at least.” He allowed his hand to drop and fondled her ass as he finished speaking. No one could see, because of the positions of their bodies, but she flushed. It was as aggressive and overt as anything she had done that evening.

  “A-all right,” she said, sounding suddenly shy.

  “But don’t you dare drink any more,” Tybalt added very quietly. “I want you energetic later.”

  Mariella blushed so brightly she made the torches look dim.