The guests have shrunk back from Ezren in silence, forming the perfect semicircle of a hushed audience. Liathar stands with an arm outstretched as if trying to prevent guests from crowding forward. Few seem inclined to do so. Falathar comes hurrying through the crowd to see and stands staring. There's clearly no chance now for you and Salar to talk to Liathar alone.
Cenone steps out into the empty space of polished marble floor and regards the corpse with chill composure.
"A regrettable accident," he says. "But we mustn't let it spoil our Midwinter. Falathar," Cenone goes on, turning his back. "Have that removed."
Falathar bends over Ezren, touching his cooling temple, and then straightens, hot anger burning in his eyes. "Father," Falathar says in a voice pitched to carry. Revelers who were making a quick retreat back to the ballroom stop uncertainly. "Will you believe now that there's a curse?"
"I will not," Cenone says. "Not as long as I retain my reason."
Falathar raises his head and starts forward toward Cenone. You're close enough to catch his arm for one hushed word. It might influence how he approaches Cenone. Or the things that you've said in your plays might. Was Falathar truly listening to the meaning behind the words?