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"They will march."
She bows her head silently in acknowledgment.
The pale fog rising from the bowls solidifies into an ethereal image of a young man: delicately chiselled features, thick white hair, high cheekbones.
"We would prefer to have the cooperation of the city of Whitestone for this undertaking. This boy ... you have met him?"
She feels something cold whisper over the back of her neck, a sudden burst of memories, ... Percival's glasses in pale moonlight ... the flash of his gun ... black blood and blacker powder stains ... his teeth gleaming red in the firelight. Softly, softly now.
"I have met him briefly. I'm not sure what insight I might provide."
For long moments the black in the eyes of her mistress seems to leak into the world, seep through her skin and bones and fill the inside of her head with ice needles. Then her scrutiny relaxes and there is a sound like rustling leaves.
It takes her a moment to recognize that the old woman is laughing.
"Clever girl and clever boy. Both so hungry, so full of trade and compromise. So full of contract. You will do nicely. Yes you will."
Her Mistress's gaze drops back to the oracle bones in her lap, toying with them, lost in thought. Just as she begins to wonder if the old hag's attention has wandered, the ancient, albino tiefling speaks again.
"You will be part of the delegation to visit Whitestone. You will take a letter of mine to him. Albrecht will lead the escort: Asulema will want the honor of leading the negotiations. Betram might just be stupid enough to give it to her, if only to shut her up."
The corners of her mouth twitch in amusement.
"The Lord of Masks and Rolling Dice will be pleased."
"You will be my eye and ear in this undertaking. Be ready tomorrow at first light. Go now child, you have much to prepare."
Lilith bows deeply and walks backwards out of the courtyard, the skull like grin of the hunter's moon in the sky above following her movements.
This is the Court of Shades and Midnight.
Knowing when to ask pointed questions and when to obey immediately is a fine and deadly art.
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