The city-state of Valdt was set on an island in the Klen River. It was connected to the Windswept Coast and the other surrounding territories through several fortified arch bridges. By mid-morning, Roland and Nick had reached the southern bridge and it was bustling with merchants transporting goods. There were also a lot of people travelling by foot and Roland overheard them talking about an upcoming celebration called ‘The Day of the Art Lords.’ It must have been regional, because he’d never heard of it. Over a dozen guards were stationed at the first bridge tower but they seemed more interested in joking around than checking passports or inspecting cargo. Roland and Nick simply rolled by their small outpost and merged with the molasses of other carts and wagons that were flowing across the bridge.

As he looked up at the first bridge tower, Roland noticed beautifully carved lettering above its archway:

Know, oh wayfarer, that through this gate are sights not matched since the Celestials forged their kingdom in star fire.

As he was thinking about this small bit of hyperbolic poetry, Nick turned to him and asked, “You drop face on Melanie last night? Or did you just role-play as Eliza and order her to go down on you?” Nick fist pumped Roland’s shoulder. “You pillow princess, you!”

Roland ignored Nick. While he did accompany him last night, he didn’t participate in the recreational drug use or swimming. He had actually planned to, but when they met up with the college girls, he immediately hit it off with a girl named Melanie who was studying literature from the sorcerer-king period of Relmgard’s history. Roland had read and loved many of those works back when he was at Sages’ Keep and they talked about their favourite stories and poems until the sun came up. She’d be returning to Valdt in a few days, and, if Roland had enough free time, he planned on going to the College of Fine Arts to try and find her.

They slowly made their way through the second bridge tower. The inscription above its archway read:

May your nihilism be shattered by a reality of wonder undreamed of during the Heroic Age.

It was very loud on this part of the bridge as, in addition to the traffic, there were many stalls selling produce, and the vendors were all yelling for the attention of travelers.

Nick was trying to say something, but Roland couldn’t hear him.

“What?” Roland shouted as he leaned over.

“She said I could cum in her mouth, but I’d have to take a shower first,” screamed Nick, apparently repeating himself.

There was a father carrying his daughter on his shoulders walking right beside their wagon. Out of the corner of his eye, Roland could see this stranger scowl at them.

Roland leaned away from Nick, hoping that he’d stop talking. However, he continued yelling.

“I told her, ‘Why would I take a shower? We were just swimming — how much cleaner can I get?’ and then she said ‘Yeah, but you were inside of me after that, so it’s gross.’ I was like ‘First of all, my tongue was in there earlier, and I put that in your mouth after. Second, if I get up to take a shower, I’ll lose my hard on.’ ” He shook his head. “So, I just told her, ‘Get on your knees and squeeze your tits together. I’ll finish on those, and you won’t have to worry about how my dick tastes.’ ”

Roland winced in disgust.

After a long wait, they finally reached the third bridge tower.

Yes, wild spirit, through here is a citadel against melancholy and boredom; a temple in defiance to a world abandoned by magic.

The noise died down once they were through this bridge tower. Roland turned to Nick, “What’s gotten in you? Even at his worst, Jace wasn’t as vulgar and immature as you’re acting right now.”

“Really?” replied Nick. “I thought I was being my usual low-key charming self.” He clapped his hands. “I know what happened — I was so spent after the sauna last night, that before Nina and I went back to my room, I took a couple of exactness eyedrops. That’s it. Definitely the lingering effect of those. They stay in your system for quite a while, but I should be fine later today.”

“Don’t archers use those to increase their accuracy? What does that have to do with your behaviour?” Roland had read about exactness eyedrops in a list of consumable items tucked away in the appendix of some treatise on the Heroic Age.

“Sure, but they can also be used to enhance all sorts of other skills. They’re really popular with students that want to cram. Or brilliant artists that want to cram students.” He winked at Roland after delivering that hacky pun. “They let you tunnel vision on almost anything. Whatever your mind — or heart — wants.”

“Yeah, I don’t think the desires of either of those organs were at play last night,” replied Roland. “Just try to show some restraint when we’re in public.” He then mumbled to himself, “So much for expanding your consciousness with drugs.”

They were now approaching the final bridge tower. Roland looked up and saw what had to be the last inscription:

Though many shining kingdoms have existed throughout the history of Relmgard, all are second to Valdt! Witness the furthest reaches of your imagination rendered!

“I think they used up the good ones on the earlier towers,” said Nick, who noticed Roland was studying the writings that were above the archways. “Bad pacing. Should have used that filler a couple of towers ago.”

