Alysia?s financial advisor, a yellow-haired high elf of indeterminate origin, had requested that the priestess meet with him at the countinghouse where she kept most of her coins. After a short time in which his goblin politely inquired about her health and whether she would like anything to drink, she was escorted into Master Fargrin?s office with a glass of bloodwyne.

The room was small, paneled entirely in dark red wood with a leafy mosaic picked out in riverstones on the floor. A fire burned cheerfully behind the desk the high elf was seated at. A tiny, wrinkled grey feist whuffled curiously around Alysia?s boots.

?Lady Skye! Thank you for coming to meet with me at such short notice.? Fargrin smiled effusively. When she did not return his greeting, and instead stared rather unpleasantly at his throat, he harumphed. ?Try the bloodwyne. It?s a fabulous vintage,? he said.

Alysia grinned and did so. ?It's not bad, but I wouldn't call it fabulous. Fargrin -- You are rarely so peremptory as your message indicated. Cut the small talk, and tell me what is so urgent you had to drag me into town.?

?Well, it?s not all that urgent,? he began, then hurriedly continued, ?But I wanted to bring it to your attention as soon as possible. Now, I know the circumstances in which you left Rhilshen, and under those circumstances, you no longer receive the tithe you were accustomed to.?

?And....?? Alysia drawled. "I don't need reminders of Rhilshen to make me homesick." Master Fargrin seemed a little put out at her nonchalance and affected a sterner demeanor. He lifted a notebook and tossed it to her. Alysia caught it and balanced it on her knees, still lazily regarding her advisor. He decided to speak as bluntly as he could.

?Well, I?d hate to see you spend the rest of your exile uncomfortably. At some point, my Lady, your funds are bound to diminish beyond a point where you can live comfortably. Between Dark Lake and Taiva, your estates are rather lavish.?

Alysia glanced toward the ceiling, which supported a hanging lamp. The glass shield which diffused the light was red. She tried to figure out the light source. Was it magical? Electric? Gas-powered?

Rather distracted, she asked, ?Why is everything in here so red??

?It?s for luck,? snapped Fargrin. ?I?m serious, my Lady. You?re not at this uncomfortable point yet, but in the next few seasons, you will be. It?s my job and my pleasure to offer you advice before you get to that point.? He nodded at the notebook in her lap.

The high elf straightened his sleeves with dignity. ?One must consider all avenues available, even if they seem distasteful at first glance. Even you must admit, there is a niche for such these days. It?s a business that could flourish under the proper hands.? He motioned for his goblin to offer her more bloodwyne and she all but rolled her eyes.

?I?m no slaver.?

?You?ve owned them in the past,? said Fargrin. ?Even recently, there was that elf prince, Menel... whatever his name was, the one who helped quarry stones to rebuild your mother?s home.?

?It wasn?t that recent. And prisoners of war are not slaves. They?re won in battle, not bought.?

?These are but semantics, Alysia. Whatever happened to that ... prisoner of war??

?The insult of manual labor proved to be too much for him and he willed himself to death. I found him much more amenable to work after that.? She snapped, then leaned back, folding her arms across her chest. ?Let me rephrase that then... I?m not interested in being a slaver. At all.?

Fargrin hmmm?d knowingly, then nodded toward the notebook in her hand. He?d bring it up again later. ?What about the others there?

?Some of these others are just plain ridiculous. A share in a ribbon stand at the Marketplace? A dressmaker shop??

He quipped, ?You?d get free gowns.?

?I hardly ever have the opportunity to wear gowns,? retorted Alysia.

?A Lady doesn?t need the opportunity to wear a fetching frock. She creates the opportunities. You really should wear dresses more often, my Lady, you really are quite stunning-? Fargrin stopped short as he realized the growling he heard was not from the feist in the basket, but rather from the woman sitting across from his desk.