the deep moans round with many voices

Link to prompt post one (closed for prompts, still open for fills)

Link to prompt post two (closed for prompts, still open for fills)

Link to prompt post three (open for prompts!)

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( 7. ) For anonymous, in response to the prompt: Any, any, dysfunctional found family, written 1/14/25

But Not (Quite) Broken (215 words)

Fandom = Nine Worlds

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"Does it make me a terrible person that I occasionally feel it might have been for the best that the Silver Forest scattered us across the nine worlds?" Jullanar asked Sardeet over the table, heavily laden with tea and cakes and dishes of glazed fruit and bowls of sugared ice; "By that point, I'm not sure most of us much liked each other anymore, but Fitzroy would have reacted... ah... badly, shall we say, to any suggestion that we part ways in a less dramatic fashion, and the consequences of any wild magic he might have flung around in response don't bear thinking of, neither for what he might have done to us in a panic, nor for the sort of person (to say nothing of the sort of Emperor!) he might have become with that in his past. What did happen was horrific, of course, but at least it left us with a memory of friendship strained rather than utterly shattered."

Sardeet popped a slice of peach into her mouth and chewed thoughtfully before saying, "I think those are entirely understandable feelings, and in any case actions are what truly matter when weighing a person's virtue -- that said, I wouldn't mention those thoughts around Fitzroy unless he or his Kip raise the possibility first."

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( 8. ) For lumiosecity, in response to the prompt: Any two fandoms, any crossover ship, second date, written 1/15/25

Warning Signs (195 words)

Fandoms = Chronicles of Narnia/The Dark Is Rising

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"This has been a thoroughly enjoyable evening, Merriman," Professor Pevensie said as she folded and set aside her napkin and reached for the glass of eiswein she had ordered to accompany her dessert, "but if you would like me to agree to a third such outing, to say nothing of anything beyond, I think we had best lay our cards on the table: I know that you're much older than you look, that you have some magical responsibility you consider dreadfully important, and that you have been subtly angling since we first met to discover if I have traveled through time. I propose to answer any questions you have if -- and only if! -- you can reassure me that you have no intention of ever using children as pawns in your great game, however necessary that may seem."

As Merriman drank a measured sip of his own whiskey, buying time to order his thoughts, Professor Pevensie added, "Ends may seem as though they justify means, my dear, but I assure you that means have a way of shaping ends in their own likeness, and I should hate to think badly of a man I otherwise respect."

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( 9. ) For wingedflight, in response to the prompt: any, any, lyrics do not work on me, written 1/16/25

Points for Effort (140 words)

Fandom = The Magnus Archives

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"Roses come in many colors/ violets are purple or white/ this poem is just to ask/ you to cook golabki tonight?" Martin read in a voice that, while it didn't quiver or break into laughter, was nonetheless tinged with an unmistakable air of incredulity.

"I know I'm somehow worse at writing poetry than I am at understanding or savoring it," Jon said, apparently unembarrassed at Martin's (shamefully) obvious judgment of his wordsmithing, "but I thought that if I enjoy your work because it's yours, you might appreciate if I made an effort, and the base format I started from is considered traditionally romantic -- I'm also open to tutoring if you think that might help."

Martin pulled him into a hug, the scrap of doggerel still clutched tightly in one hand; "You're ridiculous and I can't believe that worked on me."

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( 10. ) For topaz_eyes, in response to the prompt: Any, any, I’m counting the steps to the door of your heart, written 1/21/25

The Ones That Got Away (150 words)

Fandom = Nine Worlds

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Before her theft of the Lady's son, Violet mattered in the way of any valuable possession; after, Lark found her thoughts turning increasingly to ways to win her back, the same way Jemis had only truly begun to preoccupy her after he tore free, impossibly, from her snares at Morrowlea: Violet had declared herself an opponent rather than an obstacle or a tool, finally worthy of attention. Someone worth the effort to keep.

That both of Lark's erstwhile lovers feared and hated her was beside the point; obedience could be compelled (now that she knew compulsion was needed) and love was perfectly compatible with nearly any emotion aside from apathy; once she had them in her hands, she merely needed time to find and unlock the doors into their hearts, patience to thread the labyrinth of their limits and desires, until those brilliant, reckless souls hunted willingly at her command.

