Rabecca's eyes fluttered open to an orange glow. Warmth radiated over her, and she enjoyed a peaceful and comfortable moment in front of the guild's fireplace. The dark ambiance hinted night fell, Erik must have carried her into the private meeting chambers--how sweet--and lit a fire.

Erik leaned on the wall by the fireplace but didn't notice her wake.

The horrible pain started.

A half-a-dozen healing potions splashed her frostbitten skin, she supposed, by the level of agony. She reviewed her scholarly knowledge on afterskin, a repeated and futile effort, to think of a solution to lessen it. When something changed physical body, an injury, for example, it created a mark on its numinous counterpart. Most mages theorized this caused interrupted spellcasting. If magic reversed the alteration, the imprint remained. The difference in body and spirit created these afterskin sensations, and, as usual, she concluded nothing could be done. Mind control might achieve some success, but the Wilmand Kingdom outlawed those practices.

Dried blood itched her nose, so she attempted to scratch it.

Clinking chains caught her attention, and constable's shackles secured her bandaged wrists together. Talk gagged her. Horrified, her fingers slid over the professionally crafted 'Mage's Muzzle,' a three-part system designed to silence her. A wooden depressor flattened her tongue, a glob of congealed slime-jelly filled her mouth, and a broad leather strap covered her lower face. Hinging her jaw, or even moving her tongue too much, activated its feature: expanded slime-jelly to smother her. If she tilted her head back, then she could choke on her own saliva.

Why? I don't deserve this. Get it off!

Stars filled her vision when the pommel of a dagger rapped the back of her head. A harsh and authoritarian voice barked, "Try that again, and it's the last thing you do!"

Rabecca peeked at the constable behind her, and he showed his blade to emphasize his point. Arrested mages, because of their dangerousness, were handled strictly. Placation meant survival, so she raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. The constable sheathed his dagger and pointed for her to face forward.

I killed four men, no, I put down four animals.

Did Erik turn me in? Who else could have? No, wait, I can't blame him for that. The second we returned without them, the Adventurer's Guild initiated an investigation, and Henry was Jorvan's, the Master-in-Chief's, drinking buddy. It couldn't play out any other way. If I'm shackled, then that means they know I executed them.

I don't have any allies in Letun. This is bad.

Jorvan barged in, and he turned a dark look on Rabecca. She locked eyes with him--I don't feel bad about it, they deserved it. You should have vetted them better. Two more people followed him into the room, Lord Walter and Lady Elin. Both met her gaze.

Oh no, not this. How unfair.

"Lord Walter, Lady Elin, thank you for coming, I'm sorry we couldn't meet again under better circumstances." Erik extended his hand.

Jorvan shoved by, broke the handshake, and stopped in front of Rabecca with clenched fists. For a moment, she braced for a punch.

The constable spoke in a half-bark half-growl. "Master-in-Chief Jorvan, I'm obligated to remind you of the King's Law. A room containing a prisoner under a constable's supervision is considered a prison, and prisons are subject to the appropriate policy. Punishment is inflicted at the sole discretion of constables and wardens, under orders from the acting governor." The constable's voice dropped an octave. "So, unless you want to join her, keep your hands to yourself."

"She killed someone I know!"

"Be that as it may, true or not, schedule an audience with Princess Roselynde, Letun's acting governor, and obtain a writ for Lex Talionis or for permission to perform interrogative techniques. Until then, ramble off."

Jorvan shifted from foot to foot.

"Not listening? I said: ramble off, gong-for-brains!"

Red-faced, Jorvan spun on his heel and marched out of the room. "This isn't over! I'll get that writ, and she'll answer for what she did! I promise you that!"

Lord Walter caught Rabecca's eye, and she held his gaze.

He looked the same as the last time she saw him, protected in a gambeson, though it seemed well-used now. However, his face carried a new prestige, and, despite his average height, his eyes unmistakably saw things from a bird's eye view. It was, by her nature, impossible to see him and not remember the dragon-slaying. He could do anything, and that entailed rescuing her.

Instinctively, she tried to plead her case--please, get me out of this, I'll do anything--but the slime-jelly expanded and blocked her air. She coughed, fought against the protruding mass, and spasmed until it retracted.

By the time she looked up, he already left the room with Erik.

