It is a cold night. There is simply no other way to describe it. Cold and crisp, with bright stars and dark clouds flying ahead of a stiff breeze. So the solar of the Old Keep is popular, with its low ceiling and great hearth that gives out good heat. Any number of courtiers has sought the solar out for a quiet meal, a cup of mulled wine, or to listen to the woman playing the high harp in one corner.
Reyna Saltcliffe is here, in a gown of rich raspberry velvet and white lace. She looks weary, as if the preceding sevenday of feasting and merry-making have taken their toll on the small woman. But her eyes are bright, and she sits with her hands around a cup of mulled wine that keeps the color in her cheeks.
The recently betrothed Obany Darklyn makes her way up the stairs, her gown swishing lightly with her careful steps. Her arms are curiously absent of the quill and reams of parchment she usually carries about, though the tips of her fingers are stained with ink all the same. She looks well-rested, though she hasn’t been much a part of the festivities beyond the tournament a few days prior, preferring to spend time in her apartments with her visiting family, presumably to catch up on all that has happened since Obany left Duskendale.
Stepping into the solar proper, Obany finds a seat near the hearth and situates herself in it, a servant bringing her a warm cup of mulled wine as she does so. “Lady Reyna… it’s been quite some time since we’ve been able to speak at all in length. How have you been?” The lady smiles as warmly as her wine just before taking a sip.
Luthor is one of those courtiers, seeking the solace of the solar. Stepping through the doorway he sweeps his heavy woolen great cloak from his shoulders and tosses it over an arm. He is, as usual dressed in his simple black and red livery of the king’s household, the three-headed dragon of the Targaryen’s sewn above his heart. Surveying the room he notices first the woman on the high harp and her listeners, but then his eyes fix on Lady Reyna, and Lady Obany. Smiling warmly, he approaches them both, and bows. “Ladies, if I would not be an interuption, might I join you?”
Reyna gestures to an empty chair for Luthor, though her eyes are on Obany. “I have been very well,” she says with a smile. “A bit tired from the festivities. I had a very scandalous day in bed today, I fear. Hallo, Ser Luthor. I had hoped to run into you tonight.”
Obany’s eyebrows raise at Reyna’s remark, but she doesn’t press the issue quite yet, turning to Luthor as he approaches, “No interruption at all, ser. I imagine all will be heard, sooner or later. How fare you?” She takes another drink of wine, something she always seems to have with her besides the ubiquitous quill. Her eyes peer over the rim of the cup, pale blue and inquisitive.
Luthor takes the offered seat, laying his cloak over one nearby. “Did you my lady? I hope nothing is amiss?” he asks Reyna, before he turns to Obany. “And I fare well, I hope it is the same for you, and Lady Reyna. Also, congratulations on your betrothal.” He settles into his seat, and takes a cup offered by one of the servants. Eyes falling on Reyna now, with a curious light behind them.
“Congratulations indeed! You will be Lady Baratheon one day!” Reyna smiles very warmly on Obany. “I am very pleased for you.” She does not yet address Luthor, though she smiles at him almost mischievously.
“I do appreciate the well-wishes. It was a long time coming, it feels,” Obany muses, a finger idly sliding over the rim of her cup as she speaks, “Since having met him before the most recent war. Just for a few weeks, it seems… My letters seemed to not reach him due to the quickly-moving front, though I kept up on what reports came in to make sure that he was well.” She looks into the fire, the light shining off of her fair skin, a small smile forming on her lips, “He managed to get by without too many injuries, though stiff and sore he was when he disembarked that ship. Unfortunately, I have not been able to see much of him due to the rush of everything since then, though our love has not faltered since the first day we saw each other, just a room below.”
Luthor listens attentively to Lady Obany’s story, and smiles when it is finished. “Tancred is a good man,” he says with a nod to the lady. “And while I do not know him well, I do know he is clearly in love with you. It’s encouraging to hear that love can withstand the difficulties you’ve faced, and come out just as strong at the end as when it started,” he says. An odd sentiment for the veteran knight, he pauses and sips his wine, before raising an eyebrow at Reyna and her micheivious look.
“You are both most fortunate to have made a love match. Quite rare for the heir of a great house.” There is something behind Reyna’s eyes, but she does not speak, nor even let it shine there for more than a moment. Perhaps it was cynicism.
Now, however she looks fully at Luthor. “I spoke with my lord Hand yesterday,” she says.
