"Deia, darling, that was fantastic! Where, by the waves, did you find him?"

"Such spectacular talent! Deia, we may have to steal him from you for our next party!"

Excitement and conversation flowed around Deia, leaving her breathless. Faizal had not let her down. She'd never seen anything like it, and apparently neither had anyone else at the party.

"Amazing what these performers come up with these days, isn't it? Could you give me his name again? Faizen? Fairzal? I can never keep those Demon names straight. Write his name down for me, would you, sweetheart? That's a dear."

The Demon was cornered by his adoring throng at the opposite end of the room, where Father had set up the shield for him. How he managed to look cornered when there wasn't a single person within fifteen feet of him, she wasn't quite sure. In his hand he held a delicate goblet containing a golden liquid. Occasionally, he would take a quick swallow and his face would turn red, as if he was embarrassed.

Deia pointed it out to Faden. "What is that he is drinking?"

"Lamp oil," Faden explained. "Demons can only drink a little bit at a time, but I'm told it does wonders for restoring energy after a big performance like that. Speaking of which..." he turned to face her squarely. "It was very interesting how he worked you into the story, wasn't it?"

"...I...hadn't noticed."

Faden laughed, "I admire your modesty, Deia. It is very becoming." His cheeks turned red for a moment, and he coughed into his hand. "Ah, well...ah, would you excuse me, Deia." She nodded and smiled as she was supposed to. Faden turned and was immediately snatched up into another conversation.

Deia turned back toward Faizal. The breeze from the magical waterfall blew her hair into her face, and she brushed it away carelessly. She couldn't help wondering how he felt, forced to keep his distance from everyone. The humid air would be painful for him outside of the shield, and no one but another Demon could stand the heat if they got any closer. He turned, and for an instant their eyes met, slate grey and blood red staring into each other. She felt a shock, as if a jolt had gone right through her. He smiled, and she felt herself smile back. Then he looked away. Deia gasped. Only a second had passed, but that second had stretched on infinitely. She felt different, changed. Something significant had just happened.

"Hello, there, Deia!" Mother danced up to her. "My, I've taught you well. This party is magnificent! I really don't think I've ever seen such a performance outside of...Deia, why are you shaking?"

"What?" Deia looked down at her hands, clasped in front of her. They were trembling uncontrollably. "Oh, I think it's just excitement from the festivities, Mother..."

"And your cheeks are flushed, You look feverish!" Mother continued without stopping. "Dear, whatever happened?"

"I think I just need a drink, Mother. I'll be fine!"

Despite her protests, Mother steered Deia toward a chair near the musicians. Admonished to stay put, Deia sat quietly, gazing toward the far end of the room, towards Faizal.

Tremen Alcander stood near the entrance to the ballroom. It was a good party; Deia and Plade were certainly enjoying themselves. Plade especially adored parties and such things. Tremen smiled. Social gatherings had never been his strong point. He preferred the company of a good book.

"My Lord Alcander," one of the servants stepped up to him softly. "Cerpen is here to see you."

Tremen turned and stared at the servant. "He's here?" The servant nodded. Tremen sighed and ran his hand through his hair. "Take me to him." He turned and strode quickly from the ballroom, the servant trying to catch up to him in a dignified manner.

Cerpen was pacing anxiously in one of the servants' hallways off of the kitchens. A youth of about fourteen, he had a serious set about his face that made him appear older. He had some skill with magic, which had earned him a place as Tremen's apprentice. However, it was his innate ability for shape-shifting that had made him indispensable as a spy.

Tremen dismissed the servant as soon as he saw his apprentice. "Cerpen, you had better have a good explanation for why you chose to show up here. I thought I told you to stay in the Iserables household…"

"Did you invite Erda Iserables to Deia's birthday party?" Cerpen interrupted.

Tremen hesitated. "Well, yes, but I haven't seen him here…"

"That's because he's dead."

Tremen's breath caught in his throat. "...That's…that's impossible! Dead? But…how?"

"That's just it, isn't it? We Shifters can't die. Not without help from a Demon."

"But…the laws…Why did Erda not tell anyone? He was old, nearly twenty-six. No one would have questioned his wishes to…"

"My Lord," Cerpen cut him off. "I can't shake the feeling that there's more to it than that."

Tremen shook his head angrily. "What are you saying, Cerpen? Speak plainly."

The boy hesitated. "My Lord. What if the Demons sent him to the Spirit world without his permission?"

Tremen stared at him. "That…do not say that. It is blasphemy to even think it. Such things have not happened since before the Alliance." He took a deep, shaky breath. Slowly, and in a low voice, he said, "Speak of this to no one. Leave now. Go before you are seen."

Cerpen chuckled. "Don't worry, Tremen. No one will see me." Before Tremen's eyes, Cerpen's face shifted, the forehead grew broader, the nose longer. His hair darkened from white to blonde, grey eyes turned brown. In only a moment, the Shifter boy had been replaced by a Human man. Cerpen bowed low to Tremen, the turned and walked down the hall and through the door into the kitchens.

Tremen stood for awhile, staring after his apprentice. He tried to organize his thoughts, lay them out in order. What Cerpen suggested was impossible. The gods had forbidden it. Therefore, it could not be. Satisfied with that logic, he made his way toward the ballroom. As he got closer, the sound of voices and music filled him. Deia's party was in full swing. He entered the ballroom, comforted, for once, by the crowd filling the room. Above the heads of the partiers, he saw the Demon that his daughter had invited. Faizal was standing alone, a contented smile on his face as he chatted with his admirers. Surely, those such as he would not, could not, commit such an atrocity as…murder.

Tremen found the Arbalete family and chatted with them for some time. He smiled and socialized as Plade expected him to. Only once did he glance over toward Faizal, and when he did he quickly looked away. The Demon had been looking right at him, and what Tremen saw in his eyes suddenly made him less confident in his logic.