The Hexhunt

The Queen nodded, then turned back to Asper. "Very good. In any case, Elemiel is both astute and correct."

Asper frowned. "So you knew I was alive?"

The Queen didn't quite roll her eyes, but Elemiel could hear the annoyance in her voice when she spoke.

"Of course I did. Yvlynes is my city. If a trash-imp takes as shit in South Tin Town, I get a report about the smell and consistency." The Queen shook her head. "Adonis's cock! I'm disappointed you thought you could keep something like this from my spies, and I'm annoyed that you didn't come to me with it in the first place. With a little planning and my resources, we could've stopped Duke Ditherington in his tracks at the museum. Instead, you two made an extremely public mess and Dithering still got what he wanted."

Elemiel winced. "She does kind of have a point," the elf admitted.

The Queen turned the full power of her gaze to Elemiel, and the elf had to force herself not to squirm or fidget under the brilliance of it.

"As for your clever companion here..." Queen Annabelle tapped her fingers against her lips, almost as if she were talking to herself. "If my memory serves--and it always does--you were a bard in an adventuring band once, were you not, Elemiel?"

"Years ago, Your Grace. We were called Golden Bower."

"Years are perhaps not so long ago for an elf. That was before you met your husband, Erik."

The Queen's statement had not been a question, and Elemiel wasn't sure what to say. It made sense that Queen Annabelle had studied up on her before including her in the invitation to attend her alongside Asper. Information was the currency of her realm, even if the actual coinage had her face stamped on it.

"My late husband," Elemiel replied.

"Ah yes," the Queen said, her visage softening somewhat. "A blood fever. My condolences."

"Auntie," Asper said, gently chiding. "Is this an interrogation? Or did you want to perhaps discuss the very real danger posed by Duke Nigel Ditherington's plans, whatever they may be?"

One of the Queen's ruby eyebrows lifted, but after a brief moment, she inclined her head to the elf. Elemiel felt a little like she was courting again, an elfmaid visiting the household of the boy she fancied for the first time and having to pass muster with his relatives.

"The sons and daughters of Bromelion are always welcome in my lands, Madame Elemiel, and I'm grateful for the assistance you've rendered my nephew." An impish smile flickered across the Queen's lips. "I'm also grateful to your textile companies, one of which has provided the excellent whisperweave fabric used to make this dress."

The Queen swept her hands down to indicate her viridescent attire.

"It looks lovely on you," Elemiel said.

The Queen chuckled. "Honestly, the dress is doing most of the heavy lifting, but that's kind of you to say. Now, to business. I have some questions that need answering."

The Winnower

Elemiel and Asper followed Annabelle to a low table set amidst several comfortable-looking couches. They took their seats while the Queen herself poured them each a cup of steaming tea from a simple, cast-iron pot decorated with ginkgo leaves. It was more than a little surreal to be served by the Queen of Divony. Elemiel would've assumed that a hundred servants would be waiting to see that Annabelle's every need and whim was satisfied. Yet here she was, pouring water for her guests herself.

"Auntie," Asper began, setting aside his cup and leaning forward. He had an urgent look on his face, and his elbows rested on his knees in the very picture of impatience. "You need to do something about Ditherington. Last night--"

Queen Annabelle raised her hand. It was a small gesture, but it carried a regal weight. Asper stopped speaking.

"I know," the Queen said, "all about what happened last night in the Museum of Natural and Unnatural History. Recall that I read the report."

"Yes, but--"

"I also know Ditherington left you to die in some gods-forsaken tomb out past the Godswall, and that he brought something dark and potent back with him." The Queen sipped her tea, eyes shining nemophila-blue above the rim of her cup. "I've been watching him ever since he came back from your shared quest out east. The fact that he returned and you did not was of immediate suspicion to me. You may not be a political animal, Asper dear," the Queen said gently, "but no one can dispute your talent with the sword."

Elemiel remembered the way the knight had moved during the battle in the museum last night. There was no denying the man's skill when it came to fencing. Then her thoughts wandered to what had happened after the fight, and the way Asper had moved underneath her as she rode him in her bed. There was no denying the man's skill at that either, and a pleasant thrum rose within her blood. The elf stared at the skin exposed by the collar of Asper's doublet and imagined his smell: oiled leather, dark spice. She could almost taste him on her tongue, all sin and pleasure and heat.

