When it finally happens, at first, it’s so subtle that Kallar almost misses it.
But he catches on fast enough to note that this is one of those rare times when the minstrel is actually sitting at the table with the others. Maybe that’s what they were waiting for. The boy with the adult’s eyes is glancing around the table, seat by seat. And as he looks at each person there, he holds their gaze for two or three seconds, until they nod. Kallar isn’t sure what they’re assenting to, but although it’s clear that he missed some of the earlier nods, it’s clear that it’s something that needs to be unanimous.
Kallar gets the shock of his life when, after collecting eleven nods, the boy-man turns to him, and says just two words: “Join us.”
He’s so startled he actually looks around him to make sure that there isn’t anyone behind him that’s being invited – and Kallar knows full well he’s sitting with his back to the wall. “Me?” he says, barely loud enough to hear, and the boy-man nods.
Kallar looks around, but no one seems to be paying attention, and he is not, he reminds himself, one to worry overmuch about what the neighbours think. Taking a deep breath, he stands, and carrying his drink over to the table, takes the empty seat between the hirsute man and the dark-haired woman.
“And now our number is completed,” says the priestess.