Maeve woke as sunlight filled her room. It took her a few lengthy moments to come to consciousness, and blurred memories began coming to her of Castian, of what lay behind the door at Foxtail.

She sat up slowly, her body heavy and tired. Castian wasn’t here. It felt as though the images of herself puppeted down the street were from a dream, but she knew that they were real.

There was, as she looked, a small note and a potion vial on her bedstand.

‘Foxtail tonight,’ read the note. There was nothing else on it.

With a clearer mind, she thought of what they’d found. The parchment, the list of elven names and other assorted information.

It could mean nothing good. She could only think of two possibilities that made sense with numbers, names, and timeframes: assassinations, or trafficking.

The thought chilled her, and the idea that she’d stuck her nose directly into this filled her with dread. They’d been careful, but what if they were found out somehow? Would Ashton be able to trace their meddling back to them? Would he be able to tell that the spell on the door had been paused, or that his papers had been gone through?

Was it really a good idea for them to go back there tonight? Did Castian have some sort of plan?

If he did, he of course hadn’t told her. Maeve could think of plenty of possibilities to use their presence there as an advantage, but all of them would benefit from her knowing what her role was. But she couldn’t be too surprised if he was keeping her in the dark simply to put her on edge.

As she got ready for the day, there was a smaller, unrelated stress biting at her too, and one more immediate: the question of whether there would be a job posting available for her today at the guild to finally allow her to rank up. It was, honestly, very unlikely that there wouldn’t be something for her; there were always a handful of low-level offerings because most of the members didn’t want to do those jobs.

But there was always a chance, and unfortunate luck had been upon her recently. It was already noon… She could be late enough that people had already taken all of them… Her pace out of the Dove and toward the guild picked up as she began to worry, caught up in her thoughts.

“Maeve!” exclaimed Delilah as Maeve walked in, and she held her breath, waiting to hear… “Get over here, sleepyhead! Take a quest!”

Maeve sighed and allowed herself to smile and walk over to the job board, Haggr sitting near it and giving her a proud pat on the shoulder as she surveyed the offerings.

“To-mo-rrow,” Delilah sang behind her. “Tomorrow, we’re going to par-ty…”

‘TEND FARM’

‘My farmhand is laid sick in bed and I need someone to feed my animals for the day and tidy up!’

‘4 gold’

It was a house on the outskirts of town, with lovely and long flowing grass, and gentle cattle and chickens. Clearly the farmhand had been unable to work for a couple of days, because the feed had been strewn about haphazardly, and the enclosures… needed cleaning.

Maeve’s city upbringing hadn’t exposed her much to this sort of work, but it wasn’t too confusing, just strenuous. It took her longer than she expected to do the shoveling and feeding and watering, and left her with a strong desire to bathe.

After the owner of the farmhouse thanked her and she pocketed the coin, she took her time in the washroom at the Dove and was once again without anything to distract her from her thoughts.

It was nearly time to leave for the evening. For the first time, though of course the thought had crossed her mind before, she had an immense urge to not follow through with Castian’s wishes. She could stay safely in her room and ride out the night, never go back to Foxtail, and let Castian handle the rest on his own… Surely he had enough evidence to get Ashton arrested, now, right?

But alongside that urge was an awful, trapping sort of feeling: the desire to do what Castian wanted. What if he needed her? What if he was relying on her? She’d been pulled into this, pulled towards him and what he wanted as though she was on strings. But she couldn’t ignore that her impulses were her own. Her desire was undeniably hers, and it was partially the thrill of doing what was expected of her, and partially the thrill of a risk more dangerous than she’d ever known.

Sitting on her bed, she held the potion in her shaky hands and stared at it before gulping it down.

Maeve was uneasy as she entered Foxtail, but the room and atmosphere seemed unchanged. A glance to the door in the corner showed it still glowed with magic, and a glance to the bar showed Castian chatting merrily as ever. Ashton was at a table talking with a lizardfolk man. She relaxed for a moment, but still, she had no idea what was supposed to happen tonight -- if they were to make a move, if guards would come bursting in at any moment. Perhaps she should go check in with Castian, as she’d done the night before.