Bright Port had its cobblestoned streets, colourful architecture, and pleasing vistas. Serene was weathered by sand, but its sprawling size had a charming grandeur. From what Roland initially saw, Valdt stood apart from both of those places as it couldn’t be described with such static terms. To his eyes, there was no sense of history here, just what looked to be an ever changing mess. Many buildings were either being constructed or torn down. Workers were everywhere. Everything was in transition. It was ugly and confusing. Yet, one couldn’t deny that this place was very much alive.

As they made their way through this chaos, Roland senses began to adapt to what surrounded him. His initial impressions of Valdt were superficial. The movements and costumes of the people performing work were not arbitrary. Everything was coordinated. Roland and Nick were travelling through a living art exhibition. He began to feel invigorated by the action that surrounded him. It was like being inside a clock that made no physical sense but still ticked along. You could look in any direction and be overwhelmed by the complexity, but the hypnotic repetition was sublime. Roland was in awe. After an hour, they arrived at a new borough and the performance stopped. Here, the architecture was more classical and in line with Roland’s expectations for how a great city should look.

Still caught up in the wonder of what he had just witnessed, Roland said “I think the theme was an abhorrence of permanence.”

“Nah,” said Nick. “They inverted the concept of the suffering artist. Now it’s the suffering audience.”

“Surprised you found that to be tedious,” said Roland. “The scale alone was impressive. And their commitment to such a high concept performance was weirdly inspiring.”

“About as impressive and high concept as public masturbation,” replied Nick. “Although in that case the performer is probably aware that he’s not providing anything of cultural value.”

Roland smirked, “What happened? Did you fail their audition?”

“Maybe I’m just more attuned to recognizing cries for help and found that experience distressing?” He sniffed the air a bit and smacked his lips. “Or the drugs from last night have finally worn off.”

***

Late in the afternoon, they entered a lively borough whose streets were lined with small boutiques. It was a fairly dense area, but the buildings were no taller than four stories. These streets wouldn’t have been out of place in the heart of Bright Port. Nick stopped the wagon in front of a small shop called ‘Marigold’s Fine Douches.’ Through the store windows, Roland saw shelves that were half-filled with what looked like bottles of perfume.

“Even though I probably have the better nose for the douche business,” began Nick as he and Roland unloaded the painting from the wagon. “All of my experiences are technically indirect, and, in the cutthroat world of douches, that only gets you so far.” Roland had no idea what he was talking about.

Nick led the way as they entered the shop carrying the painting. Lettering on the door indicated very limited business hours and listed someone named ‘Marigold Gadabout’ as a ‘Douche Specialist.’ A bell chimed when Nick pushed the door open. Roland saw that there was girl sitting behind the counter who was trying to write something in a notebook but seemed frustrated. She didn’t bother to look up but began to talk.

“Why does the current trend with these boujee art snobs have to be spoken word poetry? I guess paper mache or finger painting are too sophisticated.”

Roland immediately recognized the voice.

It was Mallory.

She tossed her notebook on the store counter. “Whatever. Do you remember any of those weird nursery rhymes dad used to sing to us? Maybe I’ll just reuse some of those. It’s not plagiarism if you say it out loud, right?”

“Making more inroads with Valdt’s art loving aristocracy?” asked Nick as they put the painting down against the shop’s back wall.

“These trend-chasers have no swag. They love to snarf up flanzor shit, but they’re very specific when it comes to what kind of flanzor shit they snarf up. If you gave them a dozen plates of flanzor shit to snarf up they’d tell you eleven are literally shit while the twelfth is dew from the Gaia Tree.”

“The lyricism in the way you talk has become so natural,” said Nick. “Hard to tell if I’m speaking to my sister or one of Relmgard’s great poets.”

“Yeah, at least you brought the painting, I…”

Mallory paused as she finally looked up and saw a young girl standing next to Nick.

“Who’s this?” she laughed. “You get an intern, Nick? Or are you now hooking up with high school girls like your scumbag friends?”

“You don’t recognize,” Nick took a deep breath as he forced himself to say, “Alys Fireborn?”

“Alys Fireborn?” laughed Mallory. “That sounds like the name of a famous prostitute.”

“Mind your manners peasant, you’re in presence of royalty,” said Roland, who couldn’t help but grin like an idiot.

“Huh?” She squinted at Roland. “Was that an improv prompt for me? Or did Nick give you one of those casum softgels he’s been popping recently and you’re on one?” She continued to stare at Roland, clearly not recognizing Eliza because he had her tied up and was wearing glasses. “Are you wearing my old clothes?”

“Our pal Rol, swapped into Eliza’s body — permanently.”

Mallory’s pupils dilated when she realized what Nick had said.

