Neil had never been much of a dancer by practice, but he had a good rhythm and a quick mind for coordination. They stepped together in relative harmony, Neil glancing around every so often, if not for his curiosity than to not be too distracted by being in such close proximity with his partner in crime. He was not one to be nervous around women, but an assassin sorceress made him just a smidge on edge. Still, he was smoother than anyone else would have been, considering.

Neil shifted his weight and pivoted his foot, lifting Calliope's arm over her head. She took the cue and spun, before falling into his arms, the scoundrel capturing her dramatically. "Noted," he whispered, and then blinked in surprise when he felt her hand slid into his pants. No, wishful thinking. She had placed some small ornament in his pocket. He raised an eyebrow. 

"For the magical traps, in case you need it," She winked. 

"It's as good as yours." Neil pulled her back up, and they continued with the gingerly spinning dance the others around them had simultaneously begun to perform. The room was such a strange juxtaposition of aristocratic order and heretical obscenities, which meant he was entirely out of his element considering he wasn't a sadist or a rich man. They glided past another couple, both dancers veiled in masks the likeness of leering animals. Abruptly the spinning stopped as the music softened before quickening pace again. Neil's left foot went back as Calliope's right stepped forward, both suddenly sidestepping to Neil's right, hands together and moving right continuously for six paces. 

Now the two were at the edge of the dance floor, and they broke apart like a crashing wave. Calliope spun and fixed her hair as if she had just stepped out of the bar-room, meanwhile Neil continued his sidestep for another few steps until he bounded up a stone stairway that led deeper into the keep. It was entirely probable they would never see each other again, he mused. One of them could die and the other would have to flee, and a betting man would count on Neil's demise in that scenario. 

"If I killed myself and died permanently a few days later because of the same woman, I'll only be able to blame myself," He breathed, quietly but casually making his way up the steps. The stone must have been magically wrought, He thought. It was too smooth for human laborers. To his horror, a serving woman met him at the top of the first flight, but made sure to avoid eye contact and act as if she wasn't even there. She merely walked passed him after giving him a sideways glance, not deigning to question him. You learned at a young age that if you acted like you were meant to be somewhere, only rarely would people question it. 

The second flight of stairs fed into an elaborately furnished long gallery, busts of ancient men and regal lords framed the walkway next to tropical plants that swayed lightly. Neil hesitated for a moment, eyeing any traps he might find, before realizing they wouldn't be set so close to the festivities. He walked down the hall, trying not to make sounds but not being overly concerned. As far as any distant listener would know, he was a watchmen or a maid. The long gallery looked rather ostentatious, almost to the point of being gaudy. It would be a good guess to say Therman wished to imitate the higher arch-dukes, though the portrait of a demon erupting from a child's ribcage in a maelstrom of blood on the gallery wall was a unique bit of flair. 

Neil turned and continued down the corridor, impatiently looking for the library. He hoped the books were separated by title or else he'd have a bad time. Every door he passed was locked or ajar, and a few were mysteriously gone as if paved over with mortar and stone. The doors that he could poke his head into were empty bedrooms or offices, and he passed by a large and immensely embroidered dining room that looked like it hadn't been used in centuries. 

The next floor was much the same, though he could swear he heard a crying child somewhere within. He wasn't going to fall for that.

The fifth floor was where he knew the book would be, because the very archway that fed from the stairway led into a grand library, filled with tomes and scrolls spilling off the shelves. Floating lights kept the floor in perpetual illumination, with cushioned, leather backed chairs dotting the carpeted landscape. Every bookshelf was at least thrice the height of a man, and as thick as a castle's walls. Neil couldn't shake the feeling this might be the most dangerous room in the keep, and when he stepped onto the floor, an incessant whirring sound erupted from the left, betraying the approach of a swinging axe that would slice him twain.