She began walking towards the bar, but to her horror, Ashton got up and intercepted her path.

Stopped in her tracks, she smiled weakly at him.

“Alice, was it?” He gave her a grin. “One of the regulars now!”

“I suppose so!” she replied, trying to put enthusiasm in her voice. Her heart was racing uncomfortably.

“I wanted to apologize for yesterday,” Ashton said. “I did very much want to play with you, young lady, but I was… otherwise occupied. Please, do me the honor of joining me for a game.”

His words were polite, but there was a hard glint in his eyes that Maeve did not like.

“Ah, that’s very kind. May I get a drink first?” she said. She needed to talk to Castian. She needed to not get stuck in this.

“And gamble inebriated?” Ashton said. “No, no. I insist. It’s no fun if we’re not on equal footing. Just a few rounds, a ten gold game.”

Fuck. She couldn’t refuse him -- she couldn’t run the risk of offending, or setting off his temper or suspicions.

“...Alright,” she said reluctantly. Looking briefly at the bar, she saw Castian glance at her with an unreadable expression.

“Excellent!” Ashton beamed and led her over to a table. “I will buy you a drink afterwards if Lady Luck isn’t on your side.”

“Thank you,” Maeve said, taking a seat.

“I don’t think you’ve tried one of Kairon’s specials,” he said idly, but he fixed her with a look that instantly, immediately made her nerves spike in alarm.

Oh, no. Oh, no, no, no.

He knew. She wasn’t sure how much he knew, but he was plainly warning her that he was suspicious. She’d messed up. They’d messed up. She couldn’t look over at Castian right now -- too obvious. She was trapped in the unspoken wager: Lose, and get drugged. Lose, and potentially reveal herself.

To her absolute terror, the enormous stakes and the threat of the mind control potion being forced on her was making her body tingle with an arousal laced with fear, setting her nerves alight.

“I’ve not,” she said finally, trying to control the shake in her voice.

“You look like a scared rabbit!” Ashton laughed. “Don’t worry; it’s not that strong, it’s just relaxing. I’m sure you’ll like it. What’s life without a little adventure, hmm?”

“...Sure.” She gave a weak smile.

“So,” he said, bringing out a bag of dice and ten gold coins. “Have you ever played High-Low before, sweetheart?”

…She had. High-Low was a game of deception. Each player took turns being the “dealer,” who would throw a die. The other player threw their own but hid the number, and would proclaim their throw to be higher, lower, or the same as the dealer’s die alongside a bet. The dealer would need to determine if the other player was telling the truth, matching the bet and calling “true” or “false.” If the dealer called correctly, they got the pot. If they did not, the player took it instead.

It was a very nuanced game that required a strong ability to control one’s expressions, to create and break expectations and patterns. Maeve was at an enormous disadvantage here -- she was certain that she was unusually readable right now in the face of stress. Was this how Ashton had gained his place at the top? By creating unsavory situations for his opponents to play into?

“I have played it, but it’s been a long time,” she said.

“Wonderful. We can ease back in! Would you like to deal first?” He offered her a die. His eyes were icy.

She took it and swallowed, her throat dry. Without speaking, she rolled it onto the table. The patrons around them were beginning to glance at their game.

It was a five. Ashton cast his own, using his free hand to guard the result.

“Lower,” he said, putting a gold piece into the middle of the table.

Probability dictated that he was likely telling the truth, but this would also be an opportunity for him to throw her off immediately, if he’d rolled the same or higher… His expression was impenetrable to her. She had nothing to work with. Was he handing her the first round to make her feel comfortable, or just trying to make her think that?

“True,” she said, matching his bet.

Ashton revealed: a five -- higher.

Maeve felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. Ashton grinned and took the small pot.

“I am not much of a man of patience,” he said, as though he was explaining, saying that he didn’t bother with the hustle at the start of most gambles.

He threw his die -- a four. She threw hers, hidden -- a two.

