Camilla drumed her long fingers on the arm of her chair as Cydric told her what he had learned of the curse and the quest. Although it had been many hours since she slept, the wreck of the Bonaventure had woken her, by this point in her career she had adapted to sleeping when she could and didn’t feel the lack the way she once had. Idly her other hand stroked the hilt of her elven blade, remembering the lessons that she had been given by the elf Indendre in Kislev, he had shown her some of his fighting style, though it seemed to mostly be forms for stretching and exercising. Since they had left Kislev, she had dutifully performed the series of stretches everyday, though it had been obvious there was something the elf hadn’t been telling her.

Complicated situations seemed to be more common these days. There was obviously bad blood between Beaumont and his uncle, it obviously involved Melisende in some way, the woman certainly had eyes for the knight but there was no way of knowing whether the attention was returned. Brettonians were such inveterate dramatics that Melisende might be choosing to favor the younger man simply because her husband obviously disliked him. It was equally possible that Beaumont was merely following the chivalric tradition of worshiping an idealized love from afar without any real intentions towards the lady. That was before one even began to consider whatever quest or cursed had everyone worked up. Camilla pressed her fingertips to her temples. 

“I don’t suppose there is any chance we can just hire on guarding a caravan and get out of this place,” she asked disconsolately. In the Empire she would have suggested just such a course, but Brettonia didn’t have anything like the flow of trade that the Empire enjoyed.  

“Reynard says that that the Baron is willing to pay anyone who can remove the curse,” Cydric supplied. There was a piece of cured ham on the table which Cydric sliced into generous slabs with the edge of a silver knife that had been provided for the purpose before slicing the cheese up into similar pieces and setting some on her plate. Almost everything that they owned, mostly Kislivite silver and a few gold Imperials had gone down with the ship and they only had a few coins between them. If they were going to continue their search for Keffman they needed money.

“Well I highly doubt they are going to let me come along…” The door flew open and both Camilla and Cydric were on their feet in a heartbeat, weapons drawn. Camilla gripped the edge of the table in one hand, ready to cast it into the path of onrushing attackers. Melisende stood in the door a shocked expression on her face. Whatever reaction she had inspected, meeting two armed opponents with drawn steel hadn’t been among them. Her cheeks were flushed with anger but she wasn’t exactly sure how to proceed. There were two men at arms behind her, though they stood slack jawed, unsure whether they should push past the noblewoman in order to protect her.

“A pleasure to welcome you my lady,” Camilla said carefully, releasing her grip of the table and returning her sword to its sheath, feeling a little ridiculous to be wearing or wielding steel in such an elaborate gown. Cydric too returned his sword to his scabbard looking a little shame faced.

“Did my husband put you up to this?!” she demanded, a little braver once the swords were away. Camilla looked the Brettonian vixen up and down.

“To eating in our own chambers?” she asked diffidently.

“Don’t play the peasant with me you foreign chit!” Melisende blazed, “he did didn’t he! Hired you both so that you could trick young Beaumont into throwing his life away on this foolish quest!” Unless Camilla very much missed her guess, ‘young’ Beaumont was older than Melisende herself was. Cydric obviously wasn’t following the rapid and impassioned Brettonian but the women's intent was clear in her tone and volume.   

“M’lady...” Cydric began in Riekspiel but Melisende didn’t let him continue.

“Do not speak to me in that barbaric tongue! I am a daughter of…” the words died away as Beaumont’s voice sounded down the corridor.

“M’lady Melisende?” The woman stiffened like a board, cast a hateful glance at Camilla and then spun and strode away, her hands lifting the train of her elegant gown.

“Is everything well Contessa?” Beaumont said appearing at the door. He was dressed in doublet and hose slashed in his colors of green and white rather than the armor he had been wearing when they had met.

“I suppose it is too late to bar the door, we have enough ham for a three day siege,” Camilla muttered in Kislivite.