“I had heard that Eliza had disappeared,” she licked her lips. “But I thought that was just a wild rumour. I never would have entertained this fantasy. Although I could have predicted that you’d give yourself an asinine pseudonym.”

“Yes,” said Roland. “She’s gone, and so is my body. I confirmed it at the Star Chamber — the light tied to her being was extinguished.”

Mallory walked over to Roland. She ran a finger across his mouth and whispered, “Eliza…”

“I’m sure Rol missed this creep show,” said Nick.

Mallory’s transfixed state ended, and she returned to her normal self. “Welp, pour one out for your old lanky body. Never did fill out after puberty, so not much was lost.”

“I knew you’d be broken up about it,” said Roland.

“So, how’s this new bod? No more easy mode doggystyle when you’re with a chick, eh? A lot more licking and rubbing now. I can tell you —”

“You know what,” interrupted Nick. “Between this and your poetry, I think I’m good here.” He looked at Roland, “I guess this is karma for what I said to you back on the bridge.” Turning back to Mallory, he continued, “Been great catching up, sis. I’m heading back home.”

“You’re leaving already?” asked Roland. “We just spent a week on the road.”

“Well, I’m going to spend a few nights at the lodge we were just at then I’ll probably try to track down Jace. Hopefully he didn’t get flayed.” The bell on the door chimed as Nick walked out. “Peace out, Gadabout.”

***

After Nick left, Mallory went and locked up the shop. Roland watched as she walked across the room. She was wearing a low-cut floral print dress. Fashion was clearly different here than anywhere else he’d been in Relmgard. The last sunlight of the day outlined her figure as she moved. Her beauty was as piercing as ever.

Roland tried to distract himself. “What’s a douche anyways?” he asked as he opened one of the bottles and sniffed it.

“Genital cleanser,” replied Mallory as she finished locking the shop door.

“Oh.”

He put the cap back on the bottle and returned it to the shelf.

The two of them went up to a loft above the shop where Mallory had been living. The apartment was a single giant room with high ceilings. There were parchment scrolls fixed on the walls and many shelves that were lined with mason jars that had flowers growing in them. Incense sticks and candles were scattered on tables or in tacky looking holders. Most of the furniture seemed to be brand new, even those pieces with a faux distressed look. The juxtaposition of modern and rustic made for a picturesque room, but it seemed like it would be an awkward space to actually live in.

Roland thought he recognized one of the incense holders to be a small statue of the Aelis, the Celestial that was worshipped by many thespians. He recalled the Hero of Relmgard calling her a ‘fickle cunt.’

“Is that Aelis?” he asked.

“I don’t know, I got it at a junk sale,” replied Mallory.

“They didn’t have Hesteria?” smiled Roland. For the first time he knew more about her than she did about him. It was an immature impulse, but he had to tease her about it.

“Sure.” She pointed towards a statue with a large bosom. The incense sticks could be placed in its cleavage.

“Comical design,” mumbled Roland as he crouched down to inspect the face of the statue. “But it doesn’t look anything like her.” His reference of her appearance was the memories that he had received from the telepathy orb. Those contained a clear image of Hesteria. However, Mallory didn’t hear his last comment because she had gone over to the kitchen to prepare some drinks.

Like everything else in the apartment, the kitchen was a part of the open space. It looked immaculate and Roland wondered if it had ever been used for anything beyond libations. As he was waiting for her to finish, small stacks of books that were indiscriminating placed around the apartment caught his attention.

“Are you reading all of those?” he asked.

“Can’t you tell I’m a real artist? I keep all of my books in piles on the floor.”

“So that’s why they’re not on the shelves?” He huffed a bit as he was unreasonably offended by this, but she ignored him as she finished mixing the drinks. “Is that what this impractical apartment is about? You’re trying to convince people you’re an artist?”

“Yup, good enough to fool all the theatre kids in this district.”

“This place looks ridiculous,” he said as he took a glass containing a light pink cocktail from her.

“You haven’t seen me in two years, and you come in roasting me with conflag spells? Can’t I get a little women supporting women?”

Roland squinted at her as they sat down on opposite ends of a couch. Despite looking like an antique, the couch didn’t feel worn in at all. Had it ever been used?

“I didn’t realize that masquerading as an artist had made you so sensitive,” said Roland. He took a sip of his drink and grimaced. “Ugh. I’d swear this was spoiled if I hadn’t seen you freshly prepare it.”

“Huh, I thought Eliza enjoyed guzzling viscous liquids that were bitter and salty?” said Mallory.

Roland coughed as he laughed at this juvenile joke. “She certainly did.”

