The Hexhunt

Elemiel stared at the treeline bordering the nearest lawn, squinting as if she might spot the creature hiding between the shadows of the boles. "An... ouphe?"

"Yes," Asper said, almost jovial. "It's a horrible little beast. It eats magic, apparently, and gets more powerful the more it consumes."

"Couldn't the Royal Cabal destroy it? Or perhaps the paladins?"

"Probably. But where's the fun in that?"

Elemiel frowned. "I can't believe I've never heard of this tradition. Worse still, I'm vaguely insulted that I haven't been invited to one yet."

Asper chuckled. "It's a terrible oversight. Maybe no one wanted to offend your delicate elfin sensibilities with something so gauche as a hunt?"

"Bite me," Elemiel replied.

"Lord DeNallare," a voice cut in, and Elemiel turned to see a striking woman approaching them across one of the snow-dusted lawns.

It was difficult for Elemiel to estimate the newcomer's age, although to be fair she was notoriously bad at guessing how old humans were. The woman had dark hair drawn back into a pair of loose pigtails and carried a tall, slender staff made out of some kind of pale blonde wood--perhaps maple or poplar. The length of wood was capped by a bronze owl, cast in a remarkably lifelike facsimile of the bird.

The newcomer's almond-shaped eyes were large and hazel, with a subtle shade of dark makeup to frame them. The corners of those eyes crinkled with pleasure when she caught sight of Asper, and her lips quirked into a lopsided smile.

"Asper, you absolute dolt," the woman said fondly, leaning on her staff. "By Adonis's leaky cock, I'm glad you're not dead, but I do wish you hadn't let us all think you were for so long."

Asper's grin threatened to split his face in two. "Foxglove. It's good to see you too."

The knight and the woman embraced warmly, and Elemiel suppressed the urge not to gawk. Of course, she had immediately recognized the name Foxglove. This then was the mighty Oriflamme of the Royal Cabal, considered by many to be the most powerful wizard of her generation.

Legends and stories about Foxglove abounded. She was reputed to have outwitted demons, dueled dragons, and forged mighty enchantments like the Bloodwell Wreath. She was also one of Queen Annabelle's closest advisors--and apparently, a friend of Asper's. Elemiel had known, on an intellectual level, that Asper was a member of the royal family. Still, seeing him embrace the Oriflamme herself like an older sister did rather drive home the point.

"Foxglove," Asper repeated as the embrace ended. "Let me introduce you to a new friend. This is Madame Elemiel, a businesswoman and scion of Bromelion. She's been instrumental in keeping me hidden until it was safe to reveal myself once more."

The wizard pursed her lips. "Safe? Is that what you call brawling with that group of miscreants in the Museum of Natural and Unnatural History last night?"

"No one who has seen me fight would call it brawling," Asper protested. "Not to mention we were--are, actually--trying to thwart an evil plot."

Foxglove snorted. "Yes, I read the report on last night's events. So has the Queen, and she has some questions for you." She turned to Elemiel. "In any case, well met. A friend of Asper's is a friend of mine, and I've already heard quite a bit about you, Elemiel. The rumors of your beauty have certainly not been exaggerated, and I'll have you know that the textiles your company produces are a favorite of the royal seamstresses."

"The Oriflamme is too kind," Elemiel demurred, plucking at her dress and dipping into a curtsey.

"Just call me Foxglove," the mage insisted. "You know, I also read the part of the report that described you stabbing one of the attackers last night with a dagger."

"I actually threw it, if you want to be precise," Elemiel corrected without a hint of contrition.

"Ha!" Foxglove barked out a laugh. She turned to Asper. "I like her. Come now, we've tarried long enough. The Queen awaits."

Vital Things

Foxglove led them under the elegant awning of the port cochere and through a pair of double doors into the palace proper. As they walked, Elemiel took the opportunity to soak in the grandiloquent surroundings.

The Emerald Palace was nothing like the structures of Elemiel's homeland--elven architecture did not conquer nature, but rather strove to live beside it--but it was beautiful in a way that she understood as uniquely human.

Built atop the tallest hill in Yvlynes, it commanded impressive views of the city and beyond. From the windows of the Palace or the parapets of one of its many towers, a person could watch ships coming and going from Yvylnes's bustling ocean harbor or look to the east and trace the meandering ribbon of the Silverslip as it threaded its way through the countryside.

