As Nepione returned his hand to him, palms pressed to his chest before she withdrew, she could briefly feel that curious pulsing warmth from the orb — nowhere near as searing as Karlach’s skin, of course, but more like a bed warmer ebbed to a low heat. (Or a livid infection.)

And as she spoke, Gale listened, brow crinkled in thought. This was very complicated issue. Perhaps suited for one of those new-fangled alienists in Waterdeep who wanted to sit you down and listen to you discuss your problems; or even one of those kindly clerics who would let you unburden your soul with them. Gale himself didn’t feel particularly qualified —

But it was worth tackling, without merely waving her off and dodging the subject and continuing on to market. He wanted to address it first, even if it was the pair of them standing by the side of the road and letting the occasional cart rumble by, a sidestep out of the way of splashing water and mud.

“What were you doing before the Nautiloid? And what would you like to do?” he asked. “Once this is all over and you have a moment to yourself.”

It was a question he’d been chewing over, too, although he struggled to come up with an answer. A slow withering death or a quick explosive one, radiant with purpose, a heroic end for the history books. The latter sounded far preferable to the former.

But he was still looking at her, his blue eyes attentive.