Housemage was the title of the King's Shamen. All Aelif were natural magic wielders-even if they never used it. But each king and principality had at least one who was enmeshed in their native ability. Althalos thought that this was his best chance of understanding what had happened in the hall. This required backtracking through the outer corridor, as the Mage's tower was right off the main entrance to the castle. He firmly kept the box under one arm and his other hand under Esme's the entire way. When it came to the stairs, he allowed her to go up them first, then reached over her shoulder to knock on the door before entering this Aelfine's realm.

Inside the tower were metal contraptions of all sorts-surprisingly, many of them iron, almost causing Althalos to ward himself out of pure reaction. Behind one of these strange gadgets was an Aelif-a tall, pale one. She had a form of Leucism that left her even paler than Esme. And her hair wasn't the type to lay flat, either. Large pale-orange riotous curls almost made her look as tall as most bondmaids. "Ah, a Princeling!"

"Hello, Frythe. You've not been to a dinner in months, have you?"

"No, but I've heard from Dervaine that his son has taken on a bond most peculiar. I presume this is Esme?" The woman strode out from behind her gadgets and peered damn near through the former theif, she was so intent.

"Yes ma'am." Esme dipped her head a hair in amusement.

"Tch! Girl, you're a part of the Aelfine. I'd not be, save for extreme studies. A common Aelif is all I'd be. Now, what brings you to the detonation chamber?" Of course, the cheeky grin on this bizarrely colored woman belied the adage of common.

Esme had no idea what she meant by that.

"Explosions," Althalos murmured to her before addressing the pale Aelif. "I have a head in this box that started to curse one of us, but I stopped it. I need to figure out what was successful and what was not."

"Well, give it here, boy!" Frythe's gestures were agitated, making it hard to figure out whether she was reaching for the box or shooing them out, but the words clarified her intent, thankfully. Althalos handed it over quickly, then escorted his betrothed to a nearby settee where he tucked her against himself. Frythe turned to the table-workbench, Esme's distressed mind belatedly provided-and dumped the head onto the surface. The desiccation was so set in, that the jaw fell off and nearly rattled it's way to the floor. "What method of ending did you use, son?"

That almost caused the Prince to grin-they were maybe 2 years apart in age. Her unusual coloring once tempted him, although messing with someone who had a better handle on their magic had kept him in check-and that was a relief, given the situation he now lived under. But there were many women he had been somewhat interested in over the years that went nowhere, and they weren't in a stable enough relationship for him to introduce those concepts to Esme-more things to hide. He was beginning to hate how many issues he placed between them, but saw no alternative. "It was 'Cease your prattling, foul head.' One of the first phrases I was taught."

"Well, no wonder it decayed. It wasn't literally foul before this?" She looked at Althalos for this one, but he shrugged and looked at his bondmate with a quirked eyebrow.

Esme shook her head. "I only threw up at the sight of it-there was no smell, although it had looked dehydrated and colorless."

"Apparently just due to exposure, since it had enough moisture to mold like this. Now, let me see." This she said as she jabbed her fingers into it's eyes while muttering under her breath for a moment, causing the jelly to ooze around her fingers. Althalos watched steadfastly, but his Princess turned her face into his side due to her chest heaving as she fought vomiting again. In practically any other situation, that would have been enough to bring his focus solely on her, and the woman didn't even know it. Frythe's expression as she glanced back at them was far more knowing than he expected-and none of that one's business. "Ah, his soul was trapped in the head, intentionally. He wants to hurt her, but the outside forces were aimed at you, using his dying rage and essence as fuel. Now he's tied to the skull and will need absolution to move on."

"Absolution?" The former thief murmured against Althalos' highpoint trench-coat.

"What, in particular?" Althalos cut across his bondmate's question, to direct this at Frythe.

"He wants your love."

That tore a strangled curse out the man as he started to stand. The woman at his side gripped him, making it clear that he would have to lift her to get out of there so he settled back down in his seat. He spent some moments calming down. "That is not mine to give him. Besides, all that would do is release his bond from his own skull and merge him with my own soul. I do not want anything from him. Esme, dear, let me go-I promise not to run, but I can't stay still like this."

She shifted away, but refused to look at the macabre mess on the table. Althalos managed to keep his pacing between the table and the settee, grumbling under his breath the whole time. Eventually he stopped and faced the Housemage. "Are there any other options?"

"I'm afraid the only actions that will free him are that of a loving, accepting merge. He's not mentally stable in there, so the safest bet would be you. Other than that, he'll just have to sit in there waiting on a child's tale."

"Would you be willing to store him here until such a time comes, Frythe?"

She slowly removed her fingers from Heinlen's orbital sockets, the sound echoing through the chamber. "I can, and likely will clean up the fractured nature of his essence, too. It would make him useful to future generations, if he's never released. I can give him a voice, even."

"Good. I've never wanted a thing to do with the man, although I'm sorry for placing this burden on you."

"It's no burden. It will give me someone to mutter at when I'm doing all these experiments up here..." She paused to wipe her fingers and think of what more she wanted to say. "But as for the concluded part of the curse: the intent was to kill you, and his personal intent was to kill her. It's more that there wasn't an accord that saved you both because the head had enough of the damning out to have caused serious harm before you shut that down. I mean like boiled eyeballs was the start of the whole thing, and that's clearly not happened. But I will have to wander the corridors to make sure that nothing lingers. So, you're safe to go home, and I've work to do. Come."

Althalos helped his bondmaid from her seat, and they all headed out the door-Heinlen's head was left alone in the room to contemplate what it would, but some remnant of his thickened juices were still on Frythe's hands. Esme's mind was the only one that dwelled on how filthy the other woman's fingers were, as they left.