The structure of the Palace had been added to, modified, destroyed, and rebuilt by the hands of the DeNallare family over countless hundreds of years, stretching back to the time of Katyrynne the Golden-Handed and her wife, Hannaeh Halainn. The touch of each successive generation produced a chaotic amalgam of towers and wings, rondels, spires, and domes.

The Emerald Palace reminded Elemiel of a banquet table groaning under the weight of a myriad of desserts. The array of confections might not have been exactly cohesive, but the overall effect was one of sumptuous elaboration. Elemiel smiled as she brushed her hand across the elaborately embellished detailing of a door, the wood carved and enameled into a rainbow burst of peonies.

Uniformed guards stiffened and saluted sharply as Foxglove took Elemiel and Asper through an antechamber and down a shining marble hallway. Elemiel caught several of the military women and men staring as they passed, their eyes wide with the shock of recognition at the supposedly dead Sunstriker striding alive down the Palace halls.

Asper smiled and waved to a few that he recognized, exchanging easy pleasantries with the staff. The revelation that he was well-liked among those that worked at the Palace wasn't much of a surprise to Elemiel, who had been on the receiving end of his charm.

He caught her looking at him, and the knight raised an eyebrow. "What did I do now?" he asked, his gray eyes glimmering with unvoiced mirth.

"Doesn't it get a little tiring?" Elemiel inquired.

The knight's forehead wrinkled in confusion. "What's that?"

"Charming everyone so relentlessly," Elemiel explained. "I'm worried you run the risk of pulling something if you don't rein it in a little bit."

Asper's lips tilted in a crooked grin. "Ah, but that's what all the charm is for--so I can get someone else to do the pulling for me."

Elemiel gave a truly elaborate roll of her eyes, but before she could reply with a quip of her own, the gray-eyed knight took her by the hand and pulled her along with excited enthusiasm.

"We're coming up to one of my favorite places in the Palace," he said, "the Hall of Tribute. Dignitaries from all over the continent bring Aunt Annie presents, and this is where she puts them. I used to play here all the time when I was a lad."

"My brain is still trying to process you referring to Queen DeNallare as Aunt Annie."

"Do try not to dally, you two," Foxglove called over her shoulder with a hint of reproach as she led them to the soaring, high-windowed arcade of the Hall of Tribute.

The Hall was a truly impressive bit of architecture. It boasted a vaulted ceiling of leaded glass, the panes inches thick and etched with what looked to Elemiel to be dwarven runes of protection. The trio's footsteps echoed around the fluted columns of the pillars, each support carved from pale stone in helicoidal patterns of twisting vines and budding flowers.

Light from strategically placed panes of Synestrian stained glass dappled the columns in a kaleidoscope of color. Plinths made out of the same stone were arranged throughout the arcade, and each one boasted a wondrous--or wondrously strange--item.

Foxglove tapped her foot in impatience, but she indulged Asper while he pointed out a few of his favorite pieces to Elemiel.

The knight first showed her a book of sea charts set upon an easel. The ink on the open pages shifted and surged like the tides, and the drawings of tiny ships and sea monsters cut through the azurite pigment as if it were water.

"How many hours did you spend staring at this, picturing yourself as the captain of a pirate ship?" Elemiel asked.

"Oh, a number beyond counting," Asper replied. "Maybe my pronunciation of elven would be better if I'd spent more time studying and less time daydreaming about that sort of thing. My tutors would certainly say so. I spent quite a lot of time here alone, seeking to escape them. Well, almost alone. There was Steve, of course."

"Steve?"

Asper pointed at a nearby plinth where a fishbowl of cut crystal sat. Inside of the bowl swam a small fish's skeleton. Each of the creature's tiny bones had been plated in gold, and a pair of tiny rubies set in its sockets served as its eyes. Despite its lack of organs or flesh, the little creature darted around the bowl, heedless of its state of undeath.

"Ah. That's Steve?"

"Not much of a talker," admitted Asper, "but a fin-tastic listener."

Elemiel's pained groan was so loud that she drew a disapproving sniff from Foxglove. Elemiel was forced to hide her giggle, feeling like an elfmaid caught with her hand in the biscuit jar. She glanced sidelong at Asper. Spending time with him... well, it made her feel things that she hadn't in quite some time.

"This is a particularly good one," Asper said, grabbing the elf by her hand and pulling her to a plinth further down the arcade.

Elemiel tilted her head and pursed her lips, staring at the plain glass flask of water set on the pedestal. It appeared oddly ordinary. "I'm confused. This looks like a bottle of water."

