When was the last time I wore this thing, Nathan thought as he stared at the fine overcoat his manservant had laid out for him. It seemed so long ago that he had traveled through Carelia as a simple Count, working to ensure that men of ability found their ways into the machines of the provinces of Sullenport over the men of ambition.
I suppose my job has not changed overmuch, he thought ruefully as he pulled off his traveling clothes, still damp from the hard ride he had made to arrive at an inn near House Bedwyr with enough time to spare for cleaning before he left for the party. His eyes paused, as usual, on the black scar that ran over the ribs of his right side. Even now, pus would still occasionally leak from it, though his physician assured him that all infection had been cleaned out. And, even now, seeing it caused him to remember the sight of that blade, dark with poison, flying through the air, and then the sight of the bone handle sticking out of him, before he saw no more.
---
As he approached House Bedwyr on foot, Nathan spied a familiar head, cocked at an angle of inquiry, standing near the doors to the estate.
"Oh, Thomas, thank Magnus! I had feared that I would know no one here but our host!"
