(Charles)

Charles disappeared back into the cabin to grab a bar of soap and a bucket he was keeping in Dylan’s room. He reappeared and stepped through the doorway. Fu-tang looked as if he wanted to say something, but couldn’t decide what that was. Charles walked around back and plopped the bucket down under the spout behind the arborhearth. He filled it to the top and then unfastened his belt.

Fu-tang’s eyes went wide when he realized what Charles was about to do. He quickly turned away from Charles and looked around to see whose sensitivities might be offended in the next few minutes.

Charles finished taking off his boots and dropped his trousers. He folded and then laid them across a chest on the arborhearth. Picking up the bucket of water and lifting it over his head, he doused himself with most of it, leaving only a sliver at the bottom.

“I see the road has dulled your sense of decency,” Fu-tang said.

Charles shrugged as he lathered up the soap in the remaining water. The scent of cardamon filled the air. “Decency’s never been a problem for me. It’s usually others that are far more concerned with it.” He lifted one arm and started scrubbing under it and then across his chest, making sure to wash everywhere his musk might be hiding from his recent trip.

He heard a gasp from an elven woman as she noticed him. His eyes were closed, but Proprioception told him she took her time looking in his direction before moving on. The bucket filled up again under the spout as he finished cleaning himself. Just before it overflowed, he shut off the water. Taking more care with the second bucket of water, he made sure to rinse all the suds off.

The chest hinge creaked as he thought of a fresh set of clothes along with a towel. They appeared in the bottom of the chest. He removed them, toweled off, and got dressed. The soft fabric of the fresh tunic clung coolly to his damp skin. The damp towel and dirty trousers went into the chest before he shut it.

Fu-tang, hearing the lid snap shut, turned around. “What are you wearing?” he asked, eyebrows lifting in disbelief.

Charles held out his arms, looking down at his attire. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing? It’s clean.”

“I’d imagine a professional outfitter might have something nicer to wear to a dinner,” Fu-tang suggested.

“I assure you, all of my clothes are equally as nice as the ones I’m wearing,” Charles insisted.

“I was afraid of that,” Fu-tang sighed. “It’s time for us to go.”

Charles followed Fu-tang into the guildhall. The polished wood floors echoed under their boots as they made their way to an area of the stronghold he’d never been to before. They both waited outside of the door to the headmaster’s suite.

“Ever been inside before?” Fu-tang kept pulling at his sleeves uncomfortably, trying to adjust them.

“No. You?”

Fu-tang shook his head. The steadfast torajin took a deep breath and then pushed the door open. The first room they entered was a reception room adorned with dark wood paneling and plush chairs in deep green hues. A faint scent of lavender filled the air. After a quarter turn of the clock, a draconi with rose gold scales walked through another door to greet them.

“Apologies for the wait,” she bowed her head. “Guildmaster Maeve is ready to see you now. Follow me.”

Her attire suggested she was an adventurer, with fitted leather armor accented by intricate silver stitching, a very pretty one at that. Her scales were pristine, glimmering in the light of the room. Her crest had scooped ridges, fanning upward and back.

Charles leaned over to Fu-tang and asked, “Who is she?”

“I’m not sure, she’s arrived with Guildmaster Maeve,” Fu-tang said.

Both men stood and followed the draconi to the headmaster’s personal dining room. Guildmaster Maeve rose from her seat at the head of the table. The room was softly lit by a chandelier made of entwined crystal and wood. Two empty chairs sat across from each other. The table easily sat eight, but was set for only three.

“Please, have a seat,” Maeve said with a cordial smile.

Charles got to his seat first, taking the one on her left. The chirps of his chair scooting further down the table, away from her, filled the room. Fu-tang shot him a disapproving look, which he ignored.

The table was set with glinting crystalware and intricately carved plates but was empty of food. Any moment now, Charles expected her attendants to file into the room and place dish after dish of exotic foods in front of them, most of which would be wasted on just three people.

A lone draconi appeared, the same attendant as before, with a covered dish in each hand. Her scales shimmered faintly in the candlelight as she moved lightly on her feet. Fu-tang and Charles quickly found their place settings now complete. Charles gave her an appreciative nod and a tightlipped smile as she lifted the cover to reveal his dinner. She left the plates and took the covers with her.

Fu-tang caught himself purring. “Excuse me,” he said, clearing his throat. “I haven’t had silvermoon trout in ages. The smell alone brings me back many years.”

