The summons arrived two days later, delivered by a liveried servant who clearly considered the errand well beneath his usual duties — a thick, wax-sealed envelope bearing the Drenmoor family crest, inviting "the swordsman Lukas Gigonos" to dine at the family estate that evening.
I nearly declined outright. Political entanglements with an ambitious noble house were precisely the kind of complication I'd hoped to avoid while quietly working two separate investigations in the background. But Selene, when I mentioned it during our now-regular evening research sessions, practically insisted I go.
"House Drenmoor has fingers in every piece of old aristocratic gossip in this kingdom," she said, not looking up from the text she was annotating. "If there's any current noble-circle chatter about strange sightings, unusual military movements, or anything else connected to what we're chasing, Lord Drenmoor's dinner table is exactly where it would surface first."
So I went, dressed in the nicest clothes my modest cover-identity budget could justify, to an estate that made the entirety of Eldoria look like a single garden shed by comparison.
Lord Aldric Drenmoor turned out to be a lean, sharp-eyed man in his fifties, with none of his son's obvious swagger and considerably more of what I suspected was the genuine article underneath it — a predator's patience dressed up in expensive tailoring.
"Master Gigonos," he greeted me over the first course, his tone pleasant and utterly unreadable. "My son speaks quite highly of you, which is rare enough that I felt compelled to see the source myself."
"Your son's a talented swordsman," I said honestly. "I got lucky."
"Kael doesn't use the word 'lucky' about opponents who beat him," Lord Drenmoor said, a thin smile flickering across his face. "He used the word 'terrifying,' if I recall correctly, and my son does not frighten easily."
I kept my expression carefully neutral, aware that this entire dinner was likely less about hospitality and more about a very thorough, very polite interrogation. "I've trained for a long time," I said. "Longer than most people would believe, honestly."
"Mm." Lord Drenmoor studied me over his wine glass for a long moment. "House Drenmoor has interests across this kingdom, Master Gigonos — trade, military contracts, a seat close to the throne itself. We are always interested in talent that exceeds its apparent rank. I'd like to offer you a position. Formal sponsorship, resources, a place in this city considerably more comfortable than whatever the Guild currently provides. In exchange, House Drenmoor simply asks for your loyalty, and your sword, when called upon."
There it was. The actual purpose of the invitation, laid out as plainly as noble courtesy allowed.
"I appreciate the offer," I said carefully. "But I'm not looking to attach myself to any house right now. I've got my own reasons for being in Kaldrath, and they don't leave much room for other obligations."
Something flickered behind Lord Drenmoor's eyes — not anger, exactly, but the recalibration of a man mentally filing away a piece of information he hadn't expected to need. "A man with his own agenda in my city. How refreshingly rare." He set down his glass. "May I ask what those reasons are?"
I'd prepared for this question on the walk over. "Personal research," I said. "Old history. Nothing that concerns House Drenmoor directly."
"Everything in this kingdom concerns House Drenmoor eventually," he said, though his tone remained light, almost amused. "Very well. I won't pry further tonight. But I will say this, Master Gigonos, in the spirit of the hospitality I've offered you." He leaned forward slightly. "There has been unusual movement near the eastern border these past months — military patrols reporting things they can't quite explain, going quiet rather than filing full reports out of fear of being laughed out of their commissions. The Crown is aware. The Crown is, characteristically, doing very little about it yet. If your 'personal research' happens to intersect with that particular mystery, I would consider it a personal favor if you kept House Drenmoor informed."
It was, I realized, an olive branch disguised as a request — an offer of information in exchange for future consideration, extended by a man far too politically careful to make demands of someone who'd just publicly humiliated his son and remained entirely unbothered by the fact.
"If I learn anything relevant," I said, choosing my words with care, "I'll consider it."
Lord Drenmoor smiled, apparently satisfied with an answer that committed me to precisely nothing. "That's all I ask for, for now."
I left the estate that night with no formal alliance, no binding obligation, and a great deal more respect for exactly how dangerous the political game in this city could be for someone who wasn't paying close enough attention. Whatever House Drenmoor's actual ambitions were, I suspected I'd just made an acquaintance far more useful, and far more watchful, than I'd originally bargained for.