Session 15 — Dinner with the In-Laws
Winter pressed close against Valinport, the kind of cold that made even wealthy stone houses feel like they were holding their breath. The Blades of Strangeways had no choice but to play along with the city’s newest, strangest game: etiquette, appearances… and betrothals.
Lady Kael’s Garden
Before the dinner, Leda Gebhart went to see Lady Serina Kael.
Lady Kael sat in her garden with tea in hand, a brazier burning nearby for warmth, her calm the sort that made other people feel like they were the ones being watched. Leda admitted what she rarely admitted out loud—she was worried. Not about monsters or magic, but about looking wrong in front of the wrong people. She asked for etiquette training. She asked for help smoothing the open hostility between the Veylins and the rest of their orbit—especially High Seeker Oliver Veylin.
Lady Kael listened, measured, and dangerous in her politeness. She spoke plainly: Zel Cunningham was to be betrothed to someone. Not Leda’s intent. Not Leda’s plan. But the current had already started to pull.
Corwin Thorne, naturally, pressed Lady Kael for details—questions about the betrothal, the politics behind it, who was moving which pieces. Lady Kael offered little, but her confidence suggested she’d already spoken with the right people.
Somewhere nearby, Lady Kael’s head butler spoke quietly to her—too far away to hear, close enough to know it mattered.
And Lady Kael, with the casual ease of someone discussing weather, mentioned she’d played dice with Lady Merissa Veylin. They’d spoken about Leda. Lady Veylin had accepted quickly. Almost too quickly.
Madam Doren’s Shop
Zel went to Madam Doren first—patching the holes in her story about where her finery came from, promising to buy a dress later as a peace offering for the trouble.
Then the rest began to assemble into something presentable.
Mol Potts cleaned himself up like a man trying to scrub “alchemy gremlin” out of his reputation. Lady Kael’s help meant Leda would have an easier time in society tonight—an invisible advantage, the kind nobles used like knives.
Leda and Corwin went to Madam Doren as well.
Zel was already there, being fitted for something that didn’t look like a dress so much as a spell given fabric: ethereal layers that shimmered when she moved, off-the-shoulder sleeves like wisps of spirit-light, a gradient of sunrise gold and rose at the bodice fading into violet and midnight at the hem—life and death braided together in thread. Silver and opal glimmered through it like starlight. Embroidery showed blooming flowers entwined with skeletal vines, prophecy and inevitability stitched into elegance.
Madam Doren dismissed Corwin and Zel with a sharpness that felt like privacy, and then—without apology—used magic to refine Zel’s gown.
Leda’s own dress was sunflower yellow, a sunset in cloth that made her bright red hair look like the sun itself, and at the base of the skirt: midnight tones like the night coming in.
Corwin acquired new finishing touches—a fresh pocket square, a tie—and arranged the carriage.
Then it was time.
Dinner at the Veylins’
Ophelia Gebhart (Mayor) and Bastian Gebhart (Herbalist) were already there.
Then Calen Veylin arrived wearing what could only be described as fashion crimes, as though he’d been dressed by someone who hated him but respected the idea of clothing.
Lady Merissa Veylin entered in all black, her presence mechanical—precise, polite, distant.
And finally High Seeker Oliver Veylin arrived in black robes with a stern, carved expression—less a host than a judgment.
Calen greeted Zel. Merissa spoke with rehearsed courtesy. Ophelia, as always, found a way to turn the evening into a discussion of legacy—mentioning, loudly, that Leda would give heirs to their family.
Zel’s look of pity landed like a thrown dagger.
Mol congratulated them in his own way—wondering aloud what her “cubs” would look like.
Corwin watched the High Seeker. Oliver wasn’t simply displeased. He looked like a man carrying another weight entirely.
Leda did what she had to: keep things moving, keep the table from becoming a battlefield.
Seating
High Seeker Oliver took the north end of the table. Lady Merissa sat opposite at the south.
Bastian, Ophelia, Leda, Corwin took one side.
Zel, Torvold Alric, and Corwin (in the shifting logic of crowded noble seating and half-notes) held the other.
Mol was relegated to the children’s table with Nicola Gebhart and Emmy Gebhart—a punishment disguised as hospitality.
