Half-Elf Harlot Ch. 03

"There's a little place just off Queen Street; I've never been myself but I hear they just hired a new chef and the atmosphere is said to be highly pleasant."

Zelia's reply was interrupted by a mental message from the spirit bird: danger.

"Look alive," she said to her companion, dropping his arm. "We may have trouble coming."

Ignatius's hand hovered at the pommel of his longsword as they scanned the street. Zelia found herself wishing she hadn't left her staff of fire at home.

Seconds later, they heard the sound of many footsteps, and half a dozen city guards turned down their street, coming toward them.

All of them wore the plain black armbands of the Black Circle, the Regent Chrysmer's henchmen. One raised a hand in their direction, pointing.

"That's her!"

The guards picked up their pace, running up to them. Ignatius stepped in front of Zelia, while she performed quick mental calculations. Her date called out to the approaching guards, his voice booming with command,

"What business have you with this woman?"

The one who'd pointed spoke, as the rest of them closed a circle around her and Ignatius, pikes held at a threatening angle.

"Is this the half-elf known as Zelia Brightstar, Lady of Warsong?"

Zelia stepped out from behind Ignatius's protective arm, levelling her gaze at the guard.

"I am."

The guard gestured toward one of his fellows, a blond woman of early middle age, who held aloft a scroll and read:

"Zelia Brightstar, you are hereby lawfully arrested for the crimes of practicing unlicensed arcane magics, and of plotting against the crown. The warrant for your arrest is signed this day by the Regent Chrysmer Enaris, on behalf of Queen Ilwyn Faramon, ruler of Tanera."

The first man spoke again.

"Madam Brightstar, present your hands for cuffing and you shall be taken peacefully into custody."

Zelia sent a silent message to Ignatius:

"I can take out three of them, maybe more, in under six seconds."

"Hold on," came the reply.

"Good sir, surely there must be some mistake. Lady Zelia has committed no crimes, and there is no licence required to practice magic in this city."

"There is now," said the blond woman. "Signed into law this morning by his majesty the Regent Chrysmer, rightful holder of the throne of Faramon and ruler of Tanera. In the Queen's absence."

Zelia slowly raised a hand to touch the side of her circlet, but Ignatius stayed her.

"We can still fix this, if we don't do anything to make it worse," he said to her quietly, before proclaiming, loudly,

"Then, if you must take in this woman, I call upon the holy law of sacred witness and submit myself into custody alongside her, to bear witness to the just execution of the laws of the land."

"Don't," said Zelia.

"They can't hurt you under the sanctified protection of a paladin of the realm. Let me do this; we'll figure out how to get you out of there as soon as possible."

The leader scratched his head and turned to the woman with the scroll.

"Can he really do that?"

They conferred in whispers, and then he nodded toward Ignatius.

"Alright, fine by me. But we're putting you in irons too, and you had best believe we'll be relieving you of that longsword at your hip."

Ignatius complied with dignified grace.

Over Zelia's hands, they locked a pair of iron gloves, linked by an extremely short chain. A leather gag was fastened roughly over her mouth.

"We know just how tricksy you spellcasting types can be," said the guard who chained her, his sour breath hot in her face as he tied the gag. "Don't think you'll get an opportunity to get the slip on us, ha ha."

Another of the guards pointed at Zelia's circlet, and the foul-breathed one removed it from her head and handed it to his boss.

Around Ignatius's wrists they clapped a pair of ordinary manacles, and then surrounded their prisoners on all sides and prodded them forward, in the direction of the palace.

As they went, Zelia looked to the skies. The black form of her raven companion sat, hunched, on the eaves of a nearby building, looking down at her.

"Tell the others," she commanded through their telepathic bond.

As she resigned herself to being marched down the cobblestone streets, she heard the faint beat of raven wings taking flight behind her.

***

Ah, the smell of dungeons.

Normally, when Zelia was in one, it was musty from disuse and chilled by the breath of ghosts, or foul with necromantic energy and the incense from evil rituals. Whatever the case, there was an underlying olfactory dungeon-ness they all shared, and this one was no exception.

It smelled like work.

This dungeon was very much in current use, and had strong notes of living fear, feces, and disease in its particular perfume. As she and Ignatius were prodded down the dark and dripping corridors, lit poorly by a minimum of cheap torches, they walked past cell after cell of miserable bodies.

