After setting up the tent, Tristan went inside for a very brief tongue-lashing from Eloise about his slip up on 'local' cuisine. "You need to be very careful with what you say," she chided quietly but harshly. "We want to gather information without giving much."

Tristan sighed internally but kept a resolute exterior. "Understood. Shall we?" he opened the tent flap and slipped outside with Eloise a step behind. Felicity was proudly seated on his head, making her paw-claw biscuits and sounding quite enthused at the idea of new types of food.

"This is going to be so good!" she muttered. "I can't wait to eat it! It smells so…tasty!"

"Just don't grab any yourself," Tristan whispered.

She made a little whining noise, and her paw-claw biscuits grew in intensity and scratching power. "F-i-n-e."

Bedivere waved them over and patted a rug that had been set up near the bonfire. "Come, join me!"

Tristan sat cross-legged as all the rest of the people present were sitting that way and he wanted to blend in. He had to loosen his greaves to do so, which caused a slight rattling. Eloise swiftly took her spot and held up a small cup that was hanging from her belt. She leaned forward, handed it to a Demonkin who was wearing an apron made of leather, and the man scooped up the spice-filled broth within the bowl.

Tristan felt something wet hit his forehead, and wiped it away. Saliva? He reached up, and felt Felicity's tongue lolling out of her mouth. He pinched it slightly, and she yelped before retracting it. "I don't have a cup," Tristan stated.

Bedivere cleared his throat and waved at the chef, who brought over a bowl of the simmering, steaming liquid. He handed it to Tristan. "Enjoy, stranger. My travel blend. If you want, we have hardtack – stir it in and it makes a great stew."

"Sounds good," Tristan replied as he took an offered spoon. A moment later, the chef returned with a few hard biscuits, and Tristan crumbled them easily before dropping them into the liquid. It quickly thickened, and had a porridge consistency.

Bedivere chuckled. "Strong, eh? Those biscuits are like rocks."

"I'm a skilled mercenary." Tristan blew on the soup a bit, and saw Felicity's tongue shift into a straw that poked down from above his head. She immediately plunged it into the soup and slurped up a huge amount of the liquid, forcing Tristan to quickly drink to hide the rapidly depleting level.

Tristan coughed slightly as he pulled the bowl away and licked his lips. "That's delicious," he muttered. "What's in this?" he asked as the chef made rounds about the bonfire and scooped out more from his held cauldron to several Demonkin holding vessels aloft.

The chef grinned. "Family recipe. You like it?"

Felicity began making choking noises. Tristan immediately panicked, and tried to keep a straight face, but that panic set in as her choking persisted. He spun his crucible, pushed the essence into the belt on his waist, and then tapped her side. The coughing faded, and she gasped. "Oh my Matriarch! That's so spicy!"

Tristan let out a little sigh of relief, then made eye contact with the chef who was waiting on his response. "I love it," he said softly. "Reminds me of Gertrude's cooking." It was like the rice dish she would make – a soup with the rice boiled in the liquid to soak up all the flavor and make a porridge-type of slurry that she flavored with cardamom and basil. This was far spicier, but he could take the heat thanks to his consumption of fire dragon blood. Compared to that, this is nothing. He was also hit with a pang of sorrow as he remembered the slain house servant. Someone who died to a poison meant for him.

The sorrow must have reflected on his face, as the chef nodded solemnly. "Your lass back home?"

Eloise gave Tristan another glare that said "watch what you say", but she replied for him. "Yes and no. The fourth in our polycule. She died not too long ago, along with our fourth."

The chef winced, but nodded. "I am happy to have brought you a good memory." He rapidly walked away from a now awkward situation.

Bedivere sighed. "Always tough when one you love dies. Condolences. Food brings memories." He took a sip from his mug. "This spicy blend reminds me of what my grandsire would make. He added far more tinderblight, though. It would almost be too acidic." He chuckled and cast a sideways glance at Tristan. "How do you like the cuisine, traveler Marius?"

"It is good," Tristan said as he tried to shake off his sorrow at Gertrude's death. "The Tousles house has all manner of craftsmen and artisans – I assume culinary artists as well?" Bedivere nodded, and Tristan continued. "What else can you tell me about the Demon House? Or about the Demon Lord in charge? Philippe, correct?"

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Ah, yes." Bedivere grinned widely, and began what sounded like a sales pitch. The type of words that Tristan heard on market days when out with his mother and grandfather, as peddlers tried to get them to buy wares. "Philippe Tousles is an amazing benefactor. He has encouraged Demonkin to rise up beyond their station as simple peasants, and embrace being what he calls a "middle-class". Effectively, he believes that a person's skills should determine their lot in life. He calls it…capitalism. He believes that the existing power structure should exist, and frankly, I agree. But for those who have skills? Let them show their talent, take on apprentices, enrich themselves and their liege lord."