"Can't put anything past those elven eyes of yours," Asper said with almost mocking gravitas. "It was actually a gift from one of the Emirs of Ocotillo. Water is the most precious resource in the Sunlands, more valuable than silk, gold, or any gem. I always thought it was pretty ballsy of the Emir to show up with a flask of water to give the Queen when everyone else was bringing enchanted gewgaws from the far ends of their kingdoms. When Aunt Annabelle explained the meaning behind it, however, I came to see it as one of the more valuable things here. It helped put some things into perspective in my life, actually, and was one of the reasons I decided to join the knighthood and go into a life of adventure."

"Is that so?" the elf asked.

"In everyone's life," the Asper replied, "there are the important things. Then, there are the vital ones."

Elemiel would've happily spent all morning in the Hall of Tribute, swept up in Asper's enthusiasm and the pleasure of his company. Foxglove's patience, alas, quickly wore out.

"Right," the sorceress said, clicking the butt of her staff onto the polished stone floor. "You've had your fun, and I have better things to do than play chaperone to the pair of you. Let's be off."

"Spoilsport," Asper silently mouthed at the wizard's back as they set off again. Elemiel elbowed him in the ribs, but her grin threatened to split her face in twain.

The Queen

They left the elaborate flamboyance of the public areas behind, heading deeper into the Palace.

The corridors through which Foxglove now took them were finely appointed, but it was an understated, practical kind of wealth, aimed at comfort and functionality and not the ostentation of places Elemiel had seen before like the ballrooms and dining halls.

Everything was nice, certainly, but it was a lived-in kind of luxury, purposeful instead of showy. They passed reading nooks with books strewn about the cushions and comfortable-looking armchairs that showed the frequency of their use in their worn upholstery.

Foxglove drew to a halt in front of a door carved in high relief, each of the six registers on its surface displaying scenes of Divony's founding. A massive man in gleaming gold armor stood outside of the door. He held a huge sword before him, tip-down, his hands resting on the crossguard.

The center of the blade was made of stained glass, the jewel-like shards cut and fit into the shape of a rampant badger. Despite the weapon's delicate appearance, Elemiel knew the stories; the sword of an Adonian paladin would only break if its bearer's courage did.

"Hello, Loche," Asper nodded at the big man. "Good to see you again. How's the hip?"

The paladin snorted. "It's fine. You got lucky the last time we sparred anyway. How's being dead?"

"I found that it didn't really agree with me," Asper said blithely. "This is Elemiel."

The paladin executed a smooth bow in Elemiel's direction, which was quite impressive given the bulk of his armor. "My Lady Elf," he said courteously. "You grace us with your presence, and dazzle us with your beauty."

His eyes roved shamelessly down the décolletage of her dress, and the bounty of her pliant flesh that it worked so hard to show off. Elemiel recalled the stories she'd heard of the lusts of Paladins of Adonis. Theirs was most certainly not a celibate sect.

One side of Elemiel's mouth kicked up in a grin. "My my, Asper," she said while keeping her lavender gaze fixed on Loche, "it seems you have some competition on the charming front."

Something flashed in Asper's eyes--a hint of jealousy?--before the knight brought his hand to his mouth and gave a small cough. "Ahem. Yes. Well. I'm glad that your hip is doing alright, Loche. Anytime you want a rematch just let me know. We can find out exactly how much of it was luck."

Oh, by Solana's Bounteous Bosom, Elemiel thought gleefully, he is jealous!

"We're here to see the Queen," Foxglove cut in before the two men could actually pull out their cocks and get to measuring. "Is she available?"

Loche's spine straightened a little as the sorceress addressed him. "She's speaking with a pair of the Royal Bards right now, Oriflamme," the paladin replied respectfully, "but they should be done soon."

As if on cue, the door pushed open and an unusual pair of people walked out. A broad, red-bearded human man built like a barrel strode next to a shorter, curvy goblin woman with green skin and a proliferation of golden rings hanging from her ears and nose. The bearded fellow wore a sword at his hip, while the woman carried a lute strapped across her back. The two gave Elemiel's group a curious look as they passed.

"Ancestor's fangs, but you're a pretty one," the goblin said, gawking up at Elemiel. "I'd give all the strings on my lute to take a tumble with you, elfy. Although," the goblin paused and pursed her lips, a considering look in her golden eyes, "that might make it hard to write a song about the experience afterward."