Not one usually given to such sappyness, Obany seems a slight bit surprised at her own recollection of such things, though she remains silent, content to listen to the others speak amongst themselves as she drinks her wine.
Luthor is succinct in his reply, though he smiles broadly. “Oh, and what did you talk about?” he asks.
“As you know, my lord and His Grace the King are very busy of late, things being what they are,” Reyna says, taking a fresh cup of mulled wine from a passing servitor. “So the Hand has tasked me with delivering a message to you. The King is desirous that you should serve as his Royal Huntsman.”
Obany’s eyebrows raise again at this news, “Congratulations, ser.” She looks to him with a bright smile, lowering her cup.
Stunned would be the best word to describe Luthor’s reaction to the news. Then slowly he smiles, and then chuckles. “Royal…” he shakes his head and sets aside his cup. Then with full attention on Reyna he speaks. “Please inform his Grace, that I happily accept this post, and am most greatful for his generosity and trust,” Luthor says before remarking. “Thank you for your congratulations lady Obany, and you Lady Reyna for bringing me this news. It’s unexpected, but very welcome.”
“That I will. His Grace wishes you to know that you remain a knight of his household as well, so your responsibilities in that respect will not be taken from you,” Reyna adds, smiling and pleased. “Oh, I -am- happy for you, Ser Luthor. I knew that the king would take notice of you swiftly!”
With a soft laugh, Obany nods, “Quite the swift notice indeed, though it is not unmerited, I am sure. Congratulations again. How ironic that I meet you on a hunt two years ago, and now I can say that I have been on such with the Royal Huntsman himself!”
Reyna laughs merrily with Obany. “Spend much time at court and you will come to know many of the functionaries, but how sweet it is to be able to say you knew him ‘when.’”
She sips from her wine again, glancing now and then toward the door. “So. A new huntsman to replace the old; I hope you will be an honorable one, Ser Luthor. And a wedding soon as well! Obany, have you any idea when it will be? Will you both live here or at Storm’s End?”
Clearly pleased, and clearly still a bit surprised. “I am to keep my old duties as well?” he asks. The news gets better and better. He grins to Obany. “Indeed, and hopefully not the last time you hunt with him. I would be pleased to arrange a hunt for you and Tancred, or any one of my friends. And, yes, Lady Reyna. I plan to be an honorable one, and ensure those in my service, are honorable as well.”
With a smirk, Obany shrugs, “I believe I will be living in Storm’s End, though I’m not sure when that will happen, after all. Tancred has his duties here for now. As for the wedding itself… I’m not quite sure of that, either. I’ve not yet been able to see him since the tourney.” She looks to Luthor with a more soft smile, “That does seem like an excellent idea. I enjoy the riding, whilst I’m sure that he would enjoy the hunt itself.”
“I would imagine your parents and his will settle that question,” Reyna says soothingly to Obany. “You are both young, so there need be no rush. I was betrothed to Colyn for nearly a year before we wed.”
She looks then at Luthor and bends her head. “I shall hold you to it, Ser,” she says with an arched brow. “As will His Grace.”
“Then I shall see what can be done,” Luthor promises to Obany with a warm smile as he takes up his wine again. He takes a long celebratory sip, then turns to answer Reyna. “Neither his Grace, nor you shall ever have cause to doubt my word on that,” he says with a good natured, but earnest smile.
“You’re not but three years my elder, if that, my lady.” Obany grins, “I suppose that since the betrothal is out of the way, that is the most difficult part. Everything else shall follow naturally, I imagine.” She finishes off her wine and holds it up for a servant to replace. “I do look forward to a ride in the country… I’ve not left this keep in months. Despite my writing… the surroundings to get a bit old.”
“You do not want to rush too quickly,” Reyna says, not entirely indulgent now. “It looks bad, and you don’t want people staring at your belly for the next nine months and counting backwards. Because they will, trust me.”
Pennei Massey slips into the solar, quiet as a mouse. The scarred girl carries a small leather satchel over one shoulder. She pauses at the entryway, taking note of the people here.
“You should have heard the whispers at the betrothal feast, when Tancred said the wedding would be soon. I couldn’t help but grin.” Obany muses, her cup just an inch from her lips as she remembers. She comes out of her reverie to notice Pennei creeping up the stairs, smiling brightly and raising her free hand, “Pennei! Please, come and add your light to our fire. It takes the chill from the night, and I always enjoy having you near me. We also have a bit of an announcement on the part of Ser Luthor here.”
