When dinner is over, North gets up, but his gait is unsteady. Finally, I notice a feverish gleam in his eyes, and an unhealthy blush on his cheeks.

I follow his receding figure with my eyes, for the first time in the time spent with him, feeling a wonderful malevolent feeling - the joy of victory. I catch an interested, sly look. The Silent One gives me a wry smile and, while no one sees, salutes with a crystal goblet. His fingers, pressed against the patterned walls, still retain the same bitter, barely perceptible, sugary-bewitching smell that was in Larre's silver goblet.

And I allow myself to smile. Who knew...