Little by little, the mounting stress was beginning to weigh on her. Maeve considered herself adept at dealing with pressure -- she’d been in a number of sticky situations involving deception and sneaking around back home in the city. Before deciding formally on pursuing guildwork, she even felt like running those kinds of jobs was her bread-and-butter, something she could do consistently for coin. And not even mentioning the various perils that Castian had created for her over the last few weeks.

But when a job was done right, it was done -- and done neatly. In just the last week, she had had Castian haphazardly revealed to her parents and friends, a worrying interview with the mageguard, and now some unknown danger that her old professor wanted to confront her about. All of which was ongoing.

The most pressing piece -- going to see Professor Wynoake -- also required what she expected to be a humiliating process: asking Castian to drop her off at the Academy.

…She realized, as she thought that thought, that there was the possibility of him insisting to be introduced to Professor Wynoake as well.

One thing at a time. That was all Maeve could really do -- take each thing separately.

She headed off to the guild to work.

The job they took was mapping out some of the mines they’d cleared before -- something Grant openly expressed frustration about: “Why’re they hiring swords and axes to do a bunch of drawing?”

But Haggr was experienced with this sort of exploration and even cartography, and the group of them did end up needing their weapons to dispatch some giant rats and spiders through the winding paths of the caves. The fact that the miners returned to the guild for the job -- and the fact that they were paying quite handily for it -- was good news for business.

It was, however, a two-day commission. As the time ticked by, walking through tunnel after tunnel, Maeve grew increasingly impatient. She needed to get back to the city to see Professor Wynoake as soon as possible.

Finally, the map was complete, and they returned to the mouth of the cave at sunset, beginning the cart-ride back.

“I am,” Delilah said, “so very ready for a bath.”

The group of them made grumbling noises of agreement.

“I may be taking another day off soon,” Maeve said. “Possibly tomorrow. Just a day, I think.”

“What trouble are you getting up to?” Delilah grinned.

She hesitated. “My old professor wants to see me, back in the city.”

“Weren’t you just there?” Grant said. “Couldn’t you have visited then?”

Maeve didn’t feel like explaining the complexities of her relationship with the Academy, nor did she think it was wise to reveal the unknown urgency of the visit.

“I didn’t have time to, with my parents,” she said. “But apparently he wants to talk, since it has been a while since I’ve left the Academy, and I owe him at least that much as a former student.”

“Don’t worry,” Delilah grinned at Grant. “She can’t leave us shorthanded forever; it’s a pretty bit of coin to make trips out there all the time.”

Maeve forced herself to laugh, very much wanting the comment to end there so she wasn’t left explaining exactly how she was planning on getting there and back. Delilah glanced at her, and a flash of suspicion crossed her face, but she fell quiet.

Castian was seated at a table at the Dove when she walked in.

“Long job?” he asked as she came over.

“I still need to bathe,” Maeve said. “Do you mind waiting?”

“You haven’t bathed?” he smiled, and then he lowered his voice: “Did you at least wash your shirt?”

She flushed, and her work-worn body felt like it suddenly had the wind knocked out of it.

“Yes,” she whispered.

“That was fast,” he murmured. For a moment, she thought he was going to pin her down there with his words, but he simply said, “I’ll wait for you.”

Her heart racing, she went to the washroom.

Maeve wasn’t exactly inclined to take her time soaking, so she was quick to get clean and not be left alone with anticipating how her request for Castian’s teleportation magic would play out.

As promised, he was still at the table, but he’d ordered a couple tankards of ale, and plates of hard cheese and meats.

“Thank you,” she said, sitting, trying not to take the food too eagerly.

“You seem more high-strung than usual,” Castian said.

…Yes, she was. In large part because of him.

“There is a lot going on,” she said, and took a breath. “Actually… I need a favor.”

Maeve watched as his expression transformed -- his smile widened, and his eyes narrowed just slightly and seemed to glint.

“Oh?” he asked softly, and the atmosphere around them seemed to grow more enclosed and darker for his obvious sadism.

“...I need to get back to the city,” she said quietly. “As soon as tomorrow, if we can…”

“And why is that?” Castain asked, with the same salacious tone.

“I got a letter from my professor at the Academy,” Maeve said. “He’s worried about something and wants to see me, urgently.”

“Interesting,” Castian said. “I am sure you’ve considered the potential consequences of asking me for this.”

“I have tried not to,” she admitted softly.

“That is a kind of surrender in itself,” he murmured. “You need this, don’t you?”

The double meaning of the question was obvious to her, dread and heat beginning to curl in her chest. Breaths shallow, she nodded.

“Then,” he said, leaning in, “you owe me.”