"Sounds a bit too good to be true," Eloise quipped. She took another sip of her soup before continuing. "I've seen how a free market behaves, in Saumur, in that middle district." She looked at Bedivere with wary eyes, and Tristan was not sure if she was putting on an act or actually had knowledge of the matter. "The idea is sound, sure. But inevitably, the Demons take the bulk of the proceeds, goods, taxes, whatever you want to call it. Might makes them right."

Bedivere grimaced for a brief moment, and his salesman persona faltered for a flickering instance, before he faced Tristan and put on his pitch voice once more. "Ah, shame, that. Well, Lord Tousles is extremely motivated to ensure Demonkin have a fair shake at life and improving their station. Honestly, if you have skills in being a mercenary that you claim to hold, you would do well swearing to his House."

That's good information, Tristan thought as he saw Felicity's tongue moving down once more, and he quickly took a sip of his thickened slurry so he could mask her activity. As soon as she began coughing, he re-performed his feat with Cure Wound, and stopped her from hacking up a lung atop his head. "What are your thoughts on some of the other Demon Houses?" Tristan asked.

Bedivere sighed and rubbed his chin. "I think that the Parslile are stuck-up nobles who think themselves above everyone else in their mountain fortress. The people in Nouvax lands are nice folks, but they are practically slaves to the fields. The Mericlau…I mean, they keep the realm safe, so I cannot complain about them much. The Dalphatroux are a bit odd, with the other-realm activity, but ultimately I think it'll be for the best. The Alphinaud…" His face scrunched up and his tone shifted to one of aggrievance. "I do not like them."

"How come?" Eloise asked, leaning forward intently.

"They value military prowess only. Your value as a person is entirely dependent on what you can contribute to the various specialized units. Otherwise? You're practically dirt beneath their feet." Bedivere looked at Eloise with a grimace. "I fled their lands. Found refuge with the Tousles."

Also good information, Tristan thought. The Dalphatroux might be on good terms with the Alphinaud, but it sounds like the Tousles are diametrically opposed to them. I may only be able to get three out of the six Demon Houses aligned with my goals if the friction is too great. Or, I just have to keep involvement with other houses from being revealed. If I had to choose, I would say I want to ensure that the Alphinaud is on my side, over the Tousles. That's our next destination, anyways. We'll get there, ally them with Debera Dalphatroux's letter introducing me, and notify them of her and the Parslile House being in accord with my plans. I'll keep the Tousles in the dark about the others.

Tristan smiled and took another sip as he drained the last of his thickened soup. "Delicious." He held up the bowl, "Compliments to the chef!" he shouted. This was joined with cheers from all around, and the chef bowed several times and began a lengthy speech about the recipe, which Tristan immediately tuned out.

Bedivere tapped Tristan's knee, prompting him to look sideways at the Demonkin. "If you want to join the Tousles House, I could write a glowing recommendation for you. You seem like a good man who wants to find a place where he really earns what he is owed."

"I'd appreciate that," Tristan replied as he stood up. "Let me go to my tent and grab some special wine…"

The night moved onward, and Tristan broke out a few bottles of starberry wine from his extradimensional storage space. Sharing it, the various merchants all commented on how unique and vibrant it was, and Tristan lied; saying he acquired it at the inter-realm market at the Citadel of Essence. Only a small lie, he thought as the night progressed onward, and people began to slowly migrate to their tents. Soon enough we'll have enough supplies that we can have a spot in the inter-realm market on the Citadel's grounds and sell the wine more widely.

He and Eloise retired to the tent, and as he threaded the small wooden pins through the loops that would hold it shut, she and Felicity set out bedrolls. Felicity stayed invisible the whole time, and sighed in contentment. "That food was good."

Tristan scratched her head, then her belly as she rolled over. "Yeah. But you almost choked on it."

Eloise snickered. "What?"

"She's not good with spicy food," Tristan said softly with a little chuckle. "I had to use Cure Wound on her each time she had some of the soup. She was coughing up to the point of choking."

Eloise grinned. "That's funny."

Felicity turned visible and gently thwacked her tail at Eloise's hand. "Hey. I'll let you know, I hardly ever choke! I have one of the best throats in existence! All fairy dragons do-"

Tristan shushed her. "You need to be quiet. You're not invisible. People can hear you."

Felicity groaned quietly and flipped over, wriggling into his bedroll. Her muffled voice came out. "That food wasn't that spicy."

Eloise shook her head and tucked into her bedroll. "Sleep well."

Tristan poked his head out of the top-most slat on the tent's front flap, confirming that the merchant caravan had guards set up for the night. They were standing on the tops of the wagons, giving them easy sight over the wall. Removing his armor and setting it aside in case he needed it, he squirmed into his bedroll. Felicity crawled up his leg and nuzzled up on the crook of his neck.

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