Some of them looked freshly there, defiant still, and they spat insults at the guards as they passed or pleaded for release, for trial, for any evidence of their supposed crimes.

Others had lost hope long ago, and languished on the mucky floors of their cells.

"Here's your stop," said their escort, tossing them into a roomy enough empty cell at the far end of a corridor. There was a single set of leg irons bolted to the far wall, and a bucket in one corner. Given the horrifying conditions they'd seen on their way in, the cell was not unwelcoming: relatively dry, hard stone floor, "amenities."

"Cozy," said Zelia.

The guards ignored her.

"Put that one in the irons," ordered the head guard, pointing at Ignatius. "The witch can't do nothin' with her hands and mouth stopped up."

"Oh, you're an expert on witches now, are you?" said a guard with lank brown hair, bending to shackle Ignatius at the ankles.

"No, everybody knows casters need to wave their fingers about for their mumbo-jumbo to work."

Zelia waited patiently while the guards finished frisking her for weapons. She was glad for Ignatius' presence then, less because his presence as sacred witness made her feel safer in the guards' hands, and more because if he hadn't been there, very little would have stopped her from doing things to those guards that was sure to, as he'd put it, "make things worse."

Finally, with a loud clang of door and clink of lock, the two of them were alone in the cell. A lone guard, posted a few feet outside their door, settled onto a stool for his watch and left them in peace.

"I'm so sorry this is happening to you, Zelia," said Ignatius, sliding to the floor and leaning his back against the rough cell wall.

Thanks to her elven heritage, she could see his face just fine in the flickering light of distant torches, and read sorrow there.

"There is no justice in this."

Zelia glanced again at the guard, who had pulled out an apple and was crunching on it noisily and appeared to be quite engrossed in reading a cheap novel.

She stepped lightly over to where Ignatius sat and knelt down in front of him. He stared into her eyes sadly until she rolled her eyeballs pointedly towards her gag.

"Mmpf."

"Oh, right."

He reached up with his manacled hands, and they both paused to look back at the guard as the chains clanked noisily. The guard turned the pages of his book, and kept on reading.

Ignatius pulled the gag away from Zelia's mouth and she spat on the ground.

"Well, I don't think they wash that thing very often! Thanks."

She swung around to sit beside him.

"So, I gotta say, if this is how all dates with you go down, I'm in."

Ignatius chuckled, leaning his head back against the wall.

"This is not what I had in mind."

"Well, you said you wanted to have a conversation with me, so come on! It seems we have our own private booth. So what do people talk about on dates: pet peeves? Favourite ice cream flavours? Mine's liquorice."

"Your favourite ice cream or your pet peeve?"

Zelia laughed.

"You're kinda funny."

He turned to look at her, his human eyes straining in the darkness.

"Have you never been on a date before?"

She shrugged.

"I had a weird upbringing."

"I sort of thought you and that dwarven Pelor cleric were... something."

"We are, I think. Never went on a date with him though, unless you count killing vampires together as a date—which, considering this was supposed to be one and we've ended up in prison, maybe you do?"

"Ok, what about before the cleric?"

"What is this, an interrogation? I thought the bad guys were supposed to do that part. Hey, guard, this guy's trying to do your job for you!"

Ignatius clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Shh, he'll hear you! Do you want them to come back and chain us to opposite walls?"

"No, I decidedly do not," she said. "Although I will say it was kind of hot the way you laid your hands on me just now."

In the dim light, genuine surprise registered on his features.

"Seriously? Even now? My god, woman!"

"Just saying."

The sound of footfalls coming down the corridor made even their guard look up. Zelia and Ignatius scrambled to replace the gag in her mouth and she stood, ready. The guard at the door put away his book and stood at attention as three figures approached and unlocked the cell door.

Zelia recognized Field Commander Mersk immediately: the cropped brown hair, the wide jaw and wider neck; she'd spied on him several times over the past year through the eyes of Corrick and with her scrying ball. He'd had it out for her party since before they first set foot in Faramon, though she'd never met him face to face until now.

His two underlings filed in silently behind him as Mersk approached Zelia. He regarded her with his arms crossed over his chest, chewing, and spat out a gob of sunflower seed shells onto the cell floor.

"Untie the gag," he ordered.

One of the lackeys, a towering half-orc woman with a busted nose, stepped forward and roughly removed the gag. She slid the point of her sword towards Zelia's face, the point of it poking the skin just below the hinge of her jaw.