…She owed him? As in -- he wasn’t going to --

“Think carefully before you’re relieved, Maeve,” Castian whispered to her.

He wasn’t going to make her do anything right now -- no gambling, no sexual coercion -- but she was signing over a favor in return, something that she wouldn’t know until it was time, and at any time --

And it would make her paranoid, stewing in the anxious fantasies of what it would be, exactly as she had tried to avoid.

Maeve realized that she was wrong. He was making her gamble. This was the gamble: was this worth the risk of the unknown?

“Do you accept?” Castian asked softly.

“...I don’t have a choice,” Maeve said, strained. But as soon as she spoke the words, she remembered what he’d told her when she first felt backed into the corner.

She did have a choice. She always had other choices.

Castian watched her process, expectant.

“Yes,” she breathed, and she felt the warm, sinking feeling of committing to risk.

“Good,” he murmured, smiling. “You want to go tomorrow?”

Shaky, Maeve nodded.

There were two final stresses involved in this trip -- the risk of running into her parents, and the risk of Castian pushing his way in the door.

Seeing her parents was unlikely; working in research meant that they weren’t in the classroom wing of the large building very often. But if she did see them…

Well, she could claim that she was going to surprise them with a quick visit, perhaps.

Castian, on the other hand -- that was up to his whim. If he called in the “favor,” if he manipulated her -- there was really no way for her to avoid it. She would just have to work with it.

He was waiting for her outside the Dove the next day, and he looked pleased as ever.

“Ready to go?” he asked.

Maeve nodded, and took his hand.

They appeared on the outskirts of the central part of town, perhaps a twenty-minute walk from the Academy.

“Thank you,” Maeve said.

Castian grinned. “I’ll meet you at the town square around sundown.”

Maeve blinked -- he wasn’t going to insist on coming with her.

“Ah, alright.”

“Disappointed?” Castian raised an eyebrow.

She flushed. “No -- no. Thank you. I’ll meet you there later.”

And with that, Maeve walked off.

The enormous building and campus loomed ever closer as she made her way down the street -- blindingly white architecture with sharp steeples and massive windows reflecting the sun. Tension pulled in her gut as she walked. It was her first time back at the Academy in a long time, and the building itself was a symbol of so many memories of failure and frustration, of being an outsider in her own community.

She had achieved a lot since leaving, and the weight of it was lighter than it had been, but it was still something she didn’t enjoy wrestling with.

The grand doors towered above her, and she steeled herself to push them inwards -- the spell upon them making them open easily to a gentle touch.

There before her was the entrance hall -- marble tiling and columns, several floors of balconies above, books lining the walls even here. And of course, scholars and students in Academy garb hurriedly rushing around, chatting, and laughing.

In her simple clothes and leathers, Maeve stuck out like a sore thumb.

She clenched her fists and walked up to the front desk, where an elven woman was sitting behind a pile of paperwork.

“Hello,” Maeve said. “I’m here to see Professor Wynoake. Maeve Loravyr.”

The woman smiled kindly and flipped through several sheets of parchment before furrowing her brow.

“Did you schedule this meeting?” she asked tentatively.

“Er,” Maeve said. “No. I’m sorry. But he is expecting me.”

“One moment,” the woman said.

She closed her eyes and Maeve saw the glow of message-sending magic surround her head. Maeve always felt awkward when sorcerers did this, but she waited patiently.

After a few seconds, the woman opened her eyes and smiled.

“Sorry about that, Ms. Loravyr,” she said. “He can see you now -- in the Arbor classroom, third floor --”

“Thank you,” Maeve replied -- she knew where that was.

Several round daises that rose and descended by magic served as a way to get between floors, and she stepped up on one that would take her to the Eastern wing of the third floor.

Despite herself, she was wildly nervous, and was trying hard to suppress a tremor as she walked to the room and knocked on the large wooden door that was adorned with imagery of vines and trees.

Professor Wynoake himself opened it, and her heart skipped a beat.

He looked almost exactly the same, except perhaps a little older -- his graying beard was more salt than pepper, now, and the creases that lined his face were more pronounced. He still wore the same extravagant Academy robes, and he still smiled at her kindly -- though a bit of stress played on his tight lips.

“Ah, Maeve,” he said. “Come in.”

“Thank you, Professor,” she said, a little sheepish.

The classroom was scattered with chairs and desks, the windowsills lined with all manner of exotic plants and a glowing diagram of a piece of wood was projected by magic on the large board at the front.

“It’s good to see you,” he said as he went to the desk at the front of the room, dragging a chair with him and motioning for her to sit. “It has been a bit of time -- I do hope you’re well, and -- it is good to see you.”