“Indeed, Tancred did cause a bit of a stir with that pronouncement. But those who know him, took it only as his eagerness to wed,” he explains with a warm grin towards Obany. Then seeing Pennei. He smiles warmly in greeting to her, before taking a sip of his wine. Waiting until the Massey maiden approaches before sharing his news.
“He does have rather a reputation for eagerness,” Reyna says in a perfectly bland voice, and she says no more. She turns her smile on Pennei and beckons her over. “Do stop creeping, Lady Pennei. No one bites here. Come and join us.”
With mincing steps, Pennei does move closer. She gives Obany a smile and moves to the Darklyn woman’s side. “Hello, Lady Obany. Congratulations once more, on your betrothal.” Her voice is a dulcet murmur, “Ser Luthor, Lady Reyna, good evening.” Another smile is given, before she ducks her head shyly once more. “What announcement, Ser Luthor?”
Luthor rises and bows as Lady Pennei, joins them, sitting again only when she does. He smiles as he passes on his news though he wonders how well she’ll like it as it has to do with one of her least favorite subjects. “Lady Reyna has just told me that his Grace, has granted me the post of Royal Huntsman, to hold along with my existing position as a knight of his household,” he explains, his smile is not quite humble, as he is simply too pleased by the news to hide it well.
Obany nods slightly as Luthor finishes up his announcement, a smirk forming on her lips again, “No need to be humble, ser. Such an achievement merits a proud stance.” Her voice reflects a bit of sarcasm on the first bit, though it’s playful. She motions for a servant to attend to Pennei’s needs, should one not have immediately sprang to. She looks to Reyna with a meaningful, mischevious little grin, “He is quite eager, you are quite correct.”
Reyna raises a brow at Obany. “Have a care,” is all she says, her tone light and warning at the same time. Then she is focused on Pennei again, regarding her almost critically. “Indeed he has been so named. He is rising rapidly in the King’s esteem.”
Pennei’s lips curve in a warm smile, glimpsed from beneath the veil of her hair used to conceal the scar. “That’s wonderful news, Ser Luthor. Congratulations to you. You’ve earned this great honor.” She takes a bit of mulled wine from a servant.
Quirking a brow at Reyna’s rebuke, Obany says nothing else, taking another drink before glancing over to Pennei as she is addressed. After her response, she looks to Ser Luthor, resting the goblet on the arm of the chair, her expression neutral for a few moments before she really looks at him, the warmth coming back to her eyes as she listens.
Taking Obany’s advice to heart, Luthor drops all pretense of being humble, and grins broadly. “Then I shall simply enjoy his Grace’s good will then,” he remarks. “For tonight. And thank you all for your kind words. I am not sure how I have come to his Grace’s notice, but I shall do my best to live up to the trust he’s put in me,” he says holding up his wine before taking a sip. As he lowers his cup he gives Pennei, a nod of thanks for her words.
“The night is yours, ser. I’m sure that we all can agree on that much.” Obany replies, having another cup of wine brought. She looks to Pennei, “I’ve not seen much of you the past few days… have you been well?”
Pennei manages a soft giggle at Luthor’s display of humility, but then notes Reyna’s critical gaze upon her and stifles the sound. A bit of color rises in her pale cheeks. “I have been well, my lady.” She replies to Obany. “Bidding farewell to kith and kin as they return to Stonedance. My aunt Doryssa will stay, however.”
Luthor raises his cup to Obany’s words. “My thanks, and I hope that is not all we can agree on,” he says and glances between her and Reyna, with a slight furrow of his brow. Not wanting any more part than that in whatever is passing between the two women he turns to Pennei. “My family has returned home as well, I miss them, but it does make for a much more peaceful time of things.”
There is a disturbance at the door, and a lean man with the face of a murderer and a gruesome scar across his neck strides up to Reyna. But she seems unafraid of him; she watches the odd series of gestures he makes and flushes crimson. “Not again!” she remarks, her poise abandoning her.
She rises rather quickly and takes the cloak the man holds out to her. “My lord husband wishes…er, he is waiting. For me.” She clears her throat and bobs a distracted curtsy. “Good night.”
