Sechen waited as Gilt stepped up beside her, and with one last glance back towards wherever Prisoner was clashing with Hoalt, stepped through the door. It felt like being covered in warm honey, then just as quickly being sprayed off with a jet of freezing water. She blinked the Issi from her eyes as she looked around what was now a fairly large room with a gold and black circle carved into the floor, people in various states of being armored sitting at tables around the room. Some were playing cards, others eating what looked nothing like a soldier’s lunch, and others still hovering over four tables pushed together with a map pinned down with black stones on the edges. And they were all looking at her.

The second pair of eyes she’d seen, the golden ones, were now locked on hers with extreme sympathy shining in them. Their owner, a woman with long, golden hair and black skin tattooed with a maze of golden symbols down the right side of her face and down into her shirt. She raised a hand with stone-like black fingernails to her ear, though it didn’t look like she’d done it on purpose, as she winced and moved the hand to her cheek. She mouthed words Sechen couldn’t make out, and Gilt didn’t translate.

The person who could have been General Temery’s sister motioned for a fully armored guard standing to the side of the door to go fetch something, and Sechen caught a salute out of the corner of her eye before they hurried up a staircase in the back of the room. The woman waved Sechen to follow her, walking over to a mostly empty table and inserting herself where two soldiers had been playing cards. The woman gave them a dirty look as they scrambled to gather their cards, then motioned for Sechen to take a seat opposite her. She nodded and took it, Gilt walking up beside her and sitting on his haunches while he made sure not to lose Elach or Metea/Irric.

The guard came back close to a minute of uncomfortable nothing later, handing off a slate and some chalk to the woman before saluting and returning to their post. The woman wrote on the slate far faster than Sechen thought possible, turning it around and sliding it over less than fifteen seconds after she’d started.

Sechen pulled it the rest of the way and looked down, noting that the woman’s handwriting was extremely elegant and a little difficult to read. “We were informed that there was a fifth in your group. Was he lost when the starving wolf attacked you?”

“No, he went to go do something. He’ll be here eventually.” Sechen slid the slate back to the woman. “Do you know what Hoalt did to me?”

The woman’s eyes flashed with anger, and she crushed the piece of chalk to dust with explosive force. She looked down at her hand and sneered, turning her head and barking what Sechen assumed were orders before wiping her hand across the slate and writing anew with the smallest piece of chalk. Sechen could see her muttering as she wrote.

“You will not sully the name of our city’s great lord by linking them to that monster. You will not be warned again.” Sechen looked up at that line, and saw that the woman was deadly serious. Emphasis on deadly. She shuddered and returned to reading. “The starving wolf has devoured your sense of hearing. An Issi technique that is near impossible to reverse. Pray that Hoalt is feeling generous enough to bless you with health.”

That last line wasn’t written in good faith. Sechen felt a lump growing in her throat as the hostility of the room finally settled on her. She was not among friends. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware.”

The woman leaned over the table and snatched the slate from Sechen’s hands, and scribbled a few quick words on it. “Know your place.”

Sechen wanted to run. This couldn’t go anywhere good. There was a real chance the only reason she was let in here was because Prisoner had drawn Hoalt’s attention, and now they were debating how pissed he would be if he arrived to one less person in his group.

“You must play to their loyalties.” Gilt said, his words scrolling by quickly and shakily. Was he panicking too? “The danger we are in grows every second.”

“I’m truly sorry. Please forgive my ignorance.” Sechen bent over so her forehead was almost touching the table. “We need Hoalt’s help. The only Hoalt. Our friend is sick, and we don’t know how to help him.” Sechen said, then with one last thought to what she knew of Hoalt, she added: “We’ll pay whatever it costs. Please.”

Nothing. For too long. “A good choice of words.” Gilt eventually said. “It seems their desire to have Prisoner in their debt outweighs your… transgressions… on Hoalt’s name. Be ready. They are going to attempt to get you to sign a contract before they allow you to meet Hoalt. Delay them until Prisoner comes for us.”

Sechen gulped, and she hoped against hope that it wasn’t audible. She felt a hand tap the back of her head, and raised her eyes to see the woman with a pleasant expression on her face. She smiled and tilted her head to the side, her hands laced together on the table next to the slate. There were words on it. She tilted her head once more, and Sechen realized she was gesturing for her to take the slate. Sechen nodded thanks and did as she asked, coming face to face with an absolute wall of text.