“You as well, Professor,” Maeve replied, sitting. “I’m sorry I haven’t come back -- to see you, I mean --”

Wynoake waved his hand dismissively. “It’s no matter, Maeve. I am sure you are busy; your parents mentioned you’ve been working with a questguild -- bit of a good fit for you, I am sure.”

She let herself have a little smile to match his. “It is.”

“I am grateful you came by,” he said, and his expression turned more serious. “Give me a moment.”

He raised his hand and cast several spells, one after the other -- one shuttered the curtains on the windows, another removed the glow from the front board, another locked the door, another silencing spell, another --

Maeve’s eyes widened and felt increasingly nervous as he finished up. She didn’t even recognize all of the spells that he’d cast.

“There,” Wynoake said, as though it had been a simple matter. “Now, Maeve -- I know you don’t know why I summoned you here. I just… needed to know…”

He started rummaging under the large desk for something, and then produced --

A potionbottle, filled with a familiar blue, enchanted liquid.

Maeve’s heart stuttered.

“Do you know what this is, Maeve?” he asked quietly.

“...I --”

But she was too slow to feign curiosity, too slow to hide the flash of nerves, and she could tell that Wynoake knew it. He sighed.

“I won’t ask you to tell me why you know what this is,” he said. “But I will tell you what happened over the last few days that made me call you here.”

Maeve could do nothing but swallow and nod.

“I was contacted by the city guards,” he said. “They were asking after your school records.”

Her brow furrowed. “Why?”

“I don’t know for certain,” Wynoake said. “But besides getting your records, they were questioning me about your aptitude in potionmaking.”

Maeve felt her heart sink as her brain slowly connected the dots -- Sylvia and her guards were continuing to investigate her, using the lead that she had inadvertently given them… The lie that she had made the transformation potion. She never would have expected they’d go this far…

But -- something wasn’t adding up.

“Professor,” she said carefully. “What does that have to do with the… the enchantment potion?”

At this, Wynoake looked genuinely confused.

“I suppose I should be glad you are asking,” he said. “Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you this, but -- well, we have a bit of an issue with these potions being distributed in the city.”

…Castian… He was -- he was distributing them not just at Foxtail, but here --

Of course. Of course. It made too much sense that he was in a wider network than just a small-town underground gambling club. He seemingly had so much money -- it all made sense --

“I know this because this isn’t the first time I’ve been asked about similar matters,” Wynoake said, watching her. “Ever so often, the guards will come to me and ask if someone has the skill to be making something of this caliber, and it’s not the best-kept secret that this is something on the black market.”

“They --” Maeve couldn’t help it. “They think I’m involved with making these? What did you tell them?”

“I told them you were one of the worst students of magic I’ve ever had,” Wynoake said, and he gave her a very small, helpless sort of smile.

Maeve took a breath. On the one hand, that was the truth, and it was a damn good thing for the guards to not think that she was the mastermind potion-brewer. But on the other, it clearly raised doubts about her lie of making the transformation potion.

After a few moments of silence, Wynoake spoke again. “I’ll be honest, Maeve. You were always… mischievous, let’s say, but I’d never think you’d be involved in something -- well, malicious. That’s still true.”

She gave him a weak, grateful smile. “Thank you, Professor.”

“However,” he said, “as your old teacher, it’s my responsibility to advise caution. I am sure you have a good reason why you aren’t sharing the whole truth with me -- but you must know, Maeve: you’re not in a good position if you’re involved anywhere around these potions. Not just because you may be under suspicion for it, but… Well…”

He trailed off and cleared his throat, and Maeve felt a sinking, tingling feeling.

“...They are particularly dangerous for our kind,” he finished, and fidgeted with his hands a little awkwardly.

She remembered what Ashton had said -- how elves were sensitive to enchantment magic -- and she knew well enough how she herself reacted to the potion, and to Castian’s spells… It was apparently some sort of strange, taboo secret that no one had let her in on. But enchantment magic wasn’t really taught at the Academy -- at least, not for undergraduates. Maeve had always assumed that was due to the fact that it was a gray area in the law in general, and morally questionable beyond that.

Nevertheless, she wasn’t about to badly fumble another lie in front of Wynoake. There was no way that he needed to know her experience.

Maeve nodded. “I… can’t share everything, but I promise that I’m being careful. There was a situation that I got caught in the middle of -- but I think everything will be sorted out soon.”

Wynoake still seemed a little uneasy, but his shoulders relaxed a bit at her words.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “And before you ask, I haven’t said anything to your parents. You’re an adult now, Maeve, and while you are one of my former students, I have no desire to play the role of your caretaker any longer.”

“I appreciate that,” she said softly.

“I’ll let you go,” he said, putting the enchantment potion back under the desk. “Next time, I hope you can tell me about your adventures with your guild.”