“And then if it gets strong enough, maybe you can shoot fire at the enemy. Bloody unfair that the Tevenes have so many dracolisks and we don’t—”

Astrid gives a contented sigh as the scarf settles over her, heavy and wet. Ordinarily it could be cloying, but here, now, it’s welcome and she buries herself in it for cool relief.

“What sort of things do you Lords drum up, anyway? It’s always sounded exciting.” Dungeoneers, with the colourful scarves, the jangling coins, the flash and decoration. “Never met one before you, but they showed up sometimes in these romance novels my friend liked? There’s this one really popular series about an Orlesian archaeology professor who moonlights as a Lord of Fortune. Don’t ask me how he pulls it off.”