Obany nods, not failing to notice the embarassment wrought upon Pennei by Reyna,
“Mm… I’ve not seen her in years. Any particular reason she’s staying?” However, just an instant after the words tumble from her lips, the man strides up to Reyna, “... I see. Be well, my lady.” She glances to the man, studying him for a moment before her eyes flit back to Reyna.
Pennei goes quite pale at the sight of the dangerous looking man, but resists the urge to fall back a step. “Good evening, my lady.” She near-whispers. It isn’t until after the scarred man and the Saltcliffe lady depart does she comment, “Doryssa has become one of Princess Elaena’s ladies.” Then to Luthor, “It -has- been quieter in the apartments, true.”
Luthor rises and bows as Lady Reyna departs. His previously pleased expression replaced with one of concern. “Good night, my lady,” he says, his voice pleasant enough. “Once again, my thanks for bringing this good news.” Then as she departs he sits again and looks at his remaining companions. “That was odd,” he remarks as he takes another sip of his wine and calls for more. “And yes, how is she doing by the way Pennei?” he asks of Doryssa. He knows her only a little, but Pennei’s young aunt, was kind to him and so he is greatful. “And I’m glad it’s quieter for you, must be easier to work on your painting with out so much distraction.”
Reyna notes both reactions from the women with shrewd eyes and a faint nod. “A wife’s duties are never done,” she notes to Obany with a wry smile before she nods at the man. “I’m coming, Smiler, I’m coming. Ser Luthor, I will tell my lord Hand and His Grace that you accept. Well done of you, ser.” She smiles at him, and then really is gone, away down the stairs with the Smiler.
Obany notes the abrupt departure of Reyna quietly to herself before she looks to Pennei, “I do feel a bit more lonely now that nuncle and my siblings have left for Duskendale… though it’s not too far of a distance, it still does pain one until it becomes commonplace once again.” She looks to Luthor, smiling softly, “It does wonders for the concentration, as you say.” She holds up her fingers, wiggling them with a smirk, “Obviously.”
“Doryssa is well and enjoying her time with the Princess. She is well suited for such a thing. It keeps her busy, though, and I do not get to see as much of her.” Pennei replies, relaxing a modicum with Lady Reyna and her frightening guard have left. “And yes, it does make it quieter, good for concentration, but a little lonely, all the same.”
“I can imagine it does help one concentrate,” he says. “I wouldn’t know of course, while my family has gone, my cousin Barion remains, and he is quite enough distraction on his own,” he says but there is no bite in his word, in fact there seems to be almost paternal pride in his cousin. “Though I am sorry to hear you ladies find yourself lonely, perhaps with your family obligations complete you shall have more time to spend with each other.”
Ethos Mertyns wanders into the Solar, a loose smile on the knight’s face. He has one arms draped around his squire’s shoulders and is talking as he guides the boy into the room, “.. and you’ll make new friends, and be so much more -cultured- as a knight. How many squires have such opportunities, lad? Stop glooming so much. It will be an adventure.” The Stormlord is saying, but his pale gaze sweeps around the room and he offers an inclined chin in greeting. “Fine gathering here.”
“She is that. She’ll be having her hands full with it, but she’ll not be unhappy. When you get to feeling lonely, you’ve no reason not to come and visit me, or send for me. Chances are that I’m a bit bored with myself as well.” Obany giggles softly, taking a drink of wine before looking to Luthor, “Precisely my thinking, ser. I wonder if Lady Joleta has met her…” She trails off as Ser Ethos walks in, “How convenient. Ser Ethos, how fare you?”
Pennei freezes like a startled deer, hearing voices and footsteps, but only for an instant until she recognizes Ser Ethos. “Good evening, Ser.” She near-whispers, watching the Mertyns knight with wide blue eyes. “And you as well, squire.”
Elmer follows in Ethos’ steps. Is that chance, or something deeper. The big knight is wearing dark riding leathers and he raises a hand in salute. “Good evening.>” he reserves a smile for Obany. “Cousin…my congratulations, again.”
As Ethos joins them, Luthor wonders at the gods sense of humor, and gives a considering look to his goblet as though weighing it’s sturdiness, before glancing up and giving the Mertyns knight a smile. “Well met, ser. Halyn,” he says. Then spying Elmer, smiles broadly and waves the Crakehall over, though he need not bother, the knight joins them of his own accord. “Elmer,” Luthor greets warmly.