She needed to make her first call -- all she could think of as her advantage was that she looked naturally nervous right now, so perhaps he would read her as lying…

“Lower,” she said, with a one-gold bet.

“True,” he replied, barely pausing.

Fuck. Ashton took the pot, and she was already down to eight gold.

“Most people feel that the safest call in High-Low is being truthful,” Ashton said. “But it’s actually the easiest to expect.”

“...You are quite skilled,” she said.

Maeve rolled a two. Ashton rolled, placed a gold piece on the table, and said, “Higher.”

She was feeling overwhelmed with the possibilities and intricacies of the bet. He could be counting on her to assume that he was going to continue the same pattern of falsehoods, or using that as a way to get her to guess that he was telling the truth. The bet was still low…

“False,” she said.

He revealed a three.

She hadn’t won a single bet yet. There didn’t seem to be a trace of magic in the dice, in herself, or on Ashton. And he was dropping the dice from high enough that it would be difficult to manipulate the results. He was just… reading her. Guessing her. With terrifying accuracy.

Ashton rolled a one. Unlucky for her -- the only options were to call “higher” or “same” and a low chance of it actually being true. She rolled a four.

She remembered what he’d said about the truth being easily expected. If she bet higher, she could at least throw him off, making him question if she was showing or feigning confidence. Maeve put in two gold and said, “Higher.”

Ashton smiled, and her heart sank. “True.”

She was down to five gold.

Her next die was a four again. Ashton rolled, looked directly at her and put five gold pieces in the middle of the table.

It suddenly got very quiet around them.

“Same,” he said, his voice low.

Maeve had learned no pattern to expect, she had learned no way to read him. This was her last opportunity. It was a one-in-six chance that he’d rolled the same as her. His high bet was goading her, equally likely a bluff or confidence. The odds dictated that it would be mad to think he was being truthful, but that would make it so easy for him to fool her.

She was swimming in fear, risk, danger, confusion.

‘Expert gamblers move past thinking,’ Castian had said to her. Despite herself, her eyes flicked over to the bar, where she saw him watching with a neutral expression.

What did she feel, in her gut?

“...Truth,” she said, softly.

Ashton revealed.

It was a six -- higher.

The recognition of loss hit her, a loss with consequences, a loss that put her deep in peril. Her heart rate picked up at the same time as a wave of warm despair began squeezing through her chest and between her legs.

“Not your day, is it?” Ashton said, and though he was smiling, his eyes were serious and hard. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ll get you that drink.”

“It -- it’s OK,” she stammered. “I think I’ll just head back for tonight --”

“It’s not polite to refuse hospitality,” he said, an edge now in his voice. “Have some manners.”

Maeve sat in stunned silence as Ashton waved to Castian, who began bringing a glass over, filled with the blue potion.

“I promise you’ll feel better after this,” Ashton said with a horrible grin.

Castian set the glass in front of her. He didn’t speak, but gave her a smile that she couldn’t interpret. Did he -- maybe he’d switched out the potion with another liquid, something inert that wouldn’t affect her?

Her body was pumping with adrenaline as she became aware that everyone was watching her. She didn’t have a choice. She couldn’t run. She couldn’t fight. Her hands shook as she lifted the cup to her lips, her body traitorously tingling in anticipation even as she knew she was in a truly bad situation --

“Enjoy,” Castian said.

The liquid hit her tongue, and she swallowed, sealing her own fate.

He had not swapped the potion.

It was not the insane mind-wiping that she remembered from drinking it undiluted. There was a softening feeling running through her, spreading into her limbs and soothing her muscles into relaxation. It crept into her face and her gaze weakened, and she could feel the exact moment as it crossed into her brain as her thoughts began to slow…

The wave of panic was turned into placid acceptance, her fear being artificially numbed. Her impulses to move and think felt like they were being stroked gently into docility, and the feeling of it humming inside her was filling her body with warm arousal. She was aware of her breathing growing heavier, of Ashton’s growing smile, and for some reason her face was mimicking it, the pleasure of her dimming consciousness making her lips softly turn up.