First Course
A salmon tartare, pickled vegetable salad, and sweet wine.
At the children’s table Mol ate a dinner roll and drank apple juice like a man pretending he belonged. He chatted with Nicola and Emmy, learning that Ophelia had been on her way to visit Leda when word of the dinner arrived—meaning this entire night had snapped into existence fast.
Corwin talked quietly with Lady Veylin about the dice games she played with Lady Kael. Then, in a hushed aside, he told her the truth: Zel was to be betrothed.
Calen heard none of this. Calen was telling Leda about his soldiers. He talked proudly about elves as his “favorite,” like they were hunting trophies. He owned a teddy bear named Mr. Snufflesworth, which somehow made him both more ridiculous and more unsettling.
Calen asked for more wine. He wasn’t allowed.
So he took Leda’s second glass instead.
Second Course
A traditional meat pie—lamb or beef with potato, braided top, fragrant enough to make even tension smell hungry. Dark red wine.
Mol and the children ate breaded chicken, baked potatoes, chocolate milk.
Torvold ate slowly, politely, the way a trained soldier pretends he isn’t watching every door.
Calen grew drunker. He began to talk openly about dancing with Zel.
Lady Veylin shut it down cleanly: Zel was betrothed to someone else.
Calen stood up and left.
On the way out, he hit the baked Alaska.
Zel kept her wine down, but only barely.
High Seeker Oliver left the table after him—“man to man,” the kind of phrase that always meant pressure applied behind closed doors.
The Aftermath
Mol did what Mol does: tried to fix things with food and awkward sincerity.
He fetched Nicola and Emmy slices of baked Alaska, then carried two more slices to find Calen.
Calen was sobbing.
Mol sat with him anyway.
High Seeker Oliver, when he appeared, was less furious than usual. The edges of him looked tired, not softened—just strained.
Calen bragged about his eighteen soldiers. Claimed men always win over elves.
Mol tried to make an impression. It didn’t land.
When Oliver returned to the dining room, he announced something that cut through the air like a snapped cord:
Madam Doren would not be making Zel any more dresses.
Torvold’s hand moved—subtle, controlled. A knife vanished into his sleeve.
Calen and Mol returned. Calen sat gingerly like his own shame had bruises.
Mol drifted back to the children’s table, talking with the Gebhart kids, smiling in the way people smile when they’re trying not to show their teeth.
Leda watched Lady Merissa Veylin more carefully now.
Something was wrong. Something she couldn’t name. Not in Merissa’s posture or face—those were too practiced—but in what leaked through the cracks: displeasure at her husband, fear of him, or resentment sharp enough to hide behind silk.
Zel was slightly drunk. Leda borrowed pen and paper like she needed to anchor herself to something normal.
And then the night turned—hard.
Lady Kael’s Offer
After dinner, the party went to Lady Kael.
She didn’t waste time on pleasantries.
The Elf Hunters had taken Madam Doren to the Black Tower.
Lady Kael wanted her out.
Not tomorrow. Not eventually. Now.
The plan was ugly and specific:
- get to the backside of the Blacktower, where defenses were lighter
- enter through the sewer system
- bypass a guardpost
- locate the correct detention block
- get past a locked door
- extract Madam Doren without raising suspicion
Payment: 100 gp each for securing her safety.
And if they found evidence—real evidence—Lady Kael promised something far rarer than gold:
free passage anywhere in the world.
Then Lady Kael laid out the tools she could provide—quietly, like she was listing ingredients:
- Shrink (2)
- Humanoid Form (2)
- Darkvision
- Darkness
The kind of magic that didn’t win a fight.
The kind that let you survive the parts no one talked about.
And just like that, the Blades of Strangeways were no longer navigating awkward dinners and cruel etiquette.
They were planning a break-in.
Into the Black Tower.
Next Session Reminders
- Madam Doren is in the Black Tower — extraction mission begins
- The Veylins are tightening their grip (and Calen is cracking)
- Lady Kael is moving pieces fast — and paying well
- Torvold is armed, watching, and ready to escalate
- Zel’s betrothal is becoming a noose, not a rumor