“Convenient? I rarely hear that when I walk into a room.” Ethos says, smirking. He gives his squire a gentle shove towards a chair, but the boy stops and offers proper bows in greeting first, far more well-mannered than his knight has ever been. “Why is my arrival convenient?” The Stormlander asks as he drops into a chair beside Luthor, though his pale eyes are still upon Obany.
Raising her goblet to the squire, Obany smiles, “Greetings, Halyn. Please, have a seat.” She looks to Ethos with a smirk, “I was just speaking of your lady wife, is all. Pennei has not met her, and both of them being my friend, I find that a pity.” As Elmer walks in as well, Obany smiles happily, “Thank you, coz. Please, have a drink, in continuation of celebration. Also, Ser Luthor has quite the announcement as well, which also deserves more congratulations.”
“Good evening, Ser Elmer.” Pennei gives the Crakehall knight a shy smile. “You rode well in the tourney, Ser.” She then glances at Luthor with another smile, so that he can enjoy imparting the news of his good fortune.
Elmer doesn’t need more encouragement to take a drink, raising it to Ethos as well, and then he grins towards Luthor. “Oh, and what mihgt that be?” he asks with a glint of curiosity in his eyes. He nods towards pennei. “Thank you my Lady.”
Luthor’s previously pleased expression is less so now, in fact, it is just shy of a frown. He seems to weigh answering the question for a moment before he comes to a decision. “His -Grace-, has chosen to favor by making me Royal Huntsman,” he says in reply to the question, managing a small smile even as he tenses for what is surely to come. “It was an unasked for honor, but as someone once said, if the King offers you something, what choice does a man have but to take it.”
Obany’s eyes flick from Luthor to Ethos, more than a bit surprised at the sudden change of tone in his most recent accolade. She takes a drink of wine, swirling it’s contents thoughtfully as she glances over to Pennei, her eyebrow quirking just slightly before she looks back to the two.
Ethos looks over at Luthor, curious himself. As the bastard knight explains the position bestowed upon him, the Stormlord’s brows arch rather high for a moment, and then a smile takes his features. “Is that so? Well, congratulations Luthor. That’s quite an honor… ” The Mistwood knight responds, then rises and takes up a cup from the table.
He continues in a cheery tone, “Let us make a toast to Ser Luthor, a fucking *bastard* of a man that’s just proven that while some knights could stand to learn more chivalry and virtuous traits, there are some that don’t have any at all. They’re nothing but lying, deceptive snakes that will speak promises in one ear while they’re coiling around your neck to strangle you. *Well* done, Luthor *Rivers*.” Sarcasm is thick enough to choke a horse.
Pennei goes very pale and very silent. She drops her gaze to her toes, looking very much like she’d like to disappear.
Luthor’s expression is actually one of relief as he listens to Ser Ethos’ words. Then when the Mertyns knight is finished, he actually laughs. There is a slightly bitter note to it to be sure, but on the surface it seems geniune enough. “I’ll drink to that,” he says raising his cup in Ethos’ direction. He’s even smiling. Though not for long. “But, mind your tounge infront of Lady Pennei and your -cousin’s- betrothed,” he warns. “And I didn’t ask for this.”
Obany turns red, though it’s not from embarrassment. She bites her well-famed tongue to keep it from lashing out upon Ser Ethos, choosing instead to remain silent. Her icy stare is unfaltering, however.
Ethos’s eyes narrow, his sarcasm moving to anger now. “Do not even -try- to use my cousin’s position and status as a threat against me, Luthor.” He says in a dark tone. “We had a -deal-!” He yells, losing his temper now as he clenches his hand into a fist to drive at Luthor’s jaw.
Pennei lets out a squeak of fright as Ethos swings at Luthor. She presses both hands to her mouth, eyes wide with terror. “Oh, no! Oh, stop!”
The bastard knight is taken entirely by surprise by Ethos’ punch. It strikes him hard in the jaw, and sends him reeling backwards in his chair. Though he keeps himself upright, and surges to his feet. “A deal?” he says voice cold, even as blood trickles from his lip. “A deal to track down honest men who simply called you a deserter? Is that the deal you’re speaking of? I never meant a word of it. I just told you those things so you wouldn’t try and take the head off the Justicar!” The rest of the room is looking now, the harpist having stopped her playing. “I urged my friends to support Janden for this post. But the king chose otherwise, deal with it.” Luthor makes no move to strike back, but stands defiantly before Ethos, tensed and waiting for another attack.
