He needed to leave his tower.
Academically, Cyrus knew that. In practice, it was considerably more difficult. Though he doubted Leon had intended to give him a good excuse to lock himself up for days at a time, he'd done it. But it wasn't good for him; his body couldn't handle sustained deprivation the way it once could. He had a feeling he knew why, but tried not to think much about it.
So after two all-nighters in a row, looking into everything the Inquisition's library had to offer on Reavers and alchemical blood magic—not a lot, of course—he collapsed into bed, slept for a solid twelve, dreamless hours, bathed, changed into fresh clothes, and headed down to the tavern for something to eat. There was something he wanted to do, and he supposed he could let it double as his effort to be social for the week. Maybe the month. The trek down revealed to him just how stiff he was; clearly he needed to get back to training sessions with the rest of them. The answer to Leon's problem wasn't going to be easily-found, so he should probably pace himself.
The door to the Herald's Rest swung open on well-oiled hinges. It was still only about lunchtime, meaning that the place was mostly empty, save for those that lived in the building or might as well have. That suited him just fine; he was hoping to find a particular pair of the residents. As expected, they weren't far, from each other or the entrance, and he nodded to both before going to place his order at the bar. The hollow gnawing in his stomach was impossible to ignore.
Once that was done, though, he took the basket of bread the bartender slid across to him and dropped into a seat at Zahra's table with a soft thump. She'd made it clear enough that she didn't care about the formalities anyway. “I've brought you a bribe." He indicated the basket and leaned forward, resting his cheek against his knuckles. Almost despite himself, a halfhearted smile twisted his mouth. “Don't suppose you'd let me impose my company upon you for lunch?"
“Oh, so you do know the way to my heart,” Zahra didn’t at all look displeased by the impromptu visit. For some reason or another, she also didn’t look all that surprised to see him… even though she hadn’t seen him for days. Neither did she question the reason for such a visit or comment on his general look of disarray. Though, it might’ve been in her nature to simply accept things as they came, as if she were still navigating the seas. A nattering mother, she was not.
There may have been a brief look of concern as she regarded him over the knuckle of bread she’d begun stuffing in her mouth, but it was difficult to tell. A flicker of a brow was hardly anything at all. Seeing how fanciful her expressions were, it may have been Cyrus’s imagination. A wild grin tipped up the sides of her mouth. She swallowed thickly and waved another piece of bread at him, inching closer as if they were about to share a secret. It appeared as if she certainly hoped so.
“Impose, please,” she inclined her chin towards the empty benches and gaudy pillows surrounding them, “I do enjoy company. Seems like daytime drinking isn’t very popular in this particular tavern. A shame.” This time, she tapped the bread against her chin and swung it in a lazy circle towards the bowl of bread, “But you look particularly famished. You sure that’s all you want?”
He snorted softly. “My nefarious plan has been found out. I come with ulterior motives. I usually do." He pulled one of the soft rolls out of the basket himself, tearing a chunk off with his fingers before popping it into his mouth. Even something so simple seemed to have more flavor than he would have expected, slightly sweet and yeasty. Probably an effect of his hunger.
“Nothing too demanding though—in fact, I suspect it may be right up your alley. I need help pulling the wool over my dear Stellulam's eyes for a bit." He paused. “Actually..." He lifted his head, directing his eyes at Vesryn. The tilt of his head that followed was a clear invitation. “Three heads are better than one, I should think."
"That sounds like just the sort of thing I should be involved in," Vesryn agreed, rising from his own nearby table, bringing a cup with him. Just water, from the looks of it. Probably wise, if he was intending to survive his training time later with Stel and Khari. He sank down into a seat on one of the table's free edges. He was bereft of his armor, and without even a cloak, an advantage only made possible by the fact that he lived only a short distance above their heads where they sat. The tavern was kept comfortably warm, and he was Fereldan besides. A hardy sort.
"Good to see you, by the way," he added, in Cyrus's direction. "I'd been meaning to come by for a little while the next time I noticed something change, but..." he shrugged. "Still the same." He sounded quite pleased about it, obviously speaking of Saraya. "In any case, what are we planning and how can I help?"
Zahra’s eyebrows inched up a fraction as she deposited the bread she’d been playing with back into the bowl. She, too, leaned her cheek into her hand. Awaiting a proper answer. There was no doubt she’d be on board for this particular event as well. Fortunately, it wasn’t often she objected to partaking in anything that might be important. Or otherwise, probably. “Less dreamy this time, I hope.”
