Giggle. Kiss. "Me neither," he says in Ansati.

"You are good. And bloody," she says, in Ansati.

He laughs. "Thank you! I try!"

"I am happy. Pain is fun."

Giggle. Kiss. "You're adorable."

"You also." Snuggle. Kiss. 

Over the course of the next few weeks, Siva acquires--not quite a routine, but a familiarity with her surroundings. She spends a lot of time reading and not quite as much time as that having gloriously bloody sex with Tanaikon but still kind of a lot. She studies and practices Ansati, and at some point she decides to move into the glorious suite, because seriously, it's glorious, and it's not that much farther from the library.

It's a very nice few weeks.

But he meant to get a new swan, and he doesn't have one. He can't sustain the mountain on Siva alone.

So one night, he goes looking for a party.

There is nearly always a party in the capitol, if you come at the right hour. 

This one has slightly more pretty people than average. It appears to be half-in and half-out of a building with no walls on the relevant side, only elegant marble pillars. Lively dancing music is playing, and many of the guests are taking advantage.

Thick grey clouds bloom abruptly in the clear evening sky; a sudden wind drives the first drops of sudden rain in through the open wall of the building. More of both follow after. The sourceless storm blows out every single lamp in the dance hall.

The musicians stop playing, a moment, before restarting; people concentrate more in the building part. There is some alarm, but not too much; the Lord of the Howling Mountain only shows up once every few years and he already took that poor girl a few weeks ago.

There are a disproportionately large number of men who fit the bill for potential swans; pretty ones with innocent eyes and lips that look just perfect for screaming.

As suddenly as it began, the rain stops. The clouds vanish. A twisting column of fine black smoke spins down from the sky, and when it touches the ground, there's a clap of thunder, and the Lord of the Howling Mountain is standing there smiling.

Aaaand everyone goes stock-still. 

Well, almost everyone. Someone's trying to sneak up behind him.

Interesting hobbies someone has.

He looks around for a moment, lets his eyes settle on someone, starts walking toward them - but, although he gives no sign of it, most of his attention is on the would-be sneak.

The person reaches him, and--

taps him on the shoulder politely.

He turns smoothly, raising his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Your lordship," he says, bowing smoothly. "I was ever so devastated to hear you'd deigned to visit us already and I had missed it. Allow me to make up for the lost opportunity now, if you will. May I have the honor of this dance?" He seemingly notices that the musicians have stopped again. He raises an eyebrow. "We have a guest," he chides. "Now is hardly the time to stop." The musicians look uncertainty between him and the Lord of the Howling Mountain.

Yeah, he's not coming home with a swan tonight, is he.

That's all right. There's time.

He smiles down at - this must be the host of the party, the way he said 'we have a guest'. Most of the properly invited guests can't see his face from here, so he doesn't bother to hide his genuine fond amusement or try to transmute it into something more suited to the role.

"Terror makes a poor artist, I find," he says, offering his hands. "But if you want music, then music you shall have."

The clouds billow up again. A single raindrop falls. It rings against the ground between them with a sound like a perfect crystal chime.

"You make an excellent point, your lordship," he says, taking his hands.

Another drop falls, and another, each ringing a new note. The drops get more frequent, the notes softer, and they come together into a beautiful otherworldly music.

"I'm afraid I don't know your name," he murmurs as he leads Necori into the first steps of the dance.

"Necori Zeris, your lordship." He dances differently from Siva. Siva dances in a way totally wrapped up in herself and her partner and the music; in the joy of motion. Necori dances like an artist putting on a show for an audience. He is still very, very good at it.

"Delighted to meet you."

He speaks too quietly for their audience to hear him over the music. Very deliberately so.

"And you, I observe, seem unusually pleased to meet me."

"What, have the Lord of the Howling Mountain show up at my party and not dance with him? My reputation would never recover."

"Some reputation you must have."

"I should hope so, all the work I've put into cultivating it."

"What do you think I do to the people I take?" he wonders, amused. "And whatever it is, are you willing to trade it for infamy? Because I can most certainly get you infamy."