54

You find Henrik Lang seated in a tall-backed chair near the center of the room, surveying his surroundings over the clear glass rim of a blood-filled champagne flute. His dead cheeks are flush with the blush of life, although you're unsure why he'd expend the energy necessary to look mortal while surrounded by his peers. As he sees you approach, he takes down the hood of his robe and pulls its hem off the chair beside him. He motions for you to sit. Not wishing to appear rude, you follow his direction.

"I thought you might have grown restless, circling the room, Mekuztli. Take a rest; watching you hover makes me feel weary." Seen only from afar, you'd assumed that the Warlock had died in his late fifties—due in large part to his complexion and barren scalp—but up close you realize that he's not actually bald at all; his hair is a fine misting of close-shorn blond, and his intense blue eyes stare into your soul. "I cannot be the only one of us to believe this is a complete waste of time," he says, gesturing toward the corner room where Qui is conducting his interviews. "We sit in here sowing distrust amongst each other, oblivious as the Anarchs nip at our heels, corralling us into ever-tighter knots of paranoid conspiracy theorists. The enemy has announced himself—assaulted you and our Sheriff personally—and yet here we sit, pointing fingers of blame."

That's not entirely untrue. The other Primogen of the Court are preoccupied with blaming Corliss for the Prince's disappearance, forcing her to make a public spectacle of her search for answers even in unrelated matters. Make no mistake, they'll use any perceived negligence on her part as evidence of wrongdoing. So she orders the Sheriff to take a full accounting. When you break the maneuvering down to its base parts it's all dreadfully predictable. I don't blame Corliss or Qui. It's the back-biting that is to blame. Our foes both expect and count on it."

Lang focuses a withering gaze on you. "Who is this Assamite to accuse me of such behavior? And so blatantly! This game is about optics. I said my piece at the beginning of the council and passed the query on. Eyes did not linger overly long, and my objection was heard. Yesterday evening I was accused by the Assassin, Mr. Salik, of covertly threatening him with violence. I didn't complain or beat my fists against the wall. I summoned no spells, made no return accusations. I simply asked for evidence—and there was none. Meanwhile, evidence of the Anarchs' guilt is manifest in the blazing inferno you were almost destroyed in. I simply think that it is the logical place to focus our questions."

"What connection is there between the Anarch incident and Kashif Salik?" you ask.

"Connections between them that I am currently aware of? Very few. Although the vizier does seem surprisingly socially agile. Seducing a Primogen? That took some knowhow. I've been wondering if his Blood Sorcery is involved somehow."