Little pumps of chemical blunting in her head, tingling in her mind and body. She was rocking in her chair, the friction of her thick thighs giving her a sexual thrill on top of all of it, a hot pleasure that continued to subdue her, her thoughts turning into little twinkling things, feather-soft.

There was gasping around her that she didn’t think much of.

“Seems you were right, Kairon,” Ashton said. “She sure is responding like an elf.”

He gave her a patronizing grin, and her own oblivious smile got wider.

“I am always right,” said Castian. Ashton had a laugh at that.

“Kairon here said that he thought you were sneaking around,” Ashton said, addressing her with a sing-song voice. “Is that true?”

“Yes,” Maeve breathed, disconnected from the feeling of betraying herself.

“You wanted something, but you left empty-handed.” Castian spoke, but it wasn’t a question. “That’s correct, isn’t it?”

His words were the truth. She could feel them inside of her, the voice that she craved, defining her reality.

“Yes,” she replied.

“And you’re an elf,” Ashton said.

“Yes,” she whispered, and the admission of it made a thrill go through her.

“Elves aren’t allowed here, Alice,” he said. “Or -- what’s your real name?”

“Maeve.”

Ashton held his hand out in front of her, and in an instant, she felt the enchantment lift from her mind, like the shock of freezing water, suddenly lucid again, gasping.

“Get out, Maeve,” he said, his voice suddenly cold. “Kairon. Show her the door.”

Castian’s hand was on her shoulder, gripping.

Wait. Wait… Had he sold her out? Had he… planned this? Still trying to get her bearings, she looked up at him, searching for some sign…

“Get up,” Castian said in a neutral tone.

Filled with swelling fear, Maeve did as she was told. Even if Castian had set her up for this, it could still be part of a plan. Someone could arrive to help. Perhaps she leaves now and Castian double-crosses him.

…Or, she herself had been betrayed.

She was keenly aware of Ashton’s eyes on her as she walked towards the exit, blood pounding in her ears. As they got into the small, dark hallway before the door, Castian leaned in.

“Go back to your room tonight,” he whispered.

She -- just now, thinking about it, she realized that that wasn’t the obvious choice, she logically should not go back to her room. Castian knew exactly where she was staying; he’d cast spells on the room, and if he was working with Ashton in any capacity…

Or perhaps the spells he’d cast were safeguards for a situation exactly like this.

Castian made sure that she was outside before closing the door behind her, without another word, without so much as looking at her. The doorguard made a noise and looked at her, but promptly went back to staring off into space.

…Maeve realized had been presented with a gamble.

Should she follow Castian’s instructions, or not?

Should she trust him, or not?

He probably… wasn’t wholly working with Ashton. Maeve truly believed that Castian was trying to get that man out to take power for himself. He was searching for his own information, and she couldn’t believe the whole thing was a ruse. But how much would he throw her in harm’s way to get what he wanted? How much would he hide from her in order to use her?

‘You are too confident I won’t hurt you,’ he’d said to her.

She didn’t feel confident, right now. She felt confused, and she felt trapped, her body still steadily pumping adrenaline through her.

But he had broken a part of her, irrevocably -- the part of her that prioritized her well-being, the part of her that was averse to risk. It was an enormous risk to do as he said, one that truly endangered her in an unknown way.

But the peak of that risk seemed to create an equally high zenith of submission to Castian’s wishes, to obediently and blindly doing as she was told.

Maeve felt so frustrated that it had come to this, that some part of her knew fully that this was a dangerous decision and yet she was going to do it anyway. But she could see no future in which she didn’t go back to the Dove. It just didn’t seem possible for her to run away.

Slowly, and then picking up speed, she walked back to the inn. She imagined Castian’s small grin, the confidence he must have that she would do exactly as he expected.

It was not easy to sleep, but the gentle, shifting glow of the magic on the walls and door became a relaxing sort of fixation that allowed her to eventually drift off.

She woke with a start in darkness to the sound of the door clicking closed, and immediately her senses heightened in alarm.

