( What is it she wishes of him, then? Were he a younger, handsomer man, he might suspect the nature of her interest. But Artemius wasn't born to his coin, and he knows how hawks gather. First sight of blood, first inkling of gold, and there a pretty face smiles back at him.

His grin comes dour, over the rim of his glass, readied to do battle. Only days before, it would have still born the red of old Ed, but he's cleansed since then — washed his hands of it. Of Ed. Of what that feud's made of him. )

Couldn't tell you. I'm not much of a learned man, me. I'm not ashamed to say I didn't have a need for it.

( But perhaps he should head on to his other guests, sooner than dally. Women who do not make their intent known are not to be trusted, not to be courted. He starts to walk, slow to extricate himself — )

Have fresh drink. Enjoy the merrymaking.