“Much less. A surprise party, as it happens." Cyrus polished off the roll in his hand before he elaborated. “Stellulam's birthday is on Firstday, which is something I doubt anyone but me knows, because she doesn't like drawing attention to herself in the manner that usually suggests." He leaned back in his chair, firm wood pressing into his back with a slight creak. “But... considering that we're effectively snowed in for the winter up here anyway, and how hard she and everyone else have been working... I thought an opportunity to forget about all of it for a night might be in order."
There were certainly some things he could stand to forget for a while, but that wasn't his primary objective. It was... difficult to explain, even to himself, but he wanted to do this for her. Support her in one of the few ways that came naturally to him. And Cyrus knew, whatever else might be true of him, he could plan. And deceive, so as to keep it surprising. For the rest of it, though, he'd need some help.
“So suggestions on how to go about this would be much appreciated. And of course you'll have to keep it to yourselves for a while." He smiled a little more easily. Firstday was still more than a month away, after all.
"Her birthday is on Firstday?" Vesryn repeated, a bit amused by the information. "And yours too, naturally. She certainly never told me, so it's probably safe to assume it's just us that know now." He hummed to himself in thought, rubbing his hands together for a moment, obviously quite interested in the idea. The tavern door opened, letting in a breath of uncomfortably cold air along with a pair of Inquisition soldiers.
Vesryn waited for them to pass, before lowering his voice slightly and leaning into the table. "Well... I imagine there'll be a fair amount of celebrating going on already for Firstday. Commemoration of the year past." It went without saying that 9:42 had more than earned a drink, either in celebration or to forget. It had been a very long year, with ups and downs for everyone, some sinking lower more often than others. "Seems it would be easy enough for me to get her down here in the evening after everyone's prepared. Not sure I could pull it off, though. She's very intuitive, and has informed me that my Graceface needs a lot of work."
“We’re celebrating two birthdays? That’s twice the fun,” Zahra’s murmur sounded far too excited and by the growing grin on her face, she certainly had ideas of her own. She inclined her head in Vesryn’s direction and scratched at her chin, “Maybe invite her to dine with you? Say that there’s a roast boar special. On the house, in order to celebrate.” She didn’t seem all that concerned with Vesryn’s ability to bring her to the Herald’s Rest without spilling his guts. Graceface or no, it appeared as if she was certain they’d be able to pull it off without Stellulam finding out their little ruse.
She already seemed as if she were barely containing herself. Jiggling her foot underneath the table, and dropping her cheek from her hand in order to lean in further. Plotting grand things for grand occasions seemed fitting for someone like her. Whether or not she had good ideas was anyone’s guess. “Leave the festivities to me.” Her eyes rolled towards the ceiling as she counted off her fingers. “Caskets of sweet ales. Kegs of wines. Maybe even honeyed wyvern wings… instruments and dancing and singing. There has to be dancing. Oh, and cake!” At the last finger, she offered a wry wink, “There’s nothing that can’t be imported.”
There was a pause in her breathless tirade, as she straightened her shoulders, “Since it’s your birthday too, and the surprise has already been very ruined… do you have any requests?”
It sort of figured that Zahra would be extremely enthusiastic at the prospect of a party. Cyrus shook his head slightly, moving one of his arms over the back of his chair. “I suppose I'll leave you in charge of the imports, then. I don't have any requests in particular." He paused. “But I do mean this to be for Estella. Too much in our lives has already been about me." Something he was growing increasingly conscious of, even if some part of him had always known. “There's a particular brandy she likes; I'll get you the information on the off-chance you can get ahold of it."
At that point, the waitress interrupted with his lunch, so Cyrus paused. Once she'd departed again, he returned his attention to his co-conspirators. “The finer details can wait, but... thank you. I appreciate the assistance; I'm certain she will as well."
“Of course, we’ll make sure it’s one she never forgets.” Even if it sounded like it, there was no foreboding in that statement. It was clear that Zahra was going to put in the extra effort to do something for Stellulam—one that she intended to see through right away, by the looks of it. She patted the table and stood up abruptly, eyeing her fellow accomplices, “Right then. I’ve got some ravens to send and a crew to bribe, I’ll see you two later.”