"Oh, man, that feels so good to finally have that thing out of my mouth," said Zelia.

"Try anything and it goes right back in, and you'll be sorry," said Mersk.

Zelia waited politely. Mersk cleared his throat.

"Mistress Zelia Brightstar, you stand charged with heavy crimes against the crown."

"It's Lady Zelia, actually," Ignatius interjected from behind. Zelia rolled her eyes.

"Oh, come on Ignatius, I already told you I don't care about the whole title thing!"

"Quiet! I'm the one who's in charge of the conversation, here," barked Mersk.

"Y'know, if you have to say it..." Zelia said under her breath.

Mersk took two swift steps forward and punched her, hard, in the stomach. Zelia doubled over, fighting to breathe as pain bloomed in her abdomen.

"Hey!" Ignatius yelled, struggling to stand up with his hands and feet restricted by the shackles.

"I'm well within the law," Mersk stated. "Right, Pond?"

The other lackey stepped forward.

"Correct, Commander. Use of force as necessary to subdue impertinent or resisting prisoners is codified within the laws of the land: Article Seven-hundred Eighty Two, Sub-article Nine, Criminal Code of Tanera."

Zelia looked up at Mersk through the hair that had fallen over her face and wheezed,

"Sounds like... a terribly organized code, to me."

She straightened with an effort, and Mersk raised his hand and cracked her straight across the face with the back of his hand. Her vision blurred, and she tasted blood where her teeth had bitten into her tongue on impact.

"Ok, ok, I'm subdued," she said, holding her metal-encased hands up defensively in front of her. The woman with the sword grabbed the chains and roughly yanked her hands back down.

"I'm glad you've decided to cooperate," said Mersk, recrossing his arms. "Though, between me and you, I'd be just as fine doing things the other way."

Zelia thought longingly of her confiscated circlet. A scorching ray or two of fire blasted from its gem would come in nice and handy about now. Instead, she levelled a beam of hate at Mersk with her bare eyes.

He sneered back at her.

"I've come to take an initial statement from the accused. This statement is to be held as a baseline, and referred to for inconsistencies when you are questioned under duress tomorrow which—" he held up a silencing hand in Ignatius's direction, "is also due process in this kingdom. So, Zelia Brightstar, Lady of whatever-the-fuck: to the charge of practicing the arcane arts without a license, how do you plead?"

Zelia licked the blood from her teeth.

"I'm gonna say... not guilty."

Mersk shook his stubbled head.

"As you will. Bear in mind, we have eyewitnesses who can testify to the contrary, and lying now will not reflect well on your character when your trial comes. Nonetheless; to the second charge, of plotting treason against the rightful ruler of Tanera, how plead you?"

Zelia stared at the man, pouring every ounce of defiance she could into the words.

"Not. Guilty."

Mersk smiled evilly, and popped another handful of sunflower seeds into his mouth.

"Very well. Thank you for your time... milady. Sweet dreams now; I'll be seeing you again real soon."

At his signal, the female guard shoved the gag back into Zelia's mouth and kicked her legs out from under her as the three of them departed.

She lay where she had fallen on the stone floor until the footfalls receded down the echoing passageway before crawling pathetically back over to Ignatius.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," he said, taking off the gag again and looping his chained hands over her in an embrace.

"Oof, I think he might've cracked a rib," she winced, as he hugged her.

"Gods—sorry—what am I thinking. Here, let me look at you."

Ignatius removed his arms from around her and squinted at her jaw in the poor lighting.

"How does your face feel? That hit looked like it'll leave a nasty bruise at the very least. I wish I could offer you some healing, but, idiot that I am I used up all my resources in that direction visiting an orphanage this morning. I'm tapped for the rest of the day, unless—"

Ignatius gently cupped his hands around her throbbing lower jaw and concentrated. A faint glow, just enough to warm her skin, appeared for just a moment and then petered out.

"No luck, sorry."

Zelia leaned back to look into Ignatius's eyes.

"Please, do me a favour and stop apologizing. It isn't your fault the government's corrupt, and it isn't your fault I'm in this mess. And please never again apologize for healing fucking orphans, Goddess help me. I'll be fine as soon as we get out of here."

Sorrow was heavy in his voice as he said,

"Oh, Zelia... I'm not sure we're getting out of here any time soon."

She rolled off his lap to sit beside him.

"Nah, don't worry. Help is on the way."