There were no longer any spells on the room.

Quick as a flash, she grasped her dagger from the bedstand as an orb of light blinked into existence in the middle of the room, causing her eyes to squint as they adjusted to the sudden brightness.

Standing there was Ashton, with a cool smile on his face.

Fear, disappointment, and the awful question of betrayal all gripped her at once, but she steadied her hand on her blade as he slowly approached the bed.

“You looked better with the bigger tits,” he said, casually.

“Leave,” Maeve said, voice low. “Leave, now.”

“Or what? Or you’ll come at me with your little dagger?” He extended his hand to the door and instantly cast a spell, surrounding the room in magic.

“I will,” she said with gritted teeth, extending the blade towards him, readying her body to move. “And I am quick with it.”

“You’d better be, because your magic is… lacking. It took nothing to break the spells on your room.”

He -- he thought she’d cast them. Maeve was silent.

“If you think you can best me in speed, you should do it now,” Ashton said calmly. “Because I wager that I can stop you in your tracks before you even come near me.”

Her mind raced with what she needed to do -- the steps she’d need to take to incapacitate him, how to clear the small gap between them. She didn’t know what spells he’d cast on the room -- deafening, or locking, or both…

“I told you, I’m not a patient man,” he said. “You have five seconds. Five, four, three --”

Her body surged into action, leaping to her feet with her arm poised to thrust the knife into his stomach, leaning forward to move --

Instantly, Ashton’s hand extended towards her and blue magic sprung from it, so wildly fast that she couldn’t react to it before it hit her square between the eyes and sank into her head --

Her will instantly went white and blank, her thoughts came to a stuttering halt, her body went still and she stopped feeling scared, stopped feeling sad, stopped feeling anything.

Her body buzzed with magic, control, and a thick, impenetrable blanket of pleasure; her only bodily reaction besides continuing to breathe, not even blinking, eyes wide, her body’s automatic response to its forced surrender, the only thing her mind could process in simple little wordless bursts.

“Drop the dagger, Maeve.”

Her hand released it and it clattered to the ground.

“Sit back on the bed.”

She sat.

Ashton approached her and waved his hand over her eyes a few times. She simply sat still, unmoving, eyes glazed.

“Nobody home,” he said. “You know how easy it is to spot an elf when you control them? They’re so arcane-sensitive, their bodies can barely handle the magic. Never met an elf girl that didn’t eventually moan like a bitch in heat when I wiped out her will.”

As if on cue, a raw and sexual sound escaped her.

“It’s pathetic. You’re completely oblivious. You can be louder -- no one can hear you.”

She felt the tightening of control inside of her mind, an insane, pleasuring squeeze, and she felt her body throb, felt her throat vibrate with a whimper.

“Touch yourself.”

Her body obeyed, her hand slipping down into her underwear, totally controlled, completely disconnected from any awareness of the horror of it, from the fact that she almost never did this to herself on her own. Just gentle, perfect, slick rubbing, making the erotic haze grow thicker, making her burn and tingle. Her hips not even able to move without his command. Rhythmic, unyielding waves of pleasure, building, and building…

“I’m not into it,” Ashton said, sounding bored. “But someone will be. You’ll fetch a good price. Come on, show me more. Spread your legs. Push your tits out. Do it like you mean it.”

Her back arched, her limbs loosened, her thighs parted. She began moaning openly, the pleasure consuming and controlling her into sexual bliss, but an automatic sort of eroticism, pure stimulus and response, pure puppetry of her mind and body.

“Cum.”

Her pussy clenched and her mind exploded, squeezing and throbbing pleasure in her lower belly, her voice rising through it --

And then stillness and blankness overcoming her, her body stiff and stopped, her will numb.

“Stay here. Get dressed, and then wait.”

Like an automaton, she rose from the bed and began putting her clothes on as Ashton walked out of the room and shut the door behind him.

Light was filtering in through the window by the time he returned.

“We’re going to leave now. Follow me. Walk naturally. And smile.”

