Minutes later Order and Pitch, along with his wife, Tylvania, are subject to some fine massages in Liefholn’s royal five star spa.

“-and latter to that he uttered, ‘of what drink do you speak of, chap? All here I see are adolescants!’ Pitch says, finishing his joke. Order puffs her cheeks ungraciously in humor, a side of her only seen if one were a good friend of hers.

“Wow, yeah, that’s a good one. That actually happened?” Order asks, lying on her stomach as an elf rolls his soft knuckles along her shoulder blades.

“Most verily so. Is it not so, my Sun?” Pitch asks, looking over to his left to meet his wife’ aqua-marine colored eyes. Tylvania hums positively, too distracted with the feeling of her masseuse’s hands to pay that much attention to the conversation.

“I guess pubs haven’t changed a bit. Lively as ever, I’m sure.”

“You aren’t for libations?” Pitch asks with a squinted eye.

Order exaggerates her reach to her glass of fairy wine. “Only when on duty and at home,” she says, her cheeks no rosier for wear, though she must have put down at least three already.

The three share a quick laugh just as one of the fairy officials peeks into the spa with an incriminating glare to Pitch.

“Most true, most true. Now one moment as I collect my thoughts.” Pitch pauses a moment, sobering up his expression. “Would you like to, perhaps, initiate our talks? While jovial things are fast more fair, tis these weighty matters we must soon discuss for the good of those we watch over,” Pitch says, raising himself to lean on his forearms. Finishing her glass Order just takes a gulp from the bottle of wine provided for her and then does the same.

“Alright. Speak your mind, what’re your thoughts on this?”

“Lo, I shall discuss frankly. I hold no animosity to your order, dear Order. Rayda’s knights have ever been trusted friends to our people, from the first day the name of Chaos was written in the blackest parts of our souls, to all the days the dragons attempted to devour what we loved, you were steadfast, and held all of our oppositions under the same blade; a lover of the common cause. While our friendship is good, I worry of the nations you look after. As you have lived longer than any of their kings or lords, so is your wisdom greater. I feel that, perhaps their people have grown tireless, and seek the thrill of blood and conquest. While I would fast dismiss these blood sheddings as those of simple criminal mad-men, the thought that they would come here to do it, and showing such alliance to these nations in question on their person, drives suspicion into me, but not of your peoples. There is some outside vagrant orchestrating these attacks, but we are of need to prove such a theory. Even should I be certain they were clean of this blood, my people would think differently. You know well how easily the hearts of us longevai creatures are swayed; I feel they would ask for death just the same. If war is to be prevented between the kingdom of the forest and the kingdoms of the plains, the swamps, the snow, and the steppes, you and your men must find the identities of our secret foes who have likely planned these grim palings. Understand my words, do you?” Pitch explains, locking his eyes, alight with the glow of fireflies, to Order’s own, shining a duteous golden-yellow. Order nods.

“We’ll do all we can to prevent the war. I’ve seen enough to know it could have been humans from the kingdoms, but like you I’m doubtful. Once we finish our investigation, we’ll know for sure.”

“Very good. I am curious: would there be any reason you can muster in your mind as to why your dear Western Kingdoms would send killers in such a delicate time? For the record’s sake.”

“No. Your people may not be quite privy to it, but right now the W.K.D.R. is in the middle of a crippling war with the Ulterian Empire.”

Pitch draws back. “Those sloven cowards with the death sticks?”

Order smirks. “We call them firearms, and yeah. So that said it would be ridiculous for them to send people covered in their insignia to commit crimes; whoever did this must take us for fools .... Also I’m curious. You yourself said this is a delicate time? Is something happening aside from the crimes?” Order asks. Pitch sighs and waves away the servants. The fairy folk quietly file out of the room, including the watchful eye of the court-noble watching them. Everyone steps off, leaving Order, Pitch, and Tylvania.

“The High Tea is on the night of tomorrow’s breath. Should there be any assailant, or one to interrupt, we will have missed the grandest opportunity we’ve been offered in centuries,” Pitch says with a solemn look, staring out the window. Order’s gaze intensifies in shocked realization. Of course there had to be a reason behind all of this.

“The High Tea; I’ve read of it: an event that happens every few thousands of years in which a creature from an unreachable dimension comes and answers the questions of the first person to meet with it, right?” Order asks, making sure she has the right event in mind; after all, it’s not often she interacts with fairies, so she might have forgotten. Pitch nods.

“Your mind is as sharp as the chill of Winter, dear knightess. A first-realmer will descend to our heavenly cube and teach one blessed individual its great knowledge. Should the events and greatness of our planet be gold, this is one moment greater than diamonds… of value untellable. You, given such a noble heart, must understand that we can risk no evil entrance into our kingdom, for this meeting especially. Should the wrong life take seat at the first-realmer’s table, no mind could guess the evil that would be caused, as we fear the evil could gain any knowledge it would so desire.”

Order fixes her hands under her chin for support. “So you think someone has found out about The High Tea.”

“Verily. My heart is blown on by the winds of uncertainty and truly, I feel a fear only the most depraved and unlucky would know. I pray to the powers of the First Realm that my hopes are placed well, for the day next to ours is one to surely be written of, be it in poetry of joy, or of lamentation,” Pitch explains. Order takes a breath in thought.

“I see. You’ll see us do our best, but right now that’s all I can say. We don’t know who’s behind this, as most anyone would want the kind of knowledge that’s being offered at The High Tea; I’d guess. It could be… Trench, or the Lunar House… it could even be Chaos and his Towerne,” Order says, thinking of at least ten incredibly powerful factions off the top of her head that would jump at the chance to have any question answered; the Royal Knights being among the ones on the list, if she were quite honest with herself.

“Thank ye, good soul. Every visit, you renew my hope for your kind. Humans are a strange breed, capable of great good or great evil. Now let us await your knight’s return, so that we may, too, find what they have,” Pitch says, ringing a bell to recall the servants. Order nods and laxes onto her bed. The trio while away the time, relaxing, telling jokes, and drinking, though they likely wouldn’t admit to it. The life of someone of stature is hard work, after all, and it’s not every day one gets to spend time with someone relatable.