He's driving me to distraction, Elemiel thought, feeling the warm, damp heat of her libido coiling through her body, and I do not mind one bit. Here she was, in the presence of the Queen of Divony herself, and all Elemiel could think about was how Asper's cock felt slipping inside of her.

Asper pressed his lips together, somewhat mollified by his Aunt's confidence in his fighting skills, and the Queen continued.

"When my spies informed me that you'd snuck back into the city, I was even more suspicious of our dear Duke Ditherington. Compounded with the fact that he began frequenting some exceedingly disreputable back-alley sorcery shops and cavorting with folk too heinous even for the Thieves Guild to touch, I began to get the distinct impression that he was up to something. The question was, of course, what? Foxglove had her suspicions but we needed confirmation, so we bided our time until Ditherington made a move."

"The museum," said Elemiel, and the Queen nodded.

"Personally, I expected Asper to do something rash and force the Duke's hand at the fête you held earlier this week," the Queen said to Elemiel. "Our Sunstriker has ever been the impulsive sort, but it seems you might have a certain calming effect on him. Nothing happened at the party, and after Ditherington accepted the invitation to the museum gala, the next logical place for him to try something was there."

Elemiel swallowed. She was equal parts discomfited and flattered by the knowledge the Queen was aware of the parties she was throwing and who attended them, both on and off the guest list.

Annabelle set aside her cup with a rustle of silk and reached for a book on a nearby end table. To Elemiel's eyes, the book was fairly nondescript. It was bound in faded brown leather, with no title embossed on the cover nor painted on the spine. The most notable thing about the object was its evident age. As the Queen began to thumb through it, the air filled with the smell of old dust and the creaking of delicate papyrus.

"Tell me," Queen Annabelle said, "does this look familiar?"

She put the book on the tea table and slid it towards Elemiel and Asper. The elf leaned forward, peering down at the illustration on the spotted, ivory-hued page. She drew in a breath.

"The forceps from last night!" she exclaimed. Although the drawing was done in faded, sepia ink, there was no mistaking the unsettling tool that Sharky Houndstooth had used to insert the silver fang into Ditherington's mouth the night before.

"Thought so," the Queen said with satisfaction, "but we had to be sure. And you saw it deployed?"

"Yeah," Asper grunted, his nose wrinkled at the memory. "That little gnome fellow used it to shove the tooth Ditherington brought back across the Godswall into the Duke's mouth."

"That seals it, then," the Queen muttered, her eyes focused on something only she could see. "We weren't certain what was taken from the display case but if it was the forceps, then Foxglove's suspicions were right. We'll need to draw it out to destroy it."

"What on earth is it?" Elemiel asked, still staring with mixed curiosity and revulsion at the drawing on paper. She had not the faintest clue what the Queen was referring to.

Queen Annabelle sighed. "It's an implement once used by the mage-doctors of ancient Galianthis for magical transplants. It assisted in the process of swapping out things like limbs, eyes-"

"--and teeth?" Elemiel guessed.

"Just so."

The elf suppressed a shudder, not liking the direction this conversation was turning. Ancient Galianthis had fallen long ago, but the bones of the city were still a blight on the land. Only death and woe haunted those ruins, and even adventurers were loathe to take contracts to explore the place, despite the rumors of treasures within.

"Alright," Asper said slowly, rubbing his face with his hands. "That explains why they needed the forceps from the museum. But what about the fang itself?"

The Queen's expression turned sly, and she glanced at Elemiel. "For that answer, perhaps our elfin bard can provide some illumination."

Elemiel frowned. "Me? I'd honestly love to help, but I have no idea what that thing is or what it does."

"Are you certain?" Annabelle asked, the ghost of a smile flitting across her lips. "A silver fang, retrieved from a grim tomb devoted to a secret, forgotten power in the wildlands east of the Godswall..."

The Queen's words tickled something in the back of Elemiel's brain. Those elements did seem familiar. There was a story there if only she could recall it. Her mind sorted through the vast troves of esoteric lore she'd picked up during her time as Golden Bower's bard until...

"Wait--are you referring to the tale of the Argent Winnower?"

The Queen's lips curved into a pleased grin. "The very one."

Elemiel's kohl-rimmed eyes widened. Asper caught her expression and spread his hands in a gesture of defeat. "Okay, I get it. You are both exceedingly clever. Now, does anyone feel like filling me in?"