An empty smile formed on her face as she rose and walked behind him, muscles loose and mind blank. They descended the stairs and went through the bar area of the Dove before stepping out into the sunny street. The light hurt her eyes but she couldn’t squint or block it.

There was a covered wagon outside. Ashton motioned for her to board it, lifting the canvas and revealing the lizardfolk man from Foxtail as well as another elven girl, pretty and sitting with a vacant smile. Seeing it made Maeve’s body throb with arousal.

“Sit down and say bye-bye to the town now,” Ashton said.

Maeve sat and blankly intoned, “Bye-bye.”

“We ready?” said the lizardfolk, moving to the front of the wagon.

“Yes,” Ashton said. “Let’s go.”

The cart began rolling along, bouncing on the dirt.

“You can’t move,” he said. “But you can be aware now.”

As he spoke, the spell over her mind shifted, as though the part of her that was kept asleep was suddenly woken up, finally seeing out through her own eyes into the inside of the wagon, Ashton looking at her unkindly, her emotions and her memory about what had just happened suddenly tangible, available, crushing --

Maeve felt the impulse to gasp and cry out, but it was as though she was not connected to her own body. The smile on her face remained.

“Usually we arrange for the girls to sort out their attachments before they leave,” Ashton said. “Reasons to suddenly… depart. They get blissful goodbyes and travel. But you stuck your nose where you shouldn’t have.”

‘Leave’ -- he was implying that he was brainwashing and selling elves --

He had violated her. He had forced her into control and sex. She couldn’t believe the way her body had betrayed her, what he’d made her do -- what he’d said about elves, and enchantments --

“Kairon told me that you didn’t know anything. He told me how you yielded to his magic like a slut and obliviously revealed what little you knew.”

No -- she hadn’t -- that hadn’t happened…

“Tell me the truth.” The command gripped her.

“I only guessed,” she said, her voice sounding happy through her plastered smile. She had no control, and to her horror, she revealed: “He was using me to help take you out.”

“Wrong,” Ashton said, grinning. “Well. I know he is trying to manipulate me. But that’s how the world works. We manipulate each other. He was delivering you to me before you got anywhere you didn’t belong. He lied to you.”

Maeve felt like she was breaking -- she didn’t, couldn’t fully believe that, but the uncertainty mixed with fury, despair, control was making her mind feel like it was crumbling. She was fixated over and over on the possibility. Was it true? Could it be true? How could she prove to herself that this wasn’t true?

…Was he going to come for her? Was he going to leave her?

Was she going to be forced to leave everyone behind?

“I suppose you’re wondering why I do this,” Ashton mused as the cart rolled along. “You’ll be disappointed to hear that sometimes there aren’t elegant reasons. My father hated elves. His father hated elves. We’re self-made sorcerers who’ve sacrificed for our craft, and your kind are a scourge on the practice of the arcane. It’s as simple as that.”

She didn’t care. She didn’t care why. She was too wound up in the feeling that she’d made an awful mistake -- a series of awful mistakes. The choice to gamble with Castian, seeking his attention, going to Foxtail, going back to her room. At any point she could have withdrawn, done her hard work at the guild, and lived her normal life.

Even if Maeve had been manipulated, she herself was partially to blame. She had been blaming her luck this whole time, but it had been her choices, her decisions.

“None of that matters, anyway,” Ashton sighed. “You won’t remember it after a while. If you’re lucky, you’ll be used for all sorts of perverse sex that you stupid elf sluts seem to love so much.”

She simply could not believe that this was going to happen. But it was the questioning that was driving her mad. She didn’t know. She didn’t know anything. She didn’t know how much she’d been set up. She didn’t know what was coming.

She didn’t know if she should hate Castian.

That was the last thought that fixed her attention -- unceremoniously, Ashton put his hand up, and her mind instantly blanked into nothingness.

They were on the cart for a while more. Maeve didn’t know how long. She wasn’t aware of time passing. She was barely able to register when the wagon stopped.

“We’re here,” Ashton said. “Follow me, and watch.”

