d'enanigans: is calling it "the climax" too on point?

[nothing_to_fear]

This house has a very pleasant room for receiving honored guests.

In the fashion of House Shahrizai, the walls are richly tapestried (though not in identifying colors) and the couches are soft, finely upholstered. He has ordered the servants to stand ready with wine and light refreshment, and readier still to act should negotiations sour.

Jonathan sent a man to wait for Brix; he himself went upstairs to check on Matthieu. Finding him asleep, but well enough and in no danger, he returned to this room to wait.

He is reading a book of plants and their uses as they come in to light the torches.

Comments

[nothing_to_fear]

"Well, if you wish to brew your own ..."

Jonathan follows with a long, precise list of herbs and amounts and the order on which one adds them.

"Of course," he murmurs, "it's all little use without a blue eastern bloom. If you'll pardon my saying, I find it more beautiful than gentian by far. Its Caerdicci name is schizophrama erica."

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock listens in silence.

Then repeats it back, slow and thoughtful and carefully not reacting to Grue de Agen's choice of jibe.

That won't serve a thing.

"Have you also formulated an antidote?"

[nothing_to_fear]

"Naturally," he replies.

If he is surprised or disappointed by Havelock's memory, it doesn't show.

[oneman_onevote]

"Which consists of?"

[nothing_to_fear]

He snorts.

"Much the same, but in a more palliative combination. The cure is ever entwined with the cause."

He rattles off the names of a few more herbs.

"I've some prepared."

[oneman_onevote]

Havelock nods.

They can look into that.

"Where?"

[nothing_to_fear]

"In my chambers here. Upstairs."

He smiles, absent.

"You'll want to be sure of the dosage, first."

[oneman_onevote]

"I certainly would," Havelock says evenly.

There is a knock at the door, and for a wonder, Davien actually waits. Evidently the seriousness of the matter has made an impression.

"Enter," he says, not turning away from Jonathan as the guard enters.

"Lady Brix would like a word, Messire," he says. "If convenient."

Havelock nods. "Fine. Take over, Davien."

He turns and leaves without a further word, and the guard draws his sword with a bright and probably-not-really friendly smile. The man still has a knife, he notes. That could be fun.