The knight's perplexed look was certainly adorable, but Elemiel decided to put him out of his misery.

"The tale isn't exactly popular at the taverns and bawdy houses," she said, "so I might get the specifics wrong. If I remember correctly, however, the Argent Winnower was an evil thing that haunted the silver mines to Yvlynes's south centuries ago. Some say it was a man, some say it was a monster, but the legends agree that whatever it was, the Winnower was both fell and foul. It hunted the men and dwarves who worked in the mines for sport, rending them into bloody ribbons and decorating the caverns with their torn remains."

"The legend goes that when the Winnower was finally captured by the Queen's forces--that would be around the reign of Reshailka DeNallare, I think--she ordered it to be entombed in a sarcophagus of molten silver and buried far away in the east where it would never trouble Divony again. As the river of liquid metal was poured upon it, the Winnower screamed a curse, promising it would return to enact bloody vengeance of one sort or another upon the royal lineage of Divony's monarchy. Or something like that," Elemiel finished, recalling that she was sitting with two scions of that same monarchy at the moment.

Queen Annabelle appeared entirely unruffled by Elemiel's account of the curse against her bloodline. She simply nodded and sipped her tea. "Your memory is as keen as your wit, Madame Elemiel," the Queen said. "It has served you well in both business and bardhood, I imagine."

Asper blew out a breath. "Okay," he said, raking his fingers through his hair. "So Ditherington brought some piece of this ancient monster back and had it stuffed into his head. What's he trying to accomplish?"

"Something called 'Malefic Reincarnation," Annabelle explained, "at least according to Foxglove. The Winnower's spirit has somehow persisted through these ages, and Ditherington has entered into a covenant with it to bring it back into the material plane. It gets vengeance, and he gets power, presumably." The Queen sighed, teasing a fingertip around the rim of her teacup. "Evil of this sort is so tediously predictable."

Elemiel thought that the Queen was being rather blasé about the whole affair. The elf found herself wondering just how often this sort of thing happened, to make Queen Annabelle this unconcerned.

Asper apparently did not share his Aunt's nonchalance. He leaned forward on his seat once again, his eyes narrowed.

"This is good information," Asper said, "but what are we going to do about Ditherington? Perhaps you could send the paladins to arrest him," he suggested. His slate-gray eyes lit up as a sudden thought occurred to him. "Better yet, just have Foxglove drop a meteor on his estate and be done with it."

Elemiel blinked. Can she actually do that? The thought was unsettling.

Queen Annabelle's freckle-dusted nose wrinkled as if she'd scented an unwashed gnoll. "Good gods man, have you taken leave of your senses? I'll do nothing of the sort. There are laws in Divony, and even the Queen must abide by them."

"So," Elemiel ventured into the pregnant silence, "what are you going to do, Your Highness?"

Another smile tugged at the corners of the Queen's mouth. "I'm going to invite Duke Ditherington to the Hexhunt, of course."

Elemiel blinked. She had to admit, that wasn't what she'd expected the Queen to say. Asper raked his fingers through his dark brown hair, looking as if he'd nearly reached the end of his rope.

"Just... what?" he finally managed.

"Actually, he's already invited. All of the nobles are, as is tradition," the Queen continued nonchalantly, although the sparkle in her cerulean eyes indicated she was enjoying playing havoc with her nephew's patience. "I'll be there too--again, as is tradition. If what we suspect about the good Duke is correct, he'll show up--and bring with him a thirst for vengeance."

"So," Elemiel said, "you're using yourself as bait?"

Queen Annabelle adjusted her emerald skirts and grinned. "See Asper? Pay attention to this one. She's not just a pretty face, although she certainly is at that."

The knight scowled. "Auntie, I really don't like the idea of you using yourself as a worm on a hook--"

The Queen set her cup down on its saucer with an authoritative click. "Asper, I don't give a flying fig what you like. I'm the bloody Queen. Besides, what is it the elves always say?"

"A pickle in the rear is worth two in the bush?" Elemiel supplied helpfully.

The Queen laughed. "I was thinking more along the lines of, 'Keep your enemies closer than your lovers,' but perhaps I should've been more specific. In any case, we need the Winnower to manifest in the material realm--only when it's reincarnated in flesh can it be destroyed for good. At least that's what Foxglove says, and I tend to trust her on these sorts of things. So, we need to draw him out."