Charles looked down to see his plate stacked with steamed vegetables. A light wisp of steam curled upward, carrying their loamy scent. They were a mixture of cobalt beans and leatherscotch roots. A simple dish. The beans were mild and the roots bitter. A set of salt and pepper shakers were placed next to his utensils. Maeve was far more informed than he gave her credit for.

Maeve’s plate had just been set before her, and removing the cover revealed a simple thick steak with a minimal amount of garnish. The savory scent of seared meat wafted across the table. Each of them had two mugs. The first was pre-poured with water. The second was empty, to be filled with one of the four jugs of spirits that the attendant brought out.

“Thank you, J’oni. It’s been a long day. Enjoy the rest of your evening,” Maeve said.

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“Of course, Guildmaster,” J’oni said, giving a respectful nod before excusing herself from the room.

Savory green juices leaked from the perfectly prepared steak as Maeve cut off a bite. The room remained silent with the exception of utensils cutting and scraping against dishes, evidence of a good meal.

After a couple of bites, Maeve dabbed the corner of her mouth with a napkin and said, “I appreciate you humoring me, Charles. From my understanding, flak removes your appetite.”

He shrugged and added another shake of salt. “I happen to enjoy beans and roots, but you already knew that.” Another forkful found its way into his mouth. They really were delightful.

Maeve slipped another bite of a steak into her mouth. Fu-tang was unconsciously purring as he enjoyed another mouthful of the trout. Charles took a drink of cool water to wash down his bite. The mug clinked softly as he set it back down.

“Where did you learn to make flak?” Maeve asked after swallowing.

‘There it is. She’s after my flak,’ he thought.

“It’s a family recipe,” Charles said curtly.

“I see,” Maeve said, her gaze narrowing slightly before she changed subjects, “I only have until the end of the meal to speak with you. Then I must attend to yet more failings of the former headmaster. I hope you don’t mind if we keep this short?”

“That’s acceptable,” he said. ‘Preferrable, even,’ but he kept that thought to himself.

“I won’t patronize you by saying I know your reasons for leaving Ebonscale.” Maeve’s eyes briefly flickered with a hint of regret. “But I certainly can see why you might’ve made that decision. I haven’t brought you here to explain yourself or even list the many grievances you might have.

“It’s obvious the Old Elf’s experiment failed. Ultimately, as the guildmaster, it’s my fault, and I take responsibility. Initially, I was concerned with the resentment that life debts would bring. Ken insisted it would ‘foster an environment of innovation and resourcefulness,’ which are building blocks for ambition.

“It was wildly profitable. I’m not proud to admit but that was one of the reasons I’ve let it run as long as it did. However, as I had expected, the true cost had been hidden and accruing. Your departure was just one example of how alienating his experiment was.

“Those that stayed,” she motioned toward Fu-tang, who gave a slight nod, “with the exception of our stablemaster, were pushed into two camps. Either jaded, resentful, and otherwise unmotivated to strive for more, or sycophants looking to use each other as a steppingstone. That’s… not the upward mobility I was hoping for.

“While I’m sure Ken meant well, it’s embarrassing walking through these halls with my face plastered everywhere as if I were the monarch of some great land.” Maeve sighed.

“I only wished I had made the time to visit sooner. Then perhaps this disaster might have been avoided. I would’ve at least seen how far he’d gone with his… obsession.”

“Why aren’t you wearing the crown?” Charles had been wondering about it since he first saw her. It was an iconic feature in her images.

Maeve scoffed. “That ridiculous tiara.” She took a moment to gather her composure, fingers drumming lightly on the table. “It was a gift he’d given me when I first took my position as guildmaster, nothing more. I see that it managed to make its way into every one of my many, many, portraits.”

“Do you still have it?” Fu-tang asked.

“I’m sure it’s somewhere in my collection,” Maeve said dismissively. “Now, I’ll answer the question you’ve no doubt been wondering since our chat at the pond. What is it that I want?”

‘Here it comes. She’s going to ask for my recipe,’ he thought.

“Fu-tang,” Maeve started. He paused—frozen with a forkful of trout mid-way to his open mouth. “I’m aware that you’ve had your eye on Charles to train as the next stablemaster.” She paused, her fingers steepling thoughtfully, to let them both process.

“Me?” Charles placed his utensils down to look at Fu-tang.