She swung herself from the bench and toppled over a few tasseled pillows in her wake, only halting just behind Cyrus’s chair to squeeze one of his shoulders. “Do try to keep yourself fed. I could hear your belly singing its own song all the way here.” A snort followed before her clopping footsteps retreated out the door.
Cyrus grimaced at her retreating back, rolling his eyes a bit. He had no doubt she meant well, though, so he was far from upset. Despite his ravenous appetite, he cut into the slab of lamb on his plate carefully and methodically before he started eating. “I'm glad to hear nothing is worsening." He glanced at Vesryn, the subject obvious enough. “I'd wondered, after the incident in the Graves." That demon hadn't been as powerful as Nightmare, but its control over its limited domain had been nearly as absolute.
He pursed his lips. There was a question he wanted to ask here, but it wasn't the most comfortable one. “I don't need details, but... is Stellulam all right? She would not tell me much of what she saw there. There are very few things she won't discuss with me, and when one of them comes up, I... well." He worried. Obviously. He'd have to be heartless not to, and he didn't think he'd ever quite become that.
"I think she is," he answered, though his tone did not give absolute certainty to the statement. "Between the way the ambush on the Red Templars turned out and that demon, it was anything but an easy time. But she doesn't let these things keep her down for very long. And if it's Loneliness that got to her, I have to imagine that what we're plotting here will help with that." He settled an elbow on the table, working his fingers through his hair behind his neck, his expression thoughtful.
"And I've been spending just about as much time as I dare with her. She does have all that work to do, so I can't be bothering her all the time. But it's been good, so far." He smiled a bit at the thought. "Very good, for both of us I think."
Cyrus considered that for a moment, dipping his chin just a fraction. “I suppose I'm expected to have something to say about that." His tone, he thought, made it fairly clear that it was only an idle musing. “But the truth is, I'm just grateful to you." He pushed a deep breath out his nose, spearing some kind of sprout vegetable on his fork. “Sometimes, with us, there's... too much history. Everything we say to each other has a lot of layers to it. A lot behind it. I can't—" he paused. “It's difficult for me to just straightforwardly support her. Much as I want to. If that makes any sense at all."
He chewed over the sprouts, swallowing a little too soon and flinching. “I don't know that it will ever prove useful, but if you should feel that you've hit a wall with her, I might have some insight. Better to ask her directly, of course, but as I said... there are some things she may not be willing to talk about." He lifted his shoulders. He didn't really have much to offer by way of gratitude, but at least he could offer advice in the unlikely event it was needed. One didn't have to be particularly savvy to tell that they did well by each other. He wanted that to work out for them.
"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." He was obviously giving the subject the respect it was due. It wasn't hard at all to see that it was important to him. "We've... been going at her pace. With the talking, too. I've been trying not to pry on the things she doesn't want to talk about, and trust that I've been helping with the rest just by being the fool that I am. So far it seems to be going very well." He took a drink from his cup, pausing for a moment. "I, uh... I know there's likely to be complications from this, down the road. Pointed ears have a way of drawing pointed words from the narrow minded. I suppose if there's anything I don't know how to deal with, it's that." He shrugged, as though he didn't believe it was all that important. Or rather, it shouldn't be all that important.
He wasn't wrong, of course. “Can't say I've ever had to deal with that." Cyrus had suspected the truth about his parents for quite some time before it had been confirmed, but there simply weren't any physical signs to give away what he was. He certainly didn't intend to tell anyone. But he knew well enough how such things were received. Especially in the upper echelons of society, where lineage was exceedingly important.
“You're insulated a bit, at least. Stellulam's importance here has much less to do with her reputation than her mark." Even if both were shortsighted ways to understand her worth, there was a certain benefit in it not having anything to do with her nobility or social standing directly. “In my own experience, nobles are best treated like sharks. Don't let them smell your blood. Even if something hits, act like it doesn't. No one likes to fail repeatedly, so most will leave you alone after a while." What they would do indirectly was harder to say, but also not something he could really predict.
“Whatever you do... don't let them ruin your happiness. There's little enough of it to go around as it is."
"Something we'll help rectify on Firstday, with any luck." Vesryn grinned. "Even if Stel sniffs out my ruse before lunch."
Cyrus found himself smiling back. “Do try not to ruin everything. I don't know if Zahra would forgive you if all her work wasn't a surprise."