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( 11. ) For rionaleonhart, in response to the prompt: Any fandom, the first two characters to come to mind when you see this prompt, only one bed, written 1/21/25

An Attempt Was Made (150 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia

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"Um," Lucy said as she pushed aside the flap of the tent the Narnians had directed them toward, and which a Leopard and a Hare had boasted, quite excitedly, was equipped with everything appropriate to Humans; Susan shot a concerned look toward Peter at the slightly strangled note in their sister's voice, lifted the fabric a bit higher so she could peer over Lucy's shoulder, and then said in a similarly awkward tone, "Ah."

"Do I want to know what Narnians think 'appropriate to Humans' means?" Peter asked; "Please tell me they at least managed blankets -- I can do without a bed, but I expect tonight will be cold even with the magical thaw."

"They not only managed blankets, they managed a bed: frame, pillow, and all," Susan said; "Unfortunately, there's only one, I think it must be sized for Dwarfs, and there's no way all of us will fit."

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( 12. ) For syrena_of_the_lake, in response to the prompt: Any fandom, any character, as sharp as a sack of wet mice, written 1/21/25

Mean What You Say (110 words)

Fandom = Nine Worlds

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"Point of clarification," Cliopher said, and then repeated himself at greater volume until he broke through the flow of Prince Rufus's peroration. "Apologies for the interruption, but I'm unfamiliar with the phrase 'as sharp as a sack of wet mice,' which I presume is an Amboloyan idiom, and unfortunately cannot parse the intended meaning; obviously a sack of mice would be an inadequate substitute for a knife, but mouse teeth are surprisingly pointed and a sack of wet mice would be strongly motivated to bite anything in range. I'm concerned that the minutes won't clearly convey your intent, and I therefore request a paraphrase -- for the historical record, you understand."

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More to come!

Internet housekeeping continues! This was my 2023 Narnia Fic Exchange entry, written for Lizzen.

Ashes (3748 words) by Elizabeth Culmer
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Relationships: Jadis | The White Witch & Jadis' Sister
Characters: Jadis | The White Witch, Jadis' Sister (Narnia)
Additional Tags: Charn, Worldbuilding, Backstory, Slavery, Murder, Psychopathology & Sociopathy, War, Fictional Religion & Theology

Summary: Cynara's army breached the city walls of Charn at dawn on the Day of Ashes.

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Someday I do still intend to write the full story of Jadis and Cynara's final conflict, but I got tangled up in battle tactics and also realized I would need to create so much court politics, so I hit a decent stopping point and quit while I was temporarily ahead. *wry*

Anyway, it is my firm belief that while Jadis's sister would have been less disastrous for both the universe in general and Charn in specific, she still wasn't remotely a good person -- just better at realizing that the world is where she keeps all her stuff, and that it's easier to rule if your subjects feel like you see them as people, not toys.

Apparently I have not posted fic to this journal since February of 2023, what the hell. Uh. Anyway, here is an extremely belated collection of the seven fills I wrote for the 2024 iteration of the Three Sentence Ficathon.

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( 1. ) For undeadrobins, in response to the prompt: any, any, cat and mouse, written 1/15/24

The Beginning of a Beautiful Rivalry (200 words)

Fandom = Narnia

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Anaprisma peered at the creature pinned beneath her claws -- a dumb rat, she had thought, the kind of pest that had no place in the royal library of Cair Paravel and which her position as Undersecretary left her morally (albeit not legally) obligated to remove before it gnawed or defecated on anything important -- and wondered if she had somehow stumbled into a stray enchantment or if someone had laced her breakfast tea with a hallucinogenic mushroom. She would almost have sworn that it had talked.

The tiny mouth opened, the matchstick ribs heaved, and the creature shrieked in a shrill but clear voice, "Unhand me, you fiend!"

Ah. Not a hallucination. Not a rat, either.

"My apologies," Anaprisma said, retracting her claws and managing to keep her tone both even and dry as the Talking Mouse scrambled onto its hind paws and brandished a long thorn that it was apparently using as a sword; "The Cair Paravel staff have yet to be notified of the existence of Talking Mice, though I assure you that will be remedied posthaste -- although perhaps I should accompany you to the infirmary before we consider other matters."

Talking Mice. What would Aslan think of next.