"Oh, gods," the redheaded man said, looking scandalized. "You'll have to forgive her, my lady," he said apologetically. "We've been on the road for a long while, and Dumpling still needs to knock the trail dust from her manners." He prodded the goblin lass in the back. "Don't you, my love?"

The goblin--Dumpling--snorted. "Ha! I'd rather watch you knock the bottom out of that elf's sweet--"

Before Elemiel could hear what Dumpling would like to watch, the redheaded man interrupted. "Right," he said, "have a nice day!" He flashed them a penitent smile, practically dragging the goblin away from the door and down the hall.

Elemiel couldn't help but laugh at the brazen forwardness of the goblin lass. You had to admire a woman who knew what she wanted and wasn't afraid to go after it.

"Gods above, everyone in the Palace is as worked up as an ibaux in mating season today," Asper muttered, staring at the departing Royal Bards incredulously.

Elemiel's smile was more than a little smug. "I tend to have that effect on people."

"Your Majesty," the sound of Foxglove's voice snagged Elemiel's attention, "the Sunstriker is here as requested, as well as his guest, Madame Elemiel of Bromelion."

"Very good," came the reply from within the room. "Please come in."

"Off you pop," Foxglove said, making a little shooing motion with her hands at Asper and Elemiel. "I'll be in the library if you need anything. A pleasure to meet you, Elemiel, and welcome back Asper. You've been missed, you cheeky devil."

The sorceress spun on her heel and departed down the hallway without another word. Asper offered Elemiel his arm.

"Shall we?" he said, and they strode together into the Queen of Divony's chambers. Loche shut the door behind them, resuming his implacable watch.

Queen Annabelle DeNaralle stood by the window framed in golden sunlight, leaning one hip on a large, battle-scarred desk. Her lips were pursed and her brow furrowed as she stared at the report that she held in one hand, her eyes quickly scanning the page. Only when she was finished reading did she set the parchment down on a stack of similar papers and turn to look at them.

The ruler of Divony was, quite simply, stunning. Perhaps in her fifth decade, as humans measured things, the shining tumble of her burnished chestnut hair was shot through with streaks of silver. A jeweled diadem rested on her brow, and she wore a dress of royal emerald brocaded with gold that flowed around her shapely body as if it were water instead of silk. Freckles spangled the bridge of her nose and her cheeks like a smattering of stars, and her eyes were as bright and as clear as an alpine lake.

Those eyes lifted to take in Elemiel and Asper, and the elven woman was struck suddenly by the intensity of the Queen's regard. At that moment, Elemiel imagined that if Queen Annabelle's intellect could be given physical form, it would be a blade keen enough to rival the edge of Loche's stained-glass sword. Queen Annabelle had a reputation for cleverness, for plans turning within plans to confound her opponents and achieve her ends. From that single gaze, Elemiel suspected that the rumors of her political brilliance had not been exaggerated.

Which was why the next words out of the Queen's mouth were so jarring.

"Asper, you absolute shithead."

The knight cleared his throat. "Hello there Auntie. As you can probably surmise, I'm not actually dead."

There was a long, pregnant pause as the knight and the Queen stared at each other. Then Queen Annabelle's face split into a smile wide enough to rival the horizon, and the two of them crashed into one another like a tidal wave meeting the shoreline. They hugged fiercely until Annabelle finally pushed her nephew away. She held him at arm's length, looking him up and down critically.

"Sorry for the pretense," Asper said, "but I couldn't risk Nigel Ditherington realizing I'd survived his betrayal out east in the wildlands. He's up to something, Auntie, and I'm afraid it can't be good."

"Oh, that's not why I'm cross with you," the Queen waved dismissively.

Asper cocked his head to the side, confused. "Then why?" he asked.

Elemiel thought of the Queen's reaction upon seeing her nephew. She considered the large stack of reports on her desk and the presence of the Royal Bards earlier. Elemiel knew that in business one of the most important weapons an astute merchant had at their disposal was information. She suspected that for a politician of Queen Annabelle's caliber, that was doubly true.

"I expect," Elemiel said slowly, "that the Queen knew you were alive almost as soon as you entered the city. It's amazing what a bard can hear in a crowded tavern if they have a pair of open ears."

"Especially if those ears are pointed," Queen Annabelle agreed. She looked at Elemiel. "Elemiel--it is Elemiel, isn't it?"

The elf inclined her head and executed a curtsey so deep the hem of her dress brushed the floor.