The banquet table stretches like a jeweled bridge through the center of Lord Varuzil's grand dining hall. Silver goblets gleam, golden platters overflow with roasted meats and spiced fruits, and the air is thick with incense, butter.
At the head of the table sits Lord Varuzil himself, now vibrant and lively. His hair has regained some of its silver luster, and his eyes sparkle with gratitude. He raises his glass.
"To my saviors! Words cannot express my thanks. You have freed me from a waking nightmare, and for that, I owe you everything."
The team raises their goblets, mugs, teacups, and in Vuvi's case, her hip flask.
"You honor us, Lord Varuzil," Veena says with a respectful bow.
"I will grant you riches," he declares. "Lands! Title! A fleet of peacocks with diamond-studded feathers if that's your taste!"
Penelo raises a finger. "Actually—"
Vuvi interrupts. "We decline."
Penelo pouts.
"We're not in it for payment," Veena adds quickly. "We're just glad you're well again."