“The bitterness goes away after a few sips. That cocktail is another fad that I have to tolerate while living here. Hopefully, the rich twerps will soon move onto something that doesn’t taste like a bodily fluid.” She took a sip of her own drink and also gagged. “Eck.” She regained her composure. “For the last few months, I’ve been trying to ingratiate myself to the hipster aristocracy that runs everything around here and —”

“Wait, haven’t you been here for two years?” interrupted Roland.

“What? No.” She immediately changed the subject. “For once, your timing is good. There’s a tastemaker event in a couple of days that you can attend with me. The curator from the Art Gallery of Valdt will be there. She approves all submissions for the ‘Rising Artists of Valdt Exhibition’ next month. I need Nick’s painting to be shown there, and ‘charming’ her is the easiest way to make that happen.”

“Charming her?” replied Roland. “Another scheme based around a cantrip?” He sighed, not really interested in going through that nonsense again. “Can’t you just strong-arm her?”

“I see that you’ve become more pragmatic now that you’re thinking with your clit,” she responded. “But, no, neither magic nor force are what I had in mind.” She smirked and slid closer to Roland. Putting down her drink, she touched the top of Eliza’s head and then her cheeks. “One of my regular customers is an acquaintance of the curator. It turns out, the curator and I share similar tastes.” She ran her hands down Eliza’s chest. “We both enjoy the little things that life has to offer.”

Mallory began caressing Eliza’s breasts through her shirtdress. Even if these aggressive advances were unexpected, Roland wasn’t flustered. Deciding against an earnest confession of his feelings, he simply leaned forward and began kissing her. After a moment, Mallory pushed him away. “You smell terrible. And you taste worse than these cocktails.” She retched. “It’s like tonguing a fishmonger’s asshole.”

“Well, I haven’t bathed since I was at Dire Fortress,” laughed Roland. “But I’ll note that sweet nothing for when I try to win over this curator.” He got serious again as he processed what Mallory wanted him to do. “So, this is the culmination of your plan? You’re going to have me seduce some woman who’s supposedly into young-looking girls?”

“It’s not the culmination of anything. Exhibiting the painting in that forum is one piece of my plan. This tastemaker event is the easiest way forward. I’d do it myself if I was her type. After all, I’m not above debasing myself for gain. I did let you finish inside me, didn’t I?”

“Persuasive as always.”

“I figured you’d be game. You just spent two years getting your rod polished at ground zero for all of the STDs in Relmgard, what’s one night of sex with some high-class perverts?”

She stretched out her arms on the couch. “Just close your eyes and use your tongue and fingers — I don’t see why those skills wouldn’t have transferred between bodies.”

“I’m back for five minutes and we’re already running off to an orgy,” sighed Roland.

“Tastemaker event,” insisted Mallory. “It’s not an orgy.” She paused. “Actually, it’s supposed to just be a poetry recital, but I doubt that’s all there is to it. There’s a giant ankh outside the mansion where it’s being held. That means the owners are swingers, so I definitely can’t go stag. Anyways, at worst it will be a dull night of bad poetry and forgettable sex. Classy, boring stuff. But for sure not some low rent gang bang.”

“Why don’t you take Nick?” asked Roland half-jokingly. “From what I saw over the last several days, this should be his type of crowd.”

“While it is a two-hander, it’s hard to predict exactly what will happen when we get there and I don’t fuck with blood relatives.” She smiled. “I know people in Cantermere don’t have boundaries when it comes to incest, but the rest of the civilized world does. Anyways, you’re a royalty now. Enduring tedium should be second nature. I’m sure Eliza had to suffer through fossilized dignitaries prattling on for hours or tolerate being molested by handsy courtiers. Just lie on your back and channel that spirit.”

She playfully started running her hand up and down Eliza’s thigh.

Roland laughed, “What is going on with you?”

“Huh?” She gave him an incredulous look. “Did you stop being attracted to women after your balls got vaporized?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he just studied her face while finishing his drink. Finally he said, “Nick told me you’d be attracted to this body, but I didn’t realize you’d turn into a boy crazy schoolgirl.”

“Boy crazy?” She got close, as if she wanted to kiss him again but then winced. “Come on, there’s a women’s only bathhouse a few blocks over. Popular hangout for chicks seeking chicks, but it’s also just a great all-around place for a soak.”

When he was travelling with Nick, Roland had the final say. Sure, Nick would push back, but in the end he’d always acquiesce. That arrangement must have been nothing new for Nick. He likely had a similar relationship with Mallory. She was single minded and — worse — she knew how to manipulate people. With Roland it was easy, her sexuality was a lure he couldn’t resist. He was self-aware enough to see all of this happening but decided not argue with her about what she was planning to do in Valdt. At least not yet. After all, if the vision of beauty invites you to come bathe with her, turning her down would simply be rude.