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( 2. ) For oceanmyth, in response to the prompt: Any, any, the cracking sounds bones make, written 1/15/24

A Sovereign Remedy (200 words)

Fandom = Narnia

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The level of glowing cordial in her flask never lowers as fast as logic says it should, but Lucy doesn't want to take the magic for granted, doesn't want to assume she can heal anything at any time, that it will never quite run dry; best to save it for wounds and illnesses that have no non-miraculous cure.

But oh, the sound and feel of bones and tendons snapping into place as she helps set a compound fracture or reduce a dislocated shoulder is horrid, the same wet crunch and crackle that signaled the initial shatter or sprain. The moans and tears and shrieks gnaw at her heart with the knowledge that she could wipe them clean, unwrite them from the story.

And yet, there's something more real about her blood-streaked clothes and aching wrists than the eerie way her cordial erases harm -- this healing, raw and messy and pained, is part of the world's fabric rather than a rejection of its laws, an acceptance that the bitter and the sweet come intertwined and triumph cannot exist without disaster; and so Lucy sets the diamond flask upon the shelf to fill her hands instead with soapsuds, bandages, and sharp-toothed hope.

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( 3. ) For galaydryels, in response to the prompt: Chronicles of Narnia Rthverse, Jalur, Murdermittens, written 1/15/24

Dare Seize the Fire (90 words)

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"Tiger's having kittens, wearing fluffy mittens, oh woe is he!" the Otter sing-songed breathlessly as she ducked under Jalur's charge and reversed direction in the second before he landed, hindpaws scrabbling for purchase in the muddy ground as she bolted toward the dubious safety of the water. "Big strong paws, long sharp claws, but none of it matters if you can't-- catch-- me!"

The Romp of Otters shrieked and scattered in mingled fear and glee as the snarling Tiger hurtled into the pond a hummingbird's heartbeat behind his taunting foe.

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( 4. ) For anonymous, in response to the prompt: any, any, west of the sun, east of the moon, written 1/17/24

And Take the Hidden Paths (600 words)

Fandom = original

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East of the sun and west of the moon stands a castle you may well have heard of, that was home to the Queen of Trolls before a brave peasant girl came there to steal her bridegroom back, but there are other hidden lands less famed in song or story, and in one such place, which lies west of the sun and east of the moon (and never you mind about logic, for magic need not abide by such rules), there stands a sunless garden where the plants are made of stone and the spring at its heart wells forth a river of sand instead of sweet, clear water. Nobody lives there today, but once upon a time Lilith (who has been Wife of Adam, Queen of Giants, Mother of Demons, and many other titles in her day) dwelt there for a time after she left the more fabled garden to make her own way in the world.

The North Wind knows the way to the castle east of the sun and west of the moon, but the four Winds do not blow in the stone garden west of the sun and east of the moon. There the air is always still. Nothing lives; nothing grows; and the only light comes from the faint glow of sparks that the grains of sand strike against each other as they flow in their endless circuits.

How Lilith came to the stone garden, none can say, but if you would follow in her footsteps (and so some people will always seek to do, for reasons of their own; I sought so myself in my youth), the method both witches and scholars deem least likely to fail is to carve a doorway into a rock, fix the garden and its stillness in your mind until your thoughts are empty of all but the heartbeat of stone, so slow that a dozen generations could live and die between one pulse and the next, and step forward.

If you are lucky, you will break your nose and go nowhere. But perhaps, just perhaps, your foot will swing through a gap in the logic of the world and your next step will land in the garden where nothing grows -- west of the sun and east of the moon, in the land without water or sky.

The castle east of the sun and west of the moon was filled with gold and silver and all the treasures that one may spend on everyday things. When another Troll or enchanter discovers that land, the castle will fill again until the next brave peasant girl or boy comes to rescue their beloved and best the monsters with their own greed.

The treasure in the stone garden west of the sun and east of the moon is more subtle and cannot be held in the hands or spoken with the tongue. But there is treasure nonetheless, and I can see in your eyes that you are determined to claim it (as the old woman I met on the road saw the spark in my eyes long ago), so I will waste no breath on admonitions to turn back or think of your god.

Instead I will give you this pebble, worn smooth by the stream that flows past my house, and remind you that magic need not abide by rules.

The stone garden stands in the land of absolute truth, with no space for pity or hope. No friends or enemies await: only yourself, and the silence.

Think well on what you bring, as well as what you plan to take.

