Crisaius stood up sharply, his coat flaring as if it was offended by gravity itself.
"This is bad. Very bad. If the demons have a direct line to the royal meeting room, we're practically fighting naked in front of a mirror that insults us."
He paced like a mad poet. "I need to go. I need to personally snatch that rat by the wig and shove a squirrel in their—"
"Stop," Raven cut in, raising a hand.
Crisaius blinked. "...Stop? Boy, I know you're tired, but this isn't the time to play chess with fate."
"I'm serious," Raven said calmly. "Don't go."
"Oh, so now we don't investigate the literal demon spy who could be breathing into the ears of kings and ministers? Are we at that stage of insanity?"
Raven leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, his voice low. "We can use them."
Crisaius froze. "Use... the demon?"
"No," Raven corrected. "Use the rat."
The old man stared at him like a squirrel had just handed him a tax form. "Explain."