Queen Annabelle noted Asper's stormy expression and sighed. "Your concern is touching, nephew, but I'll be fine. Ditherington will believe he's the one springing a trap, but in actuality, he'll be stepping into ours. I'm sure he'll assume you've already come to me with your suspicions and will be suitably prepared, but let me assure you that I'll be exceedingly well protected. You don't think Loche's pretty sword is just for show, now do you?"

"Of course not." Asper was trying very hard not to sound sullen. Elemiel thought he looked very cute at that moment but decided to keep that to herself. "But I'm not leaving you to Ditherington's tender mercies, even if you have the Adonian Paladins to guard you. Elemiel and I will be there at the Hunt tomorrow to watch your back."

Elemiel raised her eyebrows and tilted her head. "Oh, will we now?"

"That is if you don't have a prior engagement," the knight amended with a grin. Their eyes met, and Elemiel and Asper gazed at one another for an extended moment that was rife with heat and sparking, delicious tension.

The Queen cleared her throat. "Well, it's settled then." She rose from her seat and smoothed her dress. "I'm guessing you two have a lot left to... 'talk' about."

Annabelle looked expectantly between the two of them. The moment stretched. Asper let out an awkward cough, and Elemiel squirmed in her seat. She had the sudden and distressingly uncomfortable impression that the Queen of Divony was trying to play matchmaker.

There was a soft knock at the door, and the Queen sighed. "In any case, my next appointment is here."

The Queen picked up a bell from the table and shook it. There was no clapper inside, and the object didn't make a discernable sound, but the door pushed open a moment later. As Annabelle rose, both Asper and Elemiel got to their feet as well.

The Queen turned to Elemiel. "It was a pleasure to meet you, daughter of Solana. May the goddess' light fall warm upon your face," she said, reciting the words of the ritual elven goodbye.

"And may the Evertree give you shade when you need it," Elemiel finished. She hesitated, then spoke. "Your Majesty," Elemiel said, "what happens when the creature does manifest back into the material realm?"

"When that happens," Queen Annabelle said, and the blue of her eyes was that of an ice-locked lake, "we shall be ready."

The Glass Ballet

"Are you sure you won't stay?" asked Asper.

Elemiel was sorely tempted, the goddess knew. The way that man looked leaning against the doorway of the port cochere on his forearm, his doublet partly unlaced... Gods, but the sight of him sent a thrill of liquid heat snaking through Elemiel's body. She caught herself staring at Asper's lips, picturing them swollen from the ardent kisses he'd placed on her pussy, wet with the dew of her loins.

Those lips quirked in a smug little half-smile, but Elemiel got a hold of herself.

"I've got business to attend to outside of the city," Elemiel insisted, "and you've got duties to see to as well, now that you aren't officially dead anymore."

Asper's grin turned wicked. "Fuck all that. Stay with me and I'll show you more of the Palace. It'll be fun."

"I have no doubt of that," Elemiel said, twisting a strand of her dark hair around one finger while she returned the knight's heated stare. "Although somehow I imagine the tour would probably focus on your bedchamber."

"It's a very nice bedchamber," Asper agreed. "All sorts of things to share with you in there."

As much as she was inclined to let him nail her to the mattress with his cock, she did have business to attend to. A palace messenger had come to find her not long after their audience with the Queen bearing a missive from her business partner, a young woman named Charlie Lethe. The girl was having some kind of crisis, and Elemiel needed to talk her through it face to face.

"I have a company to run," the elven woman said, doing her best not to recall the feeling of Asper's body pressed atop her, somehow firm and soft and fitting with hers in all of the best ways. "As fascinating as I imagine a thorough exploration of your bedsheets would be, I have to see to my investments. Dresses that look this good don't come cheaply." She set a hand on the dip of her hip, and as she'd expected, Asper's gaze traveled along the curve of her body.

The knight chuckled. "We have plenty of fine dresses in the Palace, and many seamstresses to alter them." His finger wandered down the center of his chest with exaggerated casualness, teasing open the folds of his doublet, unsubtly provocative.

Elemiel's lavender eyes rolled. "I'm not sure if it's a glut of arrogance or confidence to presume your penis and a pretty dress are the only things a woman might need out of life."