In his brief moments of lucidity when Allisa’s concentration lapsed, Grant pondered two questions.

  The first was how he would be killing her when he finally regained control. He fantasized about the things he had read in history books. Flaying, starving, drowning and smothering. Perhaps with enough applications of Curse of Fragility, she would simply decay from within, her Elven organs turning to red slosh as blood seeped from her pretty blue eyes and gurgled between her perfect, gritted teeth.

  Elven cruelty seemed to know no bounds, but he believed Evenonian cruelty was still a close contender.

  Of course, Grant was no sadist, and he wasn’t in a position to be picky about it either. A dagger through the heart would work just fine, if given the chance. He would twist it, just to make sure.

  The second was how she would keep control over him at all hours. If her Spell could be maintained even in her sleep, he was truly hopeless. Grant had tried constantly to wrestle back control, but even the closest he had come felt as if he had tried to reach another continent by reaching out for it with his arm.

  There had to be a limit to her Mind Magic. She was by far the most powerful non-wyrm being he had encountered on this world, perhaps save for King Kelro. The Royal Inquisitor who had interrogated him after the Reading Ceremony could tell when he was lying, but she could pull every thought from his head effortlessly. She never seemed to struggle to control his movement either.

  He had just lain on a wooden torture rack, and didn’t have a complaint in the world about it.

  With a grinding sound, the final manacle latched, answering his second question. She couldn’t hold him while he was asleep. Perhaps there was even a time limit to her Spell.

  But it didn’t matter.

  The table under Grant was clearly made for an Airet-sized man, but he didn’t imagine Allisa or any of the other Elves were concerned with his comfort. His wrists protested in agony and feet rapidly lost sensation as the shackles tore into his skin. Since the table was too short, his knees bent to the sides awkwardly, which drove the steel more deeply into his shins. Allisa looked down on him from above, with a sweet smile and a glint of kindness in her eyes.

  “Now, I’m going to release you, and I need you to be good. The strongest Elf in our group has 145 Strength, and even he couldn’t bend that steel on your wrists. You’ll only hurt yourself trying.”

  Grant internally nodded. The two Airet soldiers had fastened his restraints well. Even a total fool would know how hopeless escape was.

  With a short gesture from Allisa, a black bag was pulled over Grant’s head, and seconds later, he was himself again. Disorientation overwhelmed him as he regained control of his movement. It had been hours since he used his own body, he thrashed in confusion, drawing more blood.

  Then came rage.

  Grant pulled, strained, and fought against the steel. He bit at the cloth sack over his head wildly, shouting as loudly as he could.

  “I’m going to cut you open!” He pulled at the wraps around his wrists and kicked at those on his ankles. “You’re dead when I get free!” Blood dripped down his fingers, but for the first time in hours, he could speak for himself, and he used every word on threats, every thought seeking a way to follow through on them. The table rattled under him as he tried to fight his way free.

  Allisa laughed. Just moments earlier, it had been like a bird’s song, but now, it was raspy and deep. “You promised me you’d be good,” she taunted. “But there is something we need to talk about. Leave.”

  Grant watched two shadows leave without question through his thick mask, their boots plodding across the stone floor. A door latched shut behind them. There was a pause as Allisa waited for them to be out of earshot.

  “Now, I need you to listen carefully,” Allisa whispered. Her fingernails trailed up his arm. He jerked away, disgusted by her touch. “I have a job for you.”

  Everything about how she addressed him changed. There was a glint of fear in her voice. Desperation, even. When his mouth finally opened, he said the first thing that came to mind.

  “Fuck your job.”

  “I think you’re going to like this.”

  “I think I’d like slicing off your tits.”

  Allisa giggled. It sounded like a smoker’s cough. Was her Mind Magic changing how he heard her voice?

  “In a week’s time, the King’s sister is going to be back,” she said. “You’re going to use that Spell you have to Cure her of her Disease.”

  “Yeah, about that? You can find a way to deal with her yourself. I think I’d rather she die if she’s anything like her brother.”

  The demand was ridiculous, but it gave Grant vital information about the limitations of her Mind Magic. She could make him Resummon and Dismiss his dagger. She could make him kill people. She could make him walk, scratch his nose, and as far as he could tell, even breathe. But as she told Toren, she couldn’t make him Purchase anything from the Store or transfer ownership of his dagger. Unintended or not, she had just given him a vital piece of information.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “She’s not like King Kelro.” Her voice was soft, and he could see her head shaking through the bag. “She’s the only person who can talk sense into him. She would have talked him out of today’s executions if she had been there.”

  A lie? Grant didn’t know how to respond. His hand had held the blade, but as far as he was concerned, she was the executioner.

  “But I’m sure King Kelro would be happy to show you just how much he cares for his sister until you obliged. There are many Airet in this city he could use to do it.” She scoffed. “And I assure you that he is far more creative than cutting off tits.”

  “Torture?” He snorted. “I will not work for barbarians. Leave me.”

  He could hear Allisa’s teeth grinding in her closed mouth. “You may believe that little Spell of yours gives you leverage, but allow me to be frank. It doesn’t. You are a maggot among us, a mule pulling a wagon at best. But let me sweeten the deal.” Her voice sank even lower, like a hiss between prisoners planning an escape. “After you Cure King Kelro’s sister, you’re going to put the Disease his sister has right back on him.”

  If Grant weren’t wearing a bag over his head, he was sure Allisa would have laughed at the look of pure confusion that crossed his face. “What?”