The control warped around her thoughts again and she startled back into that grossly observant consciousness, her body obediently stepping out of the cart after him against her will. The other elf girl followed, still with a blissed-out smile on her face.

They were at the pier to the south of town, about an hour’s travel out. Around them were merchants and fishermen, talking, wading in the water to get their boats equipped, carrying boxes. Ashton walked them towards one of the docks where a bearded human man waited on a small sailboat.

It was broad daylight. This was happening in completely plain sight.

Castian was nowhere she could see. Her fear and stress began rising.

The human man frowned as they approached.

“I didn’t expect two passengers,” he said in a gruff voice.

“It so happens that we have an extra today,” Ashton said. “I presumed that you’d be fine with that.”

“An unexpected passenger means that I can’t provide as much.”

“I’d be fine calling it 200, for both.”

200? 200 gold? Platinum? No -- surely 200,000 for two elves -- actually selling their lives --

“One was 110,” the man said. “And it seems like I’m doing you a favor.”

Ashton frowned. “175.”

“150.”

“That’s a bit low, don’t you think?”

Was there no one here who could see magic? No one to notice the arcane glow over their heads, the vapid smiles and blank eyes? Maeve couldn’t turn her neck or move her gaze but she saw no elves passing by around them, no one who looked like they might have arcane talent.

“160.”

“165,” Ashton said.

The man snorted. “Fine. Alright, bring them up.”

Ashton turned to the both of them and gave a horrible smile to Maeve.

“Go,” he said.

…Wait. Wait.

Her legs began moving.

…Was this… was this happening?

The dock and the boat and the bearded man were getting closer as she stepped forward over and over, helplessly.

No… No, this wasn’t supposed to happen. Was Castian really…

…Really not coming?

She was going to be sold off. She was going to forget everything. She was going to disappear.

He just couldn’t have set her up for this. 

…But he wasn’t here.

Despair was crushing through her, clamping onto her. She tried as hard as she could to scream, to release the horrible emotions inside of her, but she couldn’t even flex her throat to make a sound or change her steady, even breaths.

Her feet stepped onto the dock and she watched as the man helped the other girl onto the boat.

This was… the end?

He turned to her to take her obedient hand when a loud, feminine voice pierced through the babble of water and noise at the pier.

“MAEVE!”

She couldn’t turn to look, but it was Delilah.

Oh, by the Gods, it was Delilah.

The man on the boat frowned and turned towards the sound. She couldn’t move.

Ashton, behind her, hissed, “The fucker didn’t say she had friends.”

But she did…

“LET HER GO! Maeve! Maeve! We’re coming -- that’s her --”

The noises around them changed -- the rumble of voices and activity stopped, and there was the clanking of plate armor -- guards -- several of them -- she couldn’t see --

“How can I help you?” Ashton’s voice said. It was smooth, but tense.

“These folks here have some mighty large accusations about what you're doing here, sir,” said an unfamiliar masculine voice.

“They’re taking her!” Delilah’s voice was loud and insistent. “Arrest him right now! She’s right there!”

“That is indeed our friend.” Haggr…

“Speak for yourself.” …Grant…

“MAEVE! We’re right here, say something!”

Oh, how she wished she could -- relief was flooding through her --

“The girl does appear to be enchanted,” said a different feminine voice -- a mageguard -- “Sir, I need to dispel the magic to confirm that there is nothing unsavory --”

There was a sudden boom and crackle of spellwork and a flash that reflected off of the water. The bearded man ducked and covered his head, then swore and got into the boat, leaving her, rushing to untie the cleats --

The metallic rattling of armor approached quickly and Maeve saw a guard run past her to tackle him into the boat. There was screaming and the yelling of loud voices, huge arcane bursts from behind her -- she could make out voices of guards, the guild members, the mageguard all shouting instructions to each other -- Ashton was bellowing --

Suddenly the magic stopped and she could hear the guards rushing and barking orders at each other, and all at once, Maeve felt the arcane control leave her. Her body crumpled to the ground, her arms barely bracing her, exhausted.

