Drust sneered at Ghent’s joking inquiry, while Elayra's grip tightened on her water skin.
	“You think no one’s thought of that, boy?” Drust spat as Elayra took a swig of her water. “They’re still bound by their rules. Spiritayians can only do so much. Go only so far to directly alter events of our physical realm. [i]She[/I] is out of even [i]their[/i] abilities.”
	When Ghent finished, Drust snarled.
	“I didn’t. Make. The. Deal!” he repeated to Ghent as Elayra’s glower turned to the boy.
	“Is everything a [i]joke[/i] to you?” she hissed, struggling to not shout at him. Her voice overlapped with Drust’s. “Selling something that could save us from [i]certain death,[/i] treating the daejinn like—”
	“Enough,” Drust growled, interrupting her. He closed his eyes for a moment.
	Elayra’s glare shifted to him, then to the fire. 
	“Their price varies. But yes. It could be as simple as an herb, or extreme as a soul. Or worse.” He sighed deeply, resigning himself to telling the tale Elayra had wanted. “Ellheim made the deal for the Curative.” He glanced toward Elayra.
	Her gaze lifted back to him in surprise.
	“We traveled with a group of Omitten.” He looked back to the fire. “Ellheim’s son, Alden, made a deal with the strongest of the daejinn. He tried exactly what you suggested. But the daejinn couldn’t. Once called, a request [i]must[/i] be made. The deal he made instead resulted in him being mortally wounded.”
	Elayra looked away and bit her lower lip, swallowing back a guilty lump. If not for her, Alden would have never summoned the beast in the first place.
	“Ellheim traded his freedom for the Curative to save Alden.”
	Elayra inhaled. “He became the Cat’s [i]pet?[/i]”
	Drust gave a stiff, jerky nod. “Some fates are worse than death. Becoming a daejinn’s pet among them,” he explained in an attempt at warding off a potential question from Ghent. “Alden wanted nothing to do with the cause of Ellheim’s decision. No reminders. He gave the Curative to me. We left camp before he returned.”
	“You… never told me that,” Elayra’s soft voice trembled slightly. “I knew Alden had lived, but…”
	“I saw no need,” he answered flatly. “You learned what was necessary from your mistakes. But you,” he looked to Ghent, “have much to learn. We’ll forgo combat training tonight.” He shifted and rose to his knees to dig into his pack. “But it’s best you familiarize yourself with a few focus words and your weapon.”
	“His weapon?” Elayra eyed him, relieved for the change in topic. Though, not [i]too[/i] relieved. The thought of Ghent having any kind of bladed item made her fear for the safety of everyone in Wonderland. Not to mention her sanity.
	“A gift. From Hatter.” When he removed his hand, he held not a weapon, but a small leather-bound book.
	He tossed it to Ghent, careful to avoid the flames. Though it lacked a title, faded gilded swirls decorated the corners of its worn brown cover. 
	“Your father’s notes. From when he first learned magic. Come to me if you have questions. I’ll do my best to answer.” He looked back to his pack, hesitating. With a heavy sigh, he reached back inside.
	This time, he had to dig down deep. The pack swallowed his arm up to his shoulder.
	Overtaken by curiosity, Elayra sat up straighter, ignoring the twinge it sent down her back. A hand subconsciously rested on the hilt of her saber, a gift of its own from her mother.
	This time, Drust had to stand to remove the item from his pack. Nearly six feet long, a staff with a sheathed blade at either end emerged. Made to resemble a light ebony wood, a slanted crease had been embedded into the short shaft, creating the illusion of two slivers melded together.
	“Hatter cast a linking enchantment on it. It should respond easily to you. Once it gets to know you.” He pulled one of the sheathes from a blade.
	Elayra gawked at it. Jealousy shimmering in her eyes, she watched it as Drust turned it, examining the weapon with a trained eye.
	The black blade glinted in the firelight, the thickly serrated edges lined in shimmering blue. A slit speared down its center, creating a pair of deadly-sharp prongs at the top. What looked like an oval sapphire glittered at the base of the blade just above where it connected to the shaft.
	Apparently satisfied with it, he replaced its sheath.
	“The blades can be separated by force of will.” He gripped the shaft in both hands and tilted it so the crease in the metallic wood shone in the firelight. “With all enchanted weapons, you’ll need to gain its respect.”
	He stepped toward Ghent. His expression hardened, his gaze boring down on Ghent.
	“Remember, boy,” he began, a stern edge in his voice as he held the weapon out to Ghent. “This is a [i]tool.[/i] Not a [i]toy.[/i] It has the power to defend, and to kill. It cares not whose blood it tastes. Treat it with care, and it will be good to you. Treat it poorly, and it will turn on you.”
	[i]This is [u]not[/u] a good idea,[/i] Elayra thought, shifting uncomfortably.
	All the same, she could not stop eyeing the weapon, her fingers itching to hold it, to feel its weight, its power. As grateful as she was for her own weapons, [i]his[/i] was in a league all its own.
	She tried to mask her envy in another long swig from her water skin.