"What?"

"I sent my raven to go get Alessa and Amara. We'll be out of here by daybreak."

"And you're not at all concerned that telling a bird to go get your friends to jailbreak you from the palace dungeon has just a tiny bit of room for something error, as a plan?"

"Nah... Well alright, maybe a little, but let's give them the benefit of the doubt, right? Come on, use that power of positive thinking!"

Zelia stretched out a booted foot along the side of Ignatius's calf.

"And in the meantime..."

"You weren't joking before, were you."

"I was not."

"There's a guard right there!" He held up his hands for emphasis, pointing at their guard, who had returned to his book.

"Well, that's an easy fix, watch this: Yo, guard! Hey, over here!"

The guard blinked up from the pages of his book and looked around the empty hallway. Zelia waved with her encumbered hands.

"Psst! In here!"

"Uhh, what do you want, prisoner? I can't get you and special privileges, so don't even ask."

"Never mind that, I'm just bored. Whatcha readin'?"

"Oh, um..." The guard's cheeks turned furiously pink. "Just... a book I have."

"Sounds riveting. Truly. Hey, it must be hard to read down here in this terrible lighting, isn't it though? The nearest torch is way down the other end of the hall."

The guard sighed.

"Yeah, I know. I've tried to ask for more light, but 'budget cutbacks' and all that. What can you do."

Zelia used her mind to coil the force of her will into a little ball, seeding her next words with its persuasive force.

"Well, you could go down to where there's better lighting and read there. I think you should. And don't worry: we won't tell anybody..."

She watched the magic slowly working as the expression on the guard's face changed. His eyebrows lifted as he paused, considering.

"You know what? Thanks, I think I just might..."

In a slight daze, the guard got up, picked up his little stool, and trundled off out of eyesight.

Zelia turned around triumphantly to face Ignatius, whose mouth was hanging open in disbelief.

"What the fuck was that? Did you use magic on him?"

She shrugged her shoulders innocently.

"Turns out not every spell requires the waving about of hands. I don't like using that one—bit grey, ethically speaking—I mean, you throw a ball of fire at someone and at least they know what hit them. But it does come in handy for emergencies."

"And you didn't think to use it maybe to, y'know, get him to unlock the door?"

Zelia cocked her head.

"Easier to get them to do something they already want to do. Anyway, what happened to your insistence on going through due process?"

"Fuck due process! They're going to torture you tomorrow, and very likely kill you soon after. If you have a way to get us out of here, I suggest you use it."

"I told you," Zelia said, dropping to her knees in front of him. "My friends are coming. And you know what I could really use right now, while we've got time to kill? Something to take my mind off the throbbing pain in the side of my face and the fact that it hurts to laugh."

Slowly, she insinuated herself between his knees and nudged his arms up around her shoulders.

"Please?"

"You're crazy," he said, warmly.

"Crazy into fucking you."

She nudged the tip of her nose against his lips and he opened them, biting at her playfully.

"Please," she breathed again.

"You're a bad influence on me," he said, eyelids growing heavy as he sat up straighter and pulled her in towards him.

"Happy to be," she said, smelling sex on his breath as she tilted her face to kiss him.

She drew back, wincing, as pain flared through her swollen jaw.

"Ok so maybe no kissing though. Just... yeah, that."

She inhaled sharply as Ignatius gripped her by the buttocks, grinding her against him where he sat.

"I swear to all the gods, if we get out of this, next time I'm going to fuck you on a proper bed, where I can take my time," he said, his voice gone low and raspy.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"Hey, Ignatius," she whispered into his ear. "Spank me."

His hands stopped moving.

"What, has no one ever asked you to spank them during sex before?"

"What, no!—I mean yes—I mean, don't get me wrong, normally I'd be very into hearing you say that, but... Zelia, you're injured!"

"Right, exactly, so a little feel-good pain to take my mind off the feel-bad pain might be just the thing, don't you think?"

He stared into her eyes and saw the challenge there, and the desire.

"You know what? Fine," he said, spinning her around and grasping her handily by the back of her shirt and the seat of her pants. He hoisted her over his lap as easily as if she were a newborn kitten. "You'll get your wish."

He settled her into position, mindful of her injuries, and then roughly jerked her pants down to expose her bare ass to the cold air of the dungeon. He ran his large palm over the surface of her up-thrust arse, squeezing it to warm up the skin.