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( 5. ) For anonymous, in response to the prompt: any, any, last test and proof, written 1/18/24

To Destruction (235 words)

Fandom = Nine Worlds

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The denunciation of Jackory Greenwing was meant to be her triumph, the last test both of her academic skills and the bridle she'd tightened around Jemis's will until he was her creature body, mind, and whatever phantasm might pass for a soul -- her bauble, her prize, her passing fancy snared for the wild flavor of his unused magic who serendipitously proved to be heir to an Imperial title (for all that he was blind to that truth) and a piece of true weight and power in the game of coins and kings -- and yet somehow the quarry had slipped the noose, fled bleeding into the woods, and all Lark was left with was the hollow surety that he would bear the scars of her fury till death.

She hurled her pipe across the room and snarled as the ivory splintered, spilling the smoldering mix of tobacco and less legal herbs onto the age-smoothed hardwood floor; "Pack my things -- I've called the coachman and we leave in one hour," she snapped over her shoulder at Violet, and ignored her pet spy's protest that she was scheduled to present her own final paper tomorrow.

She had failed this test (but how? how had she gone wrong?) and unless she thought of a foolproof way to recoup her losses and strengthen the family's position by the time her carriage reached Orio City, the consequences would be past bearing.

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( 6. ) For undeadrobins, in response to the prompt: any non-zombie fandom, any, surviving a zombie apocalypse, written 1/18/24

Eye of the Storm (250 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia

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They worked out, much later, that the spell which had interacted so banefully with Lucy's cordial had been cast as a trap -- the goal had been a straightforward assassination; the contagion merely an unintended side effect -- but at the time all Susan cared about was that saltwater slowed the change, and she would pick up a sword and dismember anyone who tried to kill her baby sister out of misguided mercy.

She filled every room and hall of Cair Paravel with tubs and barrels of brine; recruited every spare hand and paw to guard and nurse the infected; gathered, quarantined, organized the refugees streaming to the coast -- some brought scraps of news from Peter and Edmund's struggle to pin down the growing horde and burn a mile-wide swath of barren land to stop lone victims from slipping past the sentries and starting a new flare of the plague -- and gnawed the inner flesh of her cheeks to shreds to trap the furious shriek of despair and betrayal behind her teeth.

When this was over, when they found a cure, Susan swore she would claw her way to Aslan's own country -- whether she had to sail off the edge of the world, climb the encircling mountains past the roof of the sky, delve down through the burning heart of the earth -- and stab him once for each labored breath Lucy struggled to snatch past the rot in her throat; then, and only then, she might allow herself to break, and weep.

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( 7. ) For galaydryels in response to the prompt: any, any, the courage of a guinea pig, written 1/19/24

Fearless (300 words)

Fandom = Chronicles of Narnia

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There are many types of courage celebrated in proverb (some more obscure than others), for not only does courage come in different flavors, the characteristics that humans ascribe to various animals vary wildly in their accuracy.

The courage of a lion is most famous (though lions generally think prudence the better part of valor, having neither much interest in wasting strength on foolish posturing nor desire to be gutted by their prey on an inadvisable hunt), but the courage of a bear is also praised, the courage of a mother in her nest or den (in this case the species of animal becomes nearly irrelevant), the courage of a mongoose pursuing a snake, and the courage of a loyal dog defending their family, and so on; but all beasts have their own fears to overcome, and often do so -- the courage of a mouse venturing forth to gather seeds despite the threat of owls, hawks, and foxes; the courage of a caterpillar or tadpole giving its body over to change; the courage of a seal diving beneath vast sheets of ice and trusting it will find a gap to the surface before it runs short of air -- these are less lauded but no less real.

The courage of a guinea pig is of a different order altogether, as any human who has been screamed at by a stumpy, awkward bundle of fluff that can fit in the palms of your two hands can attest -- short-legged, near-sighted, its only defense sharp teeth that are easily evaded, but still the guinea pig shows no fear and raises its shrill defiance toward the heavens; yet some question whether courage is truly the right label, for can bravery truly be said to exist when the animal in question has no inborn fear to overcome?

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I also need to make a post about my 2024 NFE fic, and get all my 2023 and 2024 3SF fills up on AO3. But I think those are tasks for future!Liz.