Casually taking a drink of wine, Obany sits back in her chair, her tone even, “I do hope you’re enjoying yourself, ser. You’ve not even the excuse of drink to cause such a thing.” She tips her goblet back and forth slowly as she stares at Ethos, whether he’s looking or not. “Yet another disgrace to mar your prestige, ser.”
Ethos stares at Luthor in shock, hand still curled into a fist, anger still drawing his muscles tight beneath his skin. “Is that so?...” He asks softly, his rage cold and absolute. “Playing me for the fool to get in good with the Justicar? Promising to support my friends while secretly promoting yourself? ... Are you sleeping in the roses too?! I hear that works wonders for a quick jump in station!” He says, shaking in anger. “Everything happens for a -reason- around here! I highly doubt the king chose you blindly.” He looks at Obany, “Believe what you like! He gave his word to me!”
The violence, the yelling, the accusations… all of this is too much for Pennei. The girl looks struck mute with terror.
“You may believe what you like as well, ser, but I saved your fool neck,” Luthor explaines, some fire joining the ice in his tone. “As for why I was chosen, look to my merits. Unlike you ser, I -earn- what is mine.” Boldly, put perhaps not wisely, he turns slightly from Ethos, to acknowledge Obany and Pennei. “Forgive this disturbance, and fear not Lady Obany, where Ethos goes, hitting the son of Beslon the Bad earns honors. I am sure Lord Jossart will favor him with more lands he does not deserve for it.” With that said, he bows and turns to depart. Though as he sees Pennei stricken so completely with terror. He stops. “Forgive me my lady,” he says quietly, re-thinking his departure if it leaves Pennei here with Ethos.
Reaching over to squeeze the knee of Pennei, Obany does not take her eyes from Ethos, even with Luthor’s response, though she acknowledges it with a slight nod of the head. She remains silent for now.
When Luthor turns away, Ethos moves up behind him and reaches to grab him by the shoulder to lean in close, speaking with soft malice, “Do not lecture me on -earning- things, you puss-filled pissant. I served my king and nation under Stormbreaker’s banner without fail for -years-. His banner was named ‘Revenge’ and our foes knew terror unlike any other. I have always done what I needed to. Watch your back, Rivers…” He’ll give a hard shove, then move for the door without a word to the rest.
His squire, poor Halyn Grimm, rises and offers a bow. “My apologies… lords.. ladies…” The boy stammers, then hurries out after his knight.
Pennei squeezes Obany’s hand tightly in response and she does manage a little nod to Luthor’s reassurances. She still doesn’t say anything, but watches to make sure that Ethos leaves and by the girl’s pallor, she won’t be lingering long after.
“Have a mind to your own back,” Luthor promises in a quiet voice, so as not to be heard by the laides. Then, taking the shove, for those watching, he bows to Ethos’ back. “Always a pleasure, ser.”
Then once Ethos is gone, he kneels next to Pennei, his anger seeming to be forced aside by concern. He takes her hand. “Pennei, are you alright? Should I fetch Tycella?” his way of asking her if she is about to have one of her attacks.
“He doesn’t know when to quit…” Obany lets out a breath, looking to Pennei, “It’s over now… no need to worry. I will walk with you back to your quarters, if you like… or we can do whatever you wish.” She smiles reassuringly, looking her over.
“I.. I would like to go now,” The scarred girl murmurs, not lifting her gaze from her shoes. “Please. I would like to go back to my family’s apartments.” She doesn’t seem quite like she’s on the verge of a panic attack, but she might be in the neighborhood.
Luthor lifts his eyes to Obany. “Probably best if you escort her,” he says to the Darklyn woman. His concern being that Ethos may make good on his threat sooner rather than later. Then to
Pennei he says. “It will be alright, it’s over now. Obany will see you home,” he gives her hand a gentle squeeze before letting it go.
Obany stands with a squeeze of the hand that Pennei still grasped, “Come. We’ll have you there in no time.”
Pennei rises with Obany, but not before she squeezes Luthor’s hand in return. “Thank you.” she
murmurs, politely. And she’ll be anxious to get back to her apartments.
Luthor rises to his feet, and bows to Lady Obany. “My thanks to you as well,” he says. “And my appologies to you both.” With that he lets them leave, with a final nod to Pennei before he claims his cloak and makes his own way out into the night.