Academically, Cyrus knew that. In practice, it was considerably more difficult. Though he doubted Leon had intended to give him a good excuse to lock himself up for days at a time, he'd done it. But it wasn't good for him; his body couldn't handle sustained deprivation the way it once could. He had a feeling he knew why, but tried not to think much about it.
So after two all-nighters in a row, looking into everything the Inquisition's library had to offer on Reavers and alchemical blood magic—not a lot, of course—he collapsed into bed, slept for a solid twelve, dreamless hours, bathed, changed into fresh clothes, and headed down to the tavern for something to eat. There was something he wanted to do, and he supposed he could let it double as his effort to be social for the week. Maybe the month. The trek down revealed to him just how stiff he was; clearly he needed to get back to training sessions with the rest of them. The answer to Leon's problem wasn't going to be easily-found, so he should probably pace himself.
The door to the Herald's Rest swung open on well-oiled hinges. It was still only about lunchtime, meaning that the place was mostly empty, save for those that lived in the building or might as well have. That suited him just fine; he was hoping to find a particular pair of the residents. As expected, they weren't far, from each other or the entrance, and he nodded to both before going to place his order at the bar. The hollow gnawing in his stomach was impossible to ignore.
Once that was done, though, he took the basket of bread the bartender slid across to him and dropped into a seat at Zahra's table with a soft thump. She'd made it clear enough that she didn't care about the formalities anyway. “I've brought you a bribe." He indicated the basket and leaned forward, resting his cheek against his knuckles. Almost despite himself, a halfhearted smile twisted his mouth. “Don't suppose you'd let me impose my company upon you for lunch?"
“Oh, so you do know the way to my heart,” Zahra didn’t at all look displeased by the impromptu visit. For some reason or another, she also didn’t look all that surprised to see him… even though she hadn’t seen him for days. Neither did she question the reason for such a visit or comment on his general look of disarray. Though, it might’ve been in her nature to simply accept things as they came, as if she were still navigating the seas. A nattering mother, she was not.
There may have been a brief look of concern as she regarded him over the knuckle of bread she’d begun stuffing in her mouth, but it was difficult to tell. A flicker of a brow was hardly anything at all. Seeing how fanciful her expressions were, it may have been Cyrus’s imagination. A wild grin tipped up the sides of her mouth. She swallowed thickly and waved another piece of bread at him, inching closer as if they were about to share a secret. It appeared as if she certainly hoped so.
“Impose, please,” she inclined her chin towards the empty benches and gaudy pillows surrounding them, “I do enjoy company. Seems like daytime drinking isn’t very popular in this particular tavern. A shame.” This time, she tapped the bread against her chin and swung it in a lazy circle towards the bowl of bread, “But you look particularly famished. You sure that’s all you want?”
He snorted softly. “My nefarious plan has been found out. I come with ulterior motives. I usually do." He pulled one of the soft rolls out of the basket himself, tearing a chunk off with his fingers before popping it into his mouth. Even something so simple seemed to have more flavor than he would have expected, slightly sweet and yeasty. Probably an effect of his hunger.
“Nothing too demanding though—in fact, I suspect it may be right up your alley. I need help pulling the wool over my dear Stellulam's eyes for a bit." He paused. “Actually..." He lifted his head, directing his eyes at Vesryn. The tilt of his head that followed was a clear invitation. “Three heads are better than one, I should think."
"That sounds like just the sort of thing I should be involved in," Vesryn agreed, rising from his own nearby table, bringing a cup with him. Just water, from the looks of it. Probably wise, if he was intending to survive his training time later with Stel and Khari. He sank down into a seat on one of the table's free edges. He was bereft of his armor, and without even a cloak, an advantage only made possible by the fact that he lived only a short distance above their heads where they sat. The tavern was kept comfortably warm, and he was Fereldan besides. A hardy sort.
"Good to see you, by the way," he added, in Cyrus's direction. "I'd been meaning to come by for a little while the next time I noticed something change, but..." he shrugged. "Still the same." He sounded quite pleased about it, obviously speaking of Saraya. "In any case, what are we planning and how can I help?"
Zahra’s eyebrows inched up a fraction as she deposited the bread she’d been playing with back into the bowl. She, too, leaned her cheek into her hand. Awaiting a proper answer. There was no doubt she’d be on board for this particular event as well. Fortunately, it wasn’t often she objected to partaking in anything that might be important. Or otherwise, probably. “Less dreamy this time, I hope.”
