More? Marcoulf pauses, surveying the dishes spread before them. Maker. He carefully begins to tear his pieve of bread into smaller squares. If it's all this spiced, he'll need to pace himself. Washing every other bite down with honeyed wine will commit him to stumbling out.

"I'm not surprised. She's a trustworthy hand at the forge," he says, pushing around the sauce on his plate with the bread. "I was glad to find her here. She undid all the bad work I'd had done to my sword since last I saw her."

He manages a few bites before he has to concede to carefully sipping from his cup. Clears his throat like he has a scratch there and eats some bread with nothing at all on it. "Is that how you know one other? Over her work?"

Their acquantience may very well be the last little mystery over this cabal they've apparently all formed. Is this how Lakshmi is paying her for the blade? In cinnamon and pepper and a dozen other equally ludicrously expensive favors.