She read the first line and had to hold back a grimace. The tone had gone from threatening to saccharine sweet, and somehow it felt even more dangerous. It offered a place to stay, protection, and more money than Sechen had ever even thought about, along with the promise of teachings from Hoalt’s inner circle. All she had to do was sign.

A stack of black papers were set next to Sechen, and she was alerted to them when an armored hand tapped her on the shoulder and pointed down to them. A plain white feather dripping liquid gold sat atop the stack, waiting for Sechen to pick it up and sign her life away. “I’m going to read it before I sign it.”

The woman sighed and crossed her arms, but waved to give Sechen the go ahead. Sechen set aside the slate and gingerly placed the pen on the table, grabbing the stack of papers and looking down at their gilded writings. The font was small but not illegible, and there was enough of it that it gave Sechen hope that she could stall for time. Then the edges of her vision gained a golden hue, and she blinked in surprise as she looked up at the woman on the other side of the table. She looked as if she was moving in slow-motion. Oh no.

Sechen swallowed and nodded thanks for the cognition empowering technique, silently cursing the woman, and began her fifteen or so page read that she had to make last as long as possible. Her future could depend on it.

All eyes turned towards the door what felt like an hour later, but Sechen couldn’t be sure. She was on the second last page, and didn’t even look up as everyone else backed away and clumped up in one corner of the room. She did crack a grin, though. Prisoner’s Issi was beyond overwhelming, but she knew it wasn’t pointed at her.

A hand slapped down on her shoulder moments later, dripping with red-black ooze, and Sechen turned her head to see Prisoner smiling down at her. The smile didn’t last long, however, as he bent down further and squinted into her eyes. His mouth moved, and his expression remained pleasant, but the tension in the room mounted to indescribable levels.

“He has just informed everyone that you have had a technique placed on your eyes that alters what you see. And that the only reason he is going to ignore it is because he doesn’t want to declare war on the Gilded Night.” Gilt spoke with reverence, and Sechen craned her neck to see him staring up at Prisoner with a torn expression. A mixture of annoyance and respect, with respect slowly winning out. “They are returning the pleasantries.”

Prisoner waved his hand and grimaced, a slash of purple Issi cutting through the air in front of him. He made a show of pulling a weapon out of the tear, an act Sechen knew wasn’t necessary, but she was quickly transfixed by what he now held in his right hand. It was a simple letter opener. A shining silver blade with a floral pattern carved into it, and a handle made from some sort of wood Sechen didn’t recognize but that exuded Issi like a tyrant’s heart. He held it in his hand and examined it while giving monologuing, Gilt remaining completely silent until he finished.

“The weapon he wields is named the Forgotten Emissary. He makes no claims of what it can do, and our hosts have made assumptions that will be their demise. They are one step away from groveling at his feet for forgiveness.” Gilt chuckled. “A far cry from our own hospitality.”

Prisoner pointed his letter opener at her, and from the way the woman who’d attempted to coerce her into signing a contract she knew nothing about scrambled to act, he’d given her an ultimatum. She bowed before Sechen, the gold tinge disappearing from her vision, and put her hands over her ears. Sechen felt, heard, and somehow tasted the wet pop that followed, sounds rushing into her ears almost too much to bear.

“Very good.” Prisoner said placidly. “We are goin’ up now. If you don’t want me to tell old scaly just how close you were to making me kill every single one of you and your sick brood, you’re goin’ to keep your mouths shut. Was that clear enough, or do I have to coat my words in Issi so they penetrate your thick skulls?”

“No, constant. We apologize.” The woman bowed until her torso was parallel with the floor. Her voice was higher than General Temery’s, and even when being humbled, held far more arrogance. And what had she just called Prisoner? Constant? “This will never be spoken of.”

“It won’t.” Prisoner agreed, and his words carried the finality of a headsman. “C’mon. Sticky wolf won’t be botherin’ us, but I don’t want to stay here a minute more.”

Prisoner stepped into the circle and waited for Sechen and Gilt to join him. Sechen didn’t want to be the one to break it to him that he’d have to ask General Temery’s arrogant sister to activate the thing, so she decided to let him figure it out. Her feet touched gold, followed quickly by Gilt’s four paws as he curled himself to fit around Sechen and Prisoner.

“Goodbye.” Prisoner said, waving his hand as Issi surged around him. The connection point bubbled and spat, gold flaking off of it like old paint, before being devoured by a silver light that seared itself into the wood below. “And sorry for the floor.”