In Chapter 62, Dora performed psychometry on the invitation Melisenn sent to the party while they were in Fort Hailcourse:

Dora saw a once-elegant sitting room. The same one from the vision of the bone-handled dagger. Tall windows, fireplace, round table surrounded by eight high-backed chairs. Books everywhere. The house of a hoarder.

Again, Melisenn was sitting at her desk in the northeast corner. A gorgeous, elegant, beauty in a spotless orange dress.

It seemed a similar set-up as the previous visions, but there were two notable differences this time.

#1: Melisenn seemed far from serene and in control. She looked PISSED. She was biting at the inside of her lip as she penned the invitation. She’s a pro, an utter pro, so the lines of calligraphy weren’t showing any sign of her tension, but she was clearly LIVID.

#2: There was someone with her. The head of a pale elven woman with long, silky black hair floated in the air next to her, trailing a four-foot line sticky trail of spine and gore and viscera from the ragged stump of her neck like a long, grisly tail.

This head was flying. And quickly. It darted around like a jittery bat. Blood leaked from her tail of gore all over the floor. And it was obvious that the carpet in this room was sticky and matted with blood.

The head spoke. How it produced sound, without a voice box or lungs, was unknown. “I don’t understand. What is the purpose of this party?”

Melisenn flashed the head an annoyed glare. “There IS no party, Rumatri. Don’t be an idiot.”

“A ruse then.”

“Yes. They rest up and spend tomorrow preparing to meet us on Oathday. They’ll like that idea. A day of meetings and pacts. They’ll buy it. It seems plausible. And civilized. And they no doubt think we’re licking our wounds. Instead, we move tomorrow after midnight, all of us, all together, all at once, while they sleep, and we END THIS. By the time Oathday dawns, we’ll have what we need. AGAIN.”

Melisenn delicately signed her name to the invitation, and placed a perfect little dot above the i.

Rumatri flitted around to get in front of Melisenn’s face. Face stared into body-less face.

“What about Weiralai? Will she join us?”

“She must.”

“But what about her project? She’s still down in the crypt. And I think her device is finally–”

“I DON’T CARE ABOUT HER FUCKING PROJECT.”

This outburst, perhaps more than anything else, spoke to Melisenn’s state of mind. This was a woman who does NOT lose her cool.

The floating head of Rumatri darted back and eyed Melisenn coldly. Melisenn collected herself.

“She serves the King in Yellow just as we all do. Tell her the plan. She will join us. She must.”

Rumatri drifted off as Melisenn dashed off the postscript to the invitation.

And then the vision faded.

First Reference: Chapter 62
Other Notable References:

 

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