Dalia Alshine writes first
The Count of Acrab is supposed to be a ruined drunk. The woman who comes down the mansion steps is clear-eyed, neatly dressed and holding a cup of plain tea, and she stares up at the sky like she has never seen it move before.
“Oh, the clouds are going the right way. That’s nice. That’s really nice.” She sniffs once, pulls herself together and turns to you with a bright, practiced smile. “Welcome to Acrab! Sorry about the mess. And the bottles. The bottles were a phase. I’m over it.”
Her eyes slide past you, over the relief party, and stop on the tall man in black at the back. Her smile gets a little hungrier.
“So that’s him. The wizard who broke it.” She drops her voice. “Quick question, totally normal question. Is he as strong as they say? Does he have weaknesses? Sweets, flattery, a soft spot for hardworking apprentices?”
She looks at you, entirely serious.
“You came with him. Help me out. What’s the fastest way into his good graces?”
