"- house, please, I don't see how I'd ever relax, in a palace -"

"House it is." He closes his eyes and tilts his head back, initiating a mental conversation she isn't privy to, before returning to awareness after a few minutes. "All set. The city is Alsais, capital of Colend; your house is along one of the many canals. It's nearly sunrise there." He stands and offers his hand. "It will hurt less this time."

"I'm glad of that," she says, hesitating a moment before taking his hand.

He takes a step forward, and with no physical unpleasantness at all—like stepping through a door—they're standing in a paved road in the early predawn light. It's cold again, though not nearly as bad as the wasteland she first arrived in. Sveneric leads the way past several large and fancy-looking houses, until they get to her large and fancy-looking house. They're greeted by a middle-aged woman in equally fancy clothes who cheerfully introduces herself as Nherin, the house's steward, and welcome to Alsais, and can she show Bella around the house? It is magically warmed.

Oh that's much better, she wonders if it's about the distance or about being a first-timer or what - "Yes, thank you."

Every room of the house is thoroughly lit by those luminescent glass spheres, one in each corner, which can be toggled by clapping. Downstairs is the parlor, dining room, and kitchen. Upstairs are two bedrooms (equipped with cleaning frames), and a study. Each floor has a balcony that overlooks the canal, which faces the west—a beautiful sunset, you really must see it.

It's gorgeous. Literally every implement, down to the silverware, is artistically beautiful. And even more than individual beauty of its components—the patterns painted into the walls, or the bird-and-butterfly mural in the parlor, or the (expensive, surely) hand-carved furniture—it all coheres. Whoever decorated this place wants the occupants to lay aside their cares and relax.

This street full of vacation homes is the Garden Way; it's within walking distance of several restaurants and pleasure houses, which Nherin is happy to provide recommendations for, and if Bella needs anything more specific then the market districts aren't far, just cross three canals in that direction and ask anyone for directions.

Wow, if the guest house is like this the palace would've struck her dead on the spot probably. "I don't have... money or anything, for restaurants?"

Sveneric will give her enough money to live comfortably here.

Nherin refrains from recommending six different plays and instead leaves Bella to acclimate, sharing her address (two blocks north, house with a butterfly painted on in) in case there are any problems with the house, and she hopes Bella has a lovely stay.

Sveneric will also leave, to go get that money for Bella and then sleep, unless she has any questions first.

She thinks she has enough to be getting on with for the purpose of going to bed for the night, at least.

"Then I'll see you in the morning—relatively speaking. If you need me urgently, lower your mind-shield and think my name, and I'll be there."

And he transfers to Curtas's House, up in the study. He inhales deeply, letting the disirad wash over his soul; his senses come into focus, and his anxiety is smoothed. Among the scroll-strewn desks, pondering a recent translation, is Detlev.

"Adam?" says Sveneric after a moment.

Present. I'm in Crestel right now.

Sveneric begins a mental transfer, but Detlev holds up a hand, forestalling him. "Keep your observations to yourself. I already regret sharing with you what I discovered."

That's unorthodox. "Is this related to your intercepting my transfer?"

In response, Detlev gestures to the pouch of coins sitting on one of the desks. Sveneric mutters the transfer spell, suppressing a sigh. (The pouch appears in Bella's parlor, much like the chicken dinner did earlier. There are a few hundred, all hexagonal and mostly made of silver, of varying sizes.)

"You thought the disirad would be bad for her?" He is really trying very hard to see his father's vision right now.

"Not bad," Detlev says, "in the long run. Disorienting, certainly. More pressingly, another violation, as she would not have come to it willingly."

Sveneric hadn't considered that. Carefully, he says, "My reference point for this is Imry."

Who was willing, Adam reminds him. However much he chafed, he came to the plateau of his own volition, and he could have left at any time.

Now Sveneric does sigh. "Yes, I think I see it." He really should sleep—he's been pushing himself to stay awake for this interesting off-worlder, and the needs of the physical body are beginning to catch up with his mind—but there is one more matter. "Any news from Marga?"

"She is optimistic that our fright was disproportionate. And Hibern will soon add her perspective."

That's well enough, then.

Detlev smiles. "Rest well. Be forthright with our visitor, and learn what you can of the world that shaped her."

And Sveneric sleeps. He'll return to Bella's abode mid-afternoon, local time, with a knock on her front door.

Bella wakes up after a normal eight hours of sleep, finds it to be time for a late lunch, and discovers the money and tentatively sets out to find a restaurant with something appetizing for - brunch, arguably.

Sveneric also left her a coat. No fur, but it's warm enough. And bright blue, which helps Bella fit in among the throngs of people in equally bright clothes. It's not just her house; everything is beautiful and everyone is well dressed.

The restaurants are indeed just a few blocks away, identifiable by their smells. In lieu of any local knowledge or recommendations, she can pick a good smell (there are many to choose from).

They don't have pictures or anything on display?

No pictures. The only identification for these establishments is a painting of something over its door (a bee, a lily pan, the moon eclipsing the sun…), which is sometimes repeated on an outside wall where people are liable to see it.

Huh. In that case she'll go for, like, something in the bread and fruit overlap space, imagining a muffin or something.

The first bakery she finds has an array of pastries in varying degrees of sweet and savory, including some muffin-adjacent items. There's space to sit down and eat if she wants, and no other customers at present.

Cool. Muffin and... bagel? juice? Do they have those? Is there like, a menu.

There's a display in the center with the available items; the shopkeeper, an elderly man, lets her know the price verbally (not that she understands the words around local currency). No juice, but he can have his daughter fetch her some wine for a price or some complimentary water. 

Hopefully one of these coins is a whatever that word is? No wine, thanks, water's good.

Water it is. He takes a few coins and explains their relative value and—she must have come from far not to be familiar with Sartoran coinage. Did she travel in for the wedding?

"No, I didn't even know there was one."

"Shontande finally found his queen. Sartora's daughter, if you can believe it! The ceremony was a few weeks ago, but it feels like half the tourists I see are angling to get a peek at her. She's supposed to be as breathtaking as the king. The second coming of Lasva the Wanderer. My nephew was a hand with the catering for the day-before party, and he says…" And he proceeds to humblebrag about his nephew and pass along definitely unreliable gossip for as long as Bella will let him.

She has no idea how to politely stop him and will treat him as the background television news while she eats brunch with occasional nodding and hmming.

The not-muffin is light and airy and just the right amount of sweet. Strawberry, maybe. The baker does eventually take the hint, and Bella is free to finish her meal and drink in peace.

And then she walks back to the ludicrously pretty guest house.