“Much less. A surprise party, as it happens." Cyrus polished off the roll in his hand before he elaborated. “Stellulam's birthday is on Firstday, which is something I doubt anyone but me knows, because she doesn't like drawing attention to herself in the manner that usually suggests." He leaned back in his chair, firm wood pressing into his back with a slight creak. “But... considering that we're effectively snowed in for the winter up here anyway, and how hard she and everyone else have been working... I thought an opportunity to forget about all of it for a night might be in order."
There were certainly some things he could stand to forget for a while, but that wasn't his primary objective. It was... difficult to explain, even to himself, but he wanted to do this for her. Support her in one of the few ways that came naturally to him. And Cyrus knew, whatever else might be true of him, he could plan. And deceive, so as to keep it surprising. For the rest of it, though, he'd need some help.
“So suggestions on how to go about this would be much appreciated. And of course you'll have to keep it to yourselves for a while." He smiled a little more easily. Firstday was still more than a month away, after all.
"Her birthday is on Firstday?" Vesryn repeated, a bit amused by the information. "And yours too, naturally. She certainly never told me, so it's probably safe to assume it's just us that know now." He hummed to himself in thought, rubbing his hands together for a moment, obviously quite interested in the idea. The tavern door opened, letting in a breath of uncomfortably cold air along with a pair of Inquisition soldiers.
Vesryn waited for them to pass, before lowering his voice slightly and leaning into the table. "Well... I imagine there'll be a fair amount of celebrating going on already for Firstday. Commemoration of the year past." It went without saying that 9:42 had more than earned a drink, either in celebration or to forget. It had been a very long year, with ups and downs for everyone, some sinking lower more often than others. "Seems it would be easy enough for me to get her down here in the evening after everyone's prepared. Not sure I could pull it off, though. She's very intuitive, and has informed me that my Graceface needs a lot of work."
“We’re celebrating two birthdays? That’s twice the fun,” Zahra’s murmur sounded far too excited and by the growing grin on her face, she certainly had ideas of her own. She inclined her head in Vesryn’s direction and scratched at her chin, “Maybe invite her to dine with you? Say that there’s a roast boar special. On the house, in order to celebrate.” She didn’t seem all that concerned with Vesryn’s ability to bring her to the Herald’s Rest without spilling his guts. Graceface or no, it appeared as if she was certain they’d be able to pull it off without Stellulam finding out their little ruse.
She already seemed as if she were barely containing herself. Jiggling her foot underneath the table, and dropping her cheek from her hand in order to lean in further. Plotting grand things for grand occasions seemed fitting for someone like her. Whether or not she had good ideas was anyone’s guess. “Leave the festivities to me.” Her eyes rolled towards the ceiling as she counted off her fingers. “Caskets of sweet ales. Kegs of wines. Maybe even honeyed wyvern wings… instruments and dancing and singing. There has to be dancing. Oh, and cake!” At the last finger, she offered a wry wink, “There’s nothing that can’t be imported.”
There was a pause in her breathless tirade, as she straightened her shoulders, “Since it’s your birthday too, and the surprise has already been very ruined… do you have any requests?”
It sort of figured that Zahra would be extremely enthusiastic at the prospect of a party. Cyrus shook his head slightly, moving one of his arms over the back of his chair. “I suppose I'll leave you in charge of the imports, then. I don't have any requests in particular." He paused. “But I do mean this to be for Estella. Too much in our lives has already been about me." Something he was growing increasingly conscious of, even if some part of him had always known. “There's a particular brandy she likes; I'll get you the information on the off-chance you can get ahold of it."
At that point, the waitress interrupted with his lunch, so Cyrus paused. Once she'd departed again, he returned his attention to his co-conspirators. “The finer details can wait, but... thank you. I appreciate the assistance; I'm certain she will as well."
“Of course, we’ll make sure it’s one she never forgets.” Even if it sounded like it, there was no foreboding in that statement. It was clear that Zahra was going to put in the extra effort to do something for Stellulam—one that she intended to see through right away, by the looks of it. She patted the table and stood up abruptly, eyeing her fellow accomplices, “Right then. I’ve got some ravens to send and a crew to bribe, I’ll see you two later.”