He was unprepared and put on the spot. “Well, I was going—”

Maeve saved him and said, “But I’d like for him to consider aiming for a higher position. This chapter needs—”

“No,” Charles answered before she could finish.

Maeve laughed, leaning back in her chair as she took a sip of water. Then she said, “Charles, you haven’t even let me ask the question. I’ve already told you ‘hard to get’ makes things interesting for me. I’d hoped you would’ve extrapolated that I find ‘impossible to get’… irresistible.

“I propose you let me ask my question. At least pretend to ponder over it. Maybe, act like it was a difficult decision, and then tell me you aren’t interested,” Maeve said.

“Fine,” he said.

“I’d like you to consider leading a team of adventurers. You could hand pick your team out of the initiates or recruit from outside. I’d make sure you’d have a dedicated mender,” Maeve said, her gaze steady and unwavering.

Charles swallowed hard, unsure he heard correctly. “You’re offering me an adventuring team?”

In the past, he had to come up with increasingly creative ways to bend the rules around being a crafter to take regular contracts. Crafters were too valuable to send on most quests or contracts. Now she was offering him his own team. ‘Where’s the catch?’ he wondered, unable to see where this plan led.

“Yes, but that’s not the goal. I can’t appoint a common-ranked adventurer to be headmaster of the chapter. Running group contracts was how I advanced to where I am… Unless you have a better suggestion?” she asked, raising her eyebrows at him.

“You want me for headmaster?” Charles glanced at Fu-tang, who appeared just as confused as him.

“See? This is far more interesting than a one word conversation,” Maeve said with a smile.

“I don’t want anything to do with Ebonscale,” Charles said flatly.

Maeve leaned forward. “And that’s exactly why you should consider it. This is your chance to change everything. As my previous mistakes have proven, I tend to give my headmasters free rein to run things as they see fit.

“Even if you don’t agree to it, we’re still doing away with the life debts. Ultimately, I believe it was the cause for the attack.”

“You think it was a guild member who betrayed us?” Fu-tang asked.

“One of the many reasons I don’t have time to properly court Charles for the position. I’d consider it a personal favor that any conjecture tonight remain between the three of us.” She took another sip of water.

“Please do give it some thought. I’ll be here for a while. You should go get some rest and then travel back to that friend of yours, what was his name again?” she inquired.

“Dylan,” he said.

“Dylan…” Maeve repeated, the corners of her mouth twitching upward as she quickly suppressed a satisfied smile.

She had distracted him with her charm, delicious food, his own team, and a chance to make a real difference. Feints, all of them. Her true goal didn’t involve him becoming headmaster or even learning his recipe for flak; they were merely a bonus. He just gave her exactly what she wanted all along, and he didn’t even see it coming.

Maeve stood up, having finished her meal. “Responsibilities wait for no one. Fu-tang, Charles,” she turned to each in kind and said, “Thank you for your company. It’s been very insightful.”

Charles stood abruptly, his chair barked in protest. “About my debt—”

Maeve turned to him. “I thought I made that clear. We aren’t doing debts for guild members anymore. Fu-tang will see to your mount’s care and rehabilitation.”

“But I’m not a guild member,” he said.

“You will always have a home at Ebonscale, Charles. I hope one day you can see that.” Maeve walked to the door and paused, glancing back. “Give me your answer when you return in three months. If you meet anyone you’d like to have on your team, Dylan for example, I’ll make sure they have a place at Ebonscale as well.”

Attempting to dissuade her, Charles said, “He’s currently on a trial for Nightshade.”

Maeve gave him a casual shrug. “There’s a reason they call them trials; they don’t always work out. Regardless, there’s a place for him at Ebonscale.”

Fu-tang talked about how delicious the fish was all the way back to Charles’ arborhearth. The cool night air carried the scent of damp soil and distant pine.

“You don’t have to leave tonight. You could rest up and go tomorrow morning,” Fu-tang said.

“No, I need to get back. There are a few things I need to take care of,” Charles said as he climbed up into the driver’s box, his jaw set with determination.

The snapping of roots sounded as the bramble spawn worked to free their hooves, the crisp night air punctuated by the rustling of leaves. It was time for them to be on their way. Charles was upset with himself. He let Maeve manipulate him into giving up Dylan. It might have been only his name, but that’s all she needed to find him. He’d have to do something about that.