  “Did I hear a hint of interest? Good. You are going to Cure the King’s sister. And then, you’re going to put the Disease she has on the King. I need you to agree to this without my Spell active so I can know you’ll do it.”

  Grant didn’t know much about Elven culture outside of what he had learned in Caitlyn’s class, but he assumed regicide was frowned upon. “You want me to kill Kelro?”

  “King Kelro,” she snapped.

  “How about shit-eating and piss-drinking Kelro? Is he not your King?” Grant almost laughed at his own question. He would have been happy to watch Emperor Genus choke to death on a sausage, so it wasn’t the most outlandish request in the world to him.

  “Do you remember what happened in the keep? When I presented him to you?” Grant shivered as he remembered the icicle inching toward his eye. “Two Airet died from the cold then and there.”

  “So now you care about the Airet?”

  “Of course I don’t care about the Airet,” she snapped. “They live short, meaningless lives. I care about Elves.”

  “Great.” Grant shrugged as best he could. “I don’t understand why I have anything to do with this.”

  He felt her hand on his chest. “We entered this world as a group of fifty, and King Kelro has killed twelve.” Grant swallowed. “Some of them were my friends. He entered the Portal seeking a cure for his sister’s Disease, and he has grown impatient. His sister is kind, regal, and worthy of the throne. If he dies, she will inherit it. He is too powerful for any of us to assassinate, but her Disease could kill him in seconds.”

  Something still didn’t make sense to Grant. “Why would it kill him and not her?”

  “She has carried the Disease for eighteen years. She has undergone hundreds of different treatments in that time—Wards and Runes that block the worst effects. A Plague Mage from our world inflicted it on her after a three-day Ritual, and she has almost succumbed to the ailment many times. It has progressed to a stage where even our greatest Warders must work constantly to fend it off.”

  “And King Kelro has no protections against such a Disease,” Grant muttered.

  “Correct.”

  “And he would die instantly.”

  “Correct.”

  The bag over his head brushed against the spot under his bottom lip. The damn thing was scratchy enough to drive a man mad. He scratched himself with his top teeth. “All of that is fine and good. But what’s in it for me?”

  “You?” Allisa chuckled. “You can leave, for all I care. Sail off, ride a horse, go find that Lira girl if you want. I won’t even kill any more of those rats of whom you are so fond, and neither will Ixi. We have clearly worn out our welcome in this town—”

  “You were welcome before?”

  “—and we’ve only stopped to find someone with a Spell powerful enough to Cure Ixi. There were rumors of a Human Priestess in a nearby town who could Cure any ailment, but it is incredibly unlikely she would have a great enough Spell this early in the Campaign.”

  Grant heard his own breathing under the mask, the clicking sound of Allisa picking her fingernails. He ran a finger over his calluses, thought about what she said. This Ixi girl was important, and the Elves would do anything to save her. Despite what she said, that gave him more leverage than she thought.

  She shuffled toward him. “Do we have a deal? A simple Spell for your freedom, and then you can go south. If all goes well? I may even arrange a ship for you.” Hot, sour breath pushed through the black bag over his head and into his lungs, nothing like the sweet natural scent it had before. Her face was only inches away from his. “I need not mention the hundreds of thousands of Points you will receive, do I?”

  The deal was fine. No more Airet would die, and Grant would have his freedom. Allisa would live, unfortunately, but if the King’s sister was as kind as she said, perhaps the Elves would be more restrained in their treatment of the Airet.

  Of course, it was all a lie. Grant would be hunted down by the Elves and blamed for the assassination of their King, Allisa would likely take control over him again the second he cast the Spell, and Airet would be killed whenever an Elf felt dissatisfied. In the end, her offer changed nothing. He had no idea what he would do.

  So he did the first thing that came to mind. He snapped his head forward, driving his forehead into Allisa’s nose as hard as he could.

  It crunched satisfyingly. She shrieked in pain and horror, and Grant burst out laughing. “How’s that for an answer? Fuck you, fuck your politics, and fuck your King. I’ll kill him, but I’m coming for you next.”

  A fist cracked into his jaw, and she cried out again. It hurt, and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, but Grant cackled harder. Mages made poor brawlers. His head rested against a table, too, so she may as well have been punching a slab of iron. “Airet!” she shrieked. “Get in here!”

  The two Airet guards rushed in. “Restrain his neck.” She sucked in a breath through her teeth, shaking her hand out. “Make it tight.”

  A cold leather strap wrapped around Grant’s neck, pressing into his throat. Uncomfortable, but manageable.

  “Tighter, you insects!”

  It pulled taut, and every breath caught against it.

  Allisa approached again, keeping a more cautious distance. “You will do as I say, or this entire city will burn to the ground. I will kill every Airet man in his forge, every Airet woman in her kitchen, and every Airet child in its crib. I feel nothing for them, and will happily do everything in my power just to spite you if you fail me. Do you understand, or do you need me to get someone stronger?”

  Grant made a pitiful attempt at spitting a mouthful of blood, and it only dribbled down his chin. She’d misunderstood him. It wasn’t a refusal of her demand. He was happy to kill her King or any other Elf. If it protected the innocent Airet, he would have slaughtered a thousand of the narcissistic monsters. The headbutt was for himself, so he could look at her bruised face to remind himself how he felt of her without her Spell.

  “Yeah,” he scoffed. “Your King is dead. And you’re next, you wretched bitch.”