She swung herself from the bench and toppled over a few tasseled pillows in her wake, only halting just behind Cyrus’s chair to squeeze one of his shoulders. “Do try to keep yourself fed. I could hear your belly singing its own song all the way here.” A snort followed before her clopping footsteps retreated out the door.
Cyrus grimaced at her retreating back, rolling his eyes a bit. He had no doubt she meant well, though, so he was far from upset. Despite his ravenous appetite, he cut into the slab of lamb on his plate carefully and methodically before he started eating. “I'm glad to hear nothing is worsening." He glanced at Vesryn, the subject obvious enough. “I'd wondered, after the incident in the Graves." That demon hadn't been as powerful as Nightmare, but its control over its limited domain had been nearly as absolute.
He pursed his lips. There was a question he wanted to ask here, but it wasn't the most comfortable one. “I don't need details, but... is Stellulam all right? She would not tell me much of what she saw there. There are very few things she won't discuss with me, and when one of them comes up, I... well." He worried. Obviously. He'd have to be heartless not to, and he didn't think he'd ever quite become that.
"I think she is," he answered, though his tone did not give absolute certainty to the statement. "Between the way the ambush on the Red Templars turned out and that demon, it was anything but an easy time. But she doesn't let these things keep her down for very long. And if it's Loneliness that got to her, I have to imagine that what we're plotting here will help with that." He settled an elbow on the table, working his fingers through his hair behind his neck, his expression thoughtful.
"And I've been spending just about as much time as I dare with her. She does have all that work to do, so I can't be bothering her all the time. But it's been good, so far." He smiled a bit at the thought. "Very good, for both of us I think."
Cyrus considered that for a moment, dipping his chin just a fraction. “I suppose I'm expected to have something to say about that." His tone, he thought, made it fairly clear that it was only an idle musing. “But the truth is, I'm just grateful to you." He pushed a deep breath out his nose, spearing some kind of sprout vegetable on his fork. “Sometimes, with us, there's... too much history. Everything we say to each other has a lot of layers to it. A lot behind it. I can't—" he paused. “It's difficult for me to just straightforwardly support her. Much as I want to. If that makes any sense at all."
He chewed over the sprouts, swallowing a little too soon and flinching. “I don't know that it will ever prove useful, but if you should feel that you've hit a wall with her, I might have some insight. Better to ask her directly, of course, but as I said... there are some things she may not be willing to talk about." He lifted his shoulders. He didn't really have much to offer by way of gratitude, but at least he could offer advice in the unlikely event it was needed. One didn't have to be particularly savvy to tell that they did well by each other. He wanted that to work out for them.
"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind." He was obviously giving the subject the respect it was due. It wasn't hard at all to see that it was important to him. "We've... been going at her pace. With the talking, too. I've been trying not to pry on the things she doesn't want to talk about, and trust that I've been helping with the rest just by being the fool that I am. So far it seems to be going very well." He took a drink from his cup, pausing for a moment. "I, uh... I know there's likely to be complications from this, down the road. Pointed ears have a way of drawing pointed words from the narrow minded. I suppose if there's anything I don't know how to deal with, it's that." He shrugged, as though he didn't believe it was all that important. Or rather, it shouldn't be all that important.
He wasn't wrong, of course. “Can't say I've ever had to deal with that." Cyrus had suspected the truth about his parents for quite some time before it had been confirmed, but there simply weren't any physical signs to give away what he was. He certainly didn't intend to tell anyone. But he knew well enough how such things were received. Especially in the upper echelons of society, where lineage was exceedingly important.
“You're insulated a bit, at least. Stellulam's importance here has much less to do with her reputation than her mark." Even if both were shortsighted ways to understand her worth, there was a certain benefit in it not having anything to do with her nobility or social standing directly. “In my own experience, nobles are best treated like sharks. Don't let them smell your blood. Even if something hits, act like it doesn't. No one likes to fail repeatedly, so most will leave you alone after a while." What they would do indirectly was harder to say, but also not something he could really predict.
“Whatever you do... don't let them ruin your happiness. There's little enough of it to go around as it is."
"Something we'll help rectify on Firstday, with any luck." Vesryn grinned. "Even if Stel sniffs out my ruse before lunch."
Cyrus found himself smiling back. “Do try not to ruin everything. I don't know if Zahra would forgive you if all her work wasn't a surprise."