I am trying to catch up on some internet housekeeping, so here is an absurdly belated Narnia Fic Exchange reveal post!

I wrote a story for Starbrow:

The Pleasures of the Flesh (1827 words) by Elizabeth Culmer
Fandom: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Six of Crows Series - Leigh Bardugo
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Inej Ghafa & Susan Pevensie
Characters: Inej Ghafa, Susan Pevensie
Additional Tags: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Golden Age (Narnia), Recovery, Pre-Relationship

Summary: The Wraith arrived in Port Paravel on the coattails of a late March storm, gliding into harbor as the dregs of the gale spent themselves on the palisaded shore and trickled away in skirls of fog and aggravation.

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I probably had relevant things to say about my writing process for this story back in September, but alas, I have forgotten most of them in the intervening months. Mostly I was pleased that I could finally fill a crossover prompt! Generally the crossovers people request for NFE are fandoms I either don't know at all, don't know well enough to write, or am not interested in writing (either at all, or just not in the requested context), which has been a minor sorrow of mine for some years. But! This time I had the relevant knowledge and interest (Inej, my beloved!), and I took gleeful advantage.

As always, I wanted the story to be longer but ran out of time, alas.

The 2023 Three Sentence Ficathon is live!!

This year, to spare poor rthstewart's inbox, Ruth has some co-mods and the ficathon now has its own dedicated Dreamwidth community: threesentenceficathon.

Here is the information post.

Here is the first ficathon post (now closed for new prompts, but still open for fills!), and here is the second ficathon post. The ficathon started on January 13, and will remain open for new prompts through February 12.

Anyway, here's my second set of fills:

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( 7. ) For scytale, in response to the prompt: The Darkangel Trilogy, Aeriel&/Erin, learning, written 1/13/23

A time to every purpose under heaven (180 words)

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In their first month, Erin learns that Aeriel used to be desperately ticklish behind her knees, that Aeriel wishes her new body retained that imperfection and fears what its lack may mean, and that covering her skin with kisses helps soothe that ache.

In their first year, Aeriel learns that Erin feels empty and small in the face of Aeriel's burden, that Erin has a knack for gears and screws and soldering wands, and that even the pearlstuff will fall silent and cease its complaints if she holds her ground and brings her love into the great work as an equal partner.

In their first lives, Erin and Aeriel learn how to be two women who each can stand alone against the world, but who choose to shape themselves around another instead; and when at last the pearlstuff deems their task complete and Aeriel pours it into the spring at the heart of Crystalglass so all who drink may gain a whisper of Ancient truth, when they depart as flames for deep heaven, they are ready to learn anew, together.

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( 8. ) For elementalraven, in response to the prompt: Narnia, Mabel Kirke, the apple has strange effects on Mabel, written 1/13/23

Third Eye (235 words)

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Mabel Kirke never told anyone about her dreams' turn toward the fantastical -- flocks of winged horses filling the sky from horizon to horizon; four children wandering through a cruel and endless winter in overlarge coats; a dragon bending its neck and swearing allegiance to a bewildered knight; an underground city foundering beneath a great wave; a dozen women made of petals and gems and water and leaves dancing together in a sunlit field; a small ship with the gilded prow sailing through a sea of lilies; a dozen beasts of all sizes and species gathered around a table and arguing like men -- for surely they were nothing more than an aftereffect of her illness, perhaps a lesion left on her brain by the cruel pressure of the tumor before the cancer miraculously began to shrink and wash away.

Nonetheless, the scenes were vivid in her mind's eye, and she committed several to canvas between her more serious works; in her will, she specified that they should be sold at auction and all proceeds be given to her son's great friend Polly Plummer, who had become nearly as close as her own daughter might have been, had Mabel's health permitted more than a single child.

How, many years later, one of those paintings came into the possession of someone on good terms with Harold and Alberta Scrubb, is a tale I shall leave for another day.

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( 9. ) For scytale, in response to the prompt: The Darkangel Trilogy, Irrylath, kingship, written 1/14/23

in the chillest land, and on the strangest sea (220 words)

Content note: Reference to Oriencor's abuse of Irrylath.

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Irrylath barely remembers his father the king; instead, his models of power are his two mothers: the one who bore him and the one who stole him.