“He’s held,” said the mageguard from behind her, with gritted teeth. “Arrest him.”

“Maeve… Maeve!” Delilah’s voice was getting closer to her, rapid footsteps.

She entered her field of vision from the ground. She looked angry, distressed, relieved as Maeve looked up at her.

“Are you dead?” Grant said behind her.

She felt like something was lodged in her throat, and when she tried to force herself to speak, it was a thin noise that rose into a sob, and then another, and then another, until she was crying, fully.

“It’s OK,” Delilah said, immediately kneeling down and wrapping her arms around her. “It’s OK. You’re safe. You’re safe…”

“They’re taking him away,” Haggr said, and Maeve looked over for the first time -- Ashton was in manacles that glowed with an arcane light, with a wretched snarl on his face, but seemingly unable to speak.

One of the guards approached. “Miss, we need to speak to you. Do you need a healer?”

“Can’t you see that she needs a minute?” Delilah snapped.

“I --” Maeve forced out. “No healer… Just… Just a minute…”

The guard, perhaps a touch embarrassed, nodded curtly and left them. The guard that was on the boat with the bearded man was dragging him out and past them, until it was just the four of them on the dock.

“You don’t have to talk,” Haggr said. “I don’t know what you’ve been through, but I am sure it was a lot.”

Maeve didn’t want to speak, but as everything was dying down around them, she was filled with desire to know: “How… did you find me?”

“We didn’t see you at the guild this morning,” Delilah said. “And we were all taking the day off to go out with you… So we went to the Noble Dove to come get you, and that mage guy, the one who blew you off the other day was there, looking worried and carrying this parchment --”

Maeve’s eyes went wide. Delilah produced the paper from her satchel -- it looked like it was the one from Foxtail’s side room, except Maeve’s name was on the list.

“He said that he had been looking to meet with you to order some work outside of the guild -- which is not good etiquette, might I add; you shouldn’t do that without telling us! -- and you weren’t there, but he found this.”

He… he…

“I thought it was pretty suspicious,” Delilah kept babbling. “But we’re not stupid. I mean, your name, today’s date, you’re not where we expected you to be… The guards took some convincing, but they didn’t like the look of the parchment either, and I guess they’ve been following some sort of missing persons case -- we were just worried you were dead or something…”

As she kept talking, Haggr crouched down and put his hand on her shoulder, silently.

Castian hadn’t betrayed her.

Castian hadn’t betrayed her.

She let Delilah talk, she let Grant make his gruff quips for a few minutes more as her fatigued body felt true relief sweep through, loosening her.

Maeve lied to the guards. She was skilled with deception, and she had no intention of revealing anything to them about Foxtail, Castian, or anything else. She was just an innocent party, kidnapped in the dead of night. Whether Ashton would corroborate her story if they interrogated him… Well, that was a problem for another time. The fact that Castian had never shown his true identity in Foxtail was a boon for him, but the fate of Foxtail itself was in question.

She rode, dazed, on the open cart home. Delilah was talking about making new plans for their day out, which Maeve weakly requested to be at the very least a couple of days from now. She felt exhausted through and through, and she nodded off to sleep at least once during their ride.

Once they were back in town, the guards and mageguard thanked them, leading Ashton, the lizardfolk man, and the man from the docks away. They were all tightly bound with iron and magic, and spelled into silence. Ashton flashed her the most venomous look she’d ever seen in her lifetime as he was pushed. Maeve realized now that the mageguard was an elven woman, and he did not look pleased to be yielding to her.

She and her fellow guildmembers -- her friends -- were left in the middle of town.

“So," Delilah said. "Are you going to tell us what really happened? Because I can tell when you're keeping something secret." 

Maeve gave a small, tired smile. “Perhaps this is one of the stories that I tell when I am too drunk to think better of it.”

Delilah gave her a warm smile, and pulled her into a hug.

“You look horrible -- worse than usual,” Grant said. “Go take a nap.”

She laughed. “I think I will do just that.”