No, this can't be, come back. Don't turn away and leave me with these people. Henry wore a golden dog-tag, and I'm an outsider to Letun. There's no way I'm getting a fair investigation, save me!

"Permission to approach the prisoner?"

Rabecca's stinging eyes flitted up to Lady Elin.

"Lady Elin, ma'am," the constable straightened his back. "I mean no disrespect when I say this, but, as an ascended, you may do as you please. None of us can stop you. Gong, you can snatch this woman off my hands, and I wouldn't chase. What could I do anyway? You'd get away, scot-free. Take her."

A bemused smile--why is this funny at all--lifted Lady Elin's face. "Ah, yes, well, how do I explain this, constable? Lord Walter and I, we don't wish to scorn the law or upset order, for the good of the people. So, may I?"

Is that how bad my situation is? The constable wants to run away, too.

The constable sighed, "As you wish."

"Can you remove the muzzle? I want to clean her face."

"If'n you're following the letter of the law, then no, not without assurances. As a lady, you'll agree to take responsibility for her actions, should she incant a spell. Otherwise, the muzzle remains."

Lady Elin unfastened the retaining strap on her sword. "I will guarantee she does not."

She didn't threaten the constable, Lady Elin promised to kill me if I attempted to escape. This is beyond hopeless. Why is she here? To gloat?

The constable pushed Rabecca's head forward and unbuckled the strap. She worked her jaw and balanced the dried area of her mouth with the wet. Her tongue felt bruised.

Lady Elin looked like an angel of the gods and goddesses. Her conservative outfit surprised Rabecca, it hardly showed skin besides some cleavage. At the least, she imagined an exposed abdomen, legs, and side-boob for an ascended. The images of heroines in the illuminated tomes showed them wearing lingerie-inspired armor. However, it looked classical, not for its style, but because of the woman wearing it.

Rabecca's maximized feminity contrasted against Elin's perfected version.

In terms of 'quantity,' Rabecca won the measuring contest because her breasts swelled larger and bouncier, and her hips plumped more. But, regarding 'quality,' she wept. Elin's breasts were also large, her hips pronounced, but they perfected their proportions with everything about her. Moreover, Elin moved firmly yet naturally, unlike Rabecca's perpetually optimized jiggling. In terms of flowers, Rabecca felt like a bag stuffed with petals, and Elin looked like a masterfully arranged bouquet.

Did I think to steal Lord Walter? I'm a joke compared to her. She has nothing to fear from any woman, ever, even me.

"Thank you, Lady Elin," Rabecca sniffed, "I suppose you want to ask what happened?"

"No, I won't, Walter asked me to keep an eye on you and to ensure your silence. Sit there, be patient, and await his judgment."

That's that. I am not allowed to defend myself. Everyone hates me so much, I don't understand. What would the problematic throw-away of a plantation girl mean to a lord? That's his new role, and this one is mine. Maybe I'll get lucky, and they'll skip the torture and move straight to execution, life's little mercies.

Lord Walter and Erik returned, and Jorvan snapped at his heels.

"What do you mean, 'She's coming with you?' Do you know what you're saying! You overstep your boundaries--"

"As I said, I believe it to be self-defense. I'm not discussing it any further. I'm tired, irritated, and I want to go home," Lord Walter said, then he turned to Lady Elin and continued, "Rabecca's in our custody now. You remember that guy you sparred with when we first got here?"

Lady Elin shook her head.

"He freaked out during your examination, and you broke his arm."

An old memory flicked to the surface, and her face twisted, "Him? There is no question, then. You shall come with us. Constable? May we assume custody of the prisoner, under the usual guarantees?"

"By all means." The constable passed Lady Elin a key and the Mage's Muzzle before bowing. "I don't need to warn you, should she injury anyone--"

"--I understand," Lady Elin nodded, "She won't. Let's go."

Rabecca rose, and she felt her legs shaking. Sheer mental fortitude controlled her feet, one deliberate foot in front of the other, and she willed herself to walk.

"I'm going to the princess with this!" Jorvan bellowed, and spittle flicked from his mouth.

"Sure, go ahead, if you can get her to wake up," Lord Walter yawned, "If you manage it, then do me a favor, and let her know I'll be there in the morning to explain myself."

Erik, how did you convince Lord Walter to stick his neck out?