Oriencor's example is a litany of things to shun -- do not be capricious, do not assume all places and people exist for your pleasure and convenience, do not lay the land to waste -- but he spent his time in Isternes planning war and clinging to the barest thread of hope that he might not drown in the black pit he dug for himself to please his mother, his lover, his goddess who locked his heart in lead and promised to drink his soul to take his pain away; he did not study how Syllva ruled, and she will not leave her city to guide him and Sabr as they take their first steps into the fragile dream of Avaric reborn.

"Stay and tell me how our mother would govern?" he asks his brothers as the warhost finish the feasting and funerals beside the mere, and begin the slow return to their several lands; and though he dares not depend on ties of blood, and made no effort to befriend this unlooked-for late-come family, perhaps there is more to life than despair and grim resignation, for the answer to his plea is, simply, yes.

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( 10. ) For loveandrockmusic, in response to the prompt: Narnia, Mrs. Beaver and Reepicheep, she sews him a debonair costume, written 1/14/23

Gaily bedight, a gallant knight (150 words)

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"You're already wearing a belt for your sword -- a sash and a cloak aren't that much more fabric," Mrs. Beaver said, fixing the newly-arrived Mouse with a stern gaze. "One must be properly attired for court, after all, and if paying respect to King Frank, Queen Helen, and Aslan himself isn't argument enough to convince you, consider the many secondary uses of a cloak, such as laying it across mud puddles to keep a lady's paws clean, wrapping it around your forearm as a makeshift shield, or simply letting it catch the wind or swirl artistically around your ankles -- I've never yet known a knight who didn't love swishing about dramatically, and I doubt you'll be the first exception."

"A fair touch on all points, my lady," said the Mouse, and he swept her an elaborate bow that would look much better as soon as she finished his new cloak.

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( 11. ) For anonymous, in response to the prompt: Any, any, accidental cat acquisition, written 1/14/23

A Conspiracy of Kittens (225 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart (Victoria Goddard)

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The first batch of kittens, I was quite willing to accept as an accident -- Mr. Moo needed to dispose of them, I happened to be at hand, and he trusted I would find them good homes. That this involved holding up a coach in the middle of the Arguty Forest was merely a logical consequence of Mr. Moo's profession, for a man engaged in the wild lay is just as unlikely to come into town on an everyday basis as a respectable gentleman is to go tramping about in a forest notoriously filled with outlaws and other disreputable souls.

The second batch of kittens was somewhat more suspect, though again, it wasn't illogical for Mr. Moo to encounter me on the outskirts of the Arguty Manor grounds, nor for a highwayman to abscond with all the luggage in a fancy coach and only belatedly discover that one box contained a heavily pregnant cat wearing a collar set with diamonds (naturally he did not hand over the collar along with the cats), and I duly found this set of kittens good homes among my father's former military companions.

However, when Mr. Moo knocked on the door of Elderflower Books with a mewing, squirming satchel in his arms and had the cheek to grin at my astonished cry, I was certain that some new conspiracy was afoot.

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( 12. ) For anonymous, in response to the prompt: Any, any, detective and thief AU, written 1/14/23

Two Roads Converged (245 words)

Fandom = Greenwing & Dart (Victoria Goddard)

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"What could possibly bring such an august personage as the Lady Jessamine's own daughter, swiftly becoming famous in her own right for dismantling the Indrillines' criminal empire, to a quiet backwater like Ragnor Bella?" the young man asked after rising from an elaborate bow and resettling his plumed tricorner hat atop his neatly queued brown hair.

His manners would have been more convincing had he not been wearing a mask over his upper face and standing beside Violet's coach with a bloodstained sword only just withdrawn from her driver's shoulder, but Violet chose to take his question at face value: "Rumors of cults to the Dark Kings, assorted long-lost heirs popping out of the woodwork, and a new criminal element extending tendrils out of the Arguty Forest toward both Ronderell and Chare," she said dryly; "Dare I hope that you might be in a position to answer some of my own questions in turn?"

"Alas, I must disappoint," the masked man said with a swift grin, "but I will leave you with two pieces of advice: first, the Viscount St. Noire is hosting a dinner party the evening after next, to which I'm certain you will be extended an invitation and where you may gather all manner of fascinating gossip; and second, that I recommend Elderflower Books off the market square most highly as a haven for all whose tastes run toward adventure -- you may tell Mrs. Etaris that her former clerk sends his regards."

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More to follow!