It takes him a moment to place the name and remember the context. Adenet’s mistress is a reversal, when so much of society more likely remembers Adenet as Chapentier’s attendant. Stephen’s own time in town has mostly been with the academics and researchers, not the artistic set. But he does eventually remember that talent showcase from earlier: Clarice Chapentier’s delicate wood carvings with glass mosaic, works of tremendous skill.

“Gossip amongst the elven servants, then? I’ve never really had to deal with this sort of environment before, but I always figured that upstairs-downstairs distinction means the attendants know everything going on.” He’s closing the window, latching it, turning to look at her. The drizzle of moonlight through the glass, reflecting a glint in Gwenaëlle’s false eye. There’s no bleariness to the man: he’s been suddenly, instantly awake ever since he first heard her voice.

And with that comes some restlessness, Stephen glancing at the sideboard, grasping for something to feel more like the gracious host he’d been at the Sanctum, as if this were a normal visit at a normal hour: “Do you need a drink to warm up? I have half a bottle of honeywine, although I think they cleared away the glasses—”