The fight had been exciting to see. Elanor cheered for Penelope, but it was still thrilling to watch the northern warrior inflict wound after wound. In her mind, she tried to follow the reasoning behind the moves and what alternatives Hilda had discarded for each specific action she took.

She left Stewart with a few of his guards. He'd made bets both ways and had handily lost some gold. Elanor was sure he didn't care; he was even laughing as he handed out coins to those he'd lost to. Descending the stairs of the wall, passing back through Travis, and then making her way into the keep in Home, she was mostly thinking of combat tactics. So much so, in fact, that she almost collided with a maid who looked utterly conspicuous as she stood around doing nothing in the hallway.

Something, an inkling she had no real source for, prompted her to ask, "Is something the matter?"

Freezing in place, fighting down the urge not to panic, the maid tried to remind herself of her duties—one of which was to pay attention to the people she works for. "L-Lady, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, but—" She clenched her hands and had to fight to get the words out. "A man in the kitchen… I saw him adding something to the meal that will go to the King's table."

The words tumbled out in a pile, and Elanor was forced to run over them a second time in her head before she derived meaning from them. "Someone who shouldn't be? Not the chef?" She got emphatic nodding as a reply. "Can you take me to where the meal is?"

Nodding, the maid let out a sigh of relief as the lady, of whose taste in clothes she would not comment on, took charge of the situation. Leading her down to the keep's kitchen, she opened the door and stepped inside. "It's—" She stopped, seeing the man lurking at the heavy door that led outside the keep into the courtyard.

Elanor tried her best not to stare directly at the man, but nonetheless recognized him as not fitting in. He had workman's trousers, pockets abounding and with a thick belt to keep them up. A simple, off-white shirt that looked like it had been washed often enough that it should have holes in it shortly, and a pair of work boots that appeared to have some kind of heavy support in the toe. She noticed, too, he had a smallish beard. There was not a spot of food on him, he lacked a kitchen apron, and his eyes seemed to bore holes into Elanor the moment the maid motioned her toward the prepared meal that was sitting on a stove top that she assumed was turned low.

"Please, stay here and don't let anyone touch these plates," Elanor whispered to the maid. She cursed her lack of armaments—the haste she'd made from her bath leaving her without even a pistol. Under her breath she added a whisper, "Travis, Home, if you can hear me, please have guards on their way to the kitchen of the keep."

A woman, thin as a rake and wearing a perpetual frown, entered the kitchen and glared around. "Who are all these people in my kitchen? Katie, what are you doing over there? His Majesty is back and will want his dinn— Here. Where are you going?"

The moment the man turned to the door, Elanor moved to chase him. She shoved herself around the preparation table between her and the path leading to the door, and called out, "Stop!"

While the man wrestled with the door to open it, Elanor glanced around for a weapon. With dinner already prepared and everything put away, though, she had nothing to use but her fists and her mind—with the addition of her faith. She opened her mouth, uttered a short prayer of a spell, and sent burning pain into the man's legs.

Screaming, the man braced his shoulder to the door and pushed hard. The door was heavy—a defensive one—and only opened slowly for him. The moment it was open, though, he was fleeing from the kitchen.

Only a short distance behind the man, and still lacking a weapon, Elanor raised her voice. "Halt! Scoundrel!"

Attention was the last thing the man wanted, and he could ill-afford to run for the front gate with the shouting hellion chasing him. Turning on Elanor, he drew a knife from a sheath at his side. "The hard way," he muttered.

Seeing the flash of steel, Elanor stiffened a little. Calling on the city, she spoke a word aloud to draw its wrath into her for the coming fight, "Traitor."

Having a young woman come at him unarmed was one thing, but when the man saw both her fists become sheathed in fire his heart dropped. There was nothing else for it but to face her. When she rushed him and swung at his face, he tossed his knife into his left hand and, deflecting her fist, slashed at her arm with the blade.

The legends of city avatars didn't do their power justice, the man thought. Her fist was like a freight train and though he deflected it from striking his cheek, it took so much strength to do so he hadn't the chance to do serious damage with his knife.

"Sandwalker heal me," Elanor said, her faith extending the god's power to dispel the venom the blade had inflicted, though not quite strong enough with such a simple prayer to heal the wounds. "Give up and tell us everything, and I'll make sure it will be fast."

Under the circumstances, the man knew it was the best offer he could hope for, but he wasn't going to take it. The woman was a target of opportunity, and without knowing if his poison had been cured, he hoped he would be able to end her. "I'll pass."

When he came at her, Elanor reached out to block his knife with her wounded arm, snarling through the pain as the envenomed weapon cut her flesh again. Clamping her hand around his wrist, she used her latest ability as a Soldier, Demolishing Strike, to punch him in the jaw. Backed as her fists were with the power of an avatar, the man's head spun around and he wobbled before dropping to his knees.

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The King's Guards came around the corner of the keep to find her pulling the man's blade from his hand and throwing it aside while she held him upright. As they neared, weapons drawn, Elanor lifted her head to look at them.

"A maid caught this man poisoning the King's food. Can one of you go to the kitchen and stop his dinner being served?" She lifted his arm a little higher and passed it over to one of the guards when they got close. "I don't know if he has any talismans."

The guardsman couldn't take his eyes from Elanor's glowing fists. He knew what it meant when someone bore the flames of a city, but that wasn't typically done in the capital by anyone but the King. Then he realized she had blood pouring down her arm. "You'll need that taken care of. We have a cleric on duty."

Looking down at her arm, Elanor blinked a few times before she recognized the angry red lines trailing up her arm from the last few slashes she'd taken. "Oh, righ—" An odd tilting sensation took her as Elanor felt the world tremble. "Sandwalker, protect me." The last words came out as a whisper, but she felt a burning fire fill her even as she lost consciousness.

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Stewart was furious, but he needed to keep his cool. He nodded to Ludmiller, who'd been the quickest to reach the scene from the dungeon. "Please, make it fast and don't let her suffer any longer."

It was a duty that Ludmiller would never take lightly. Looking down at the woman on the bed—who was choking constantly, fighting to live—she rolled her to her side and drove her blade into the base of Elanor's skull, leaning on her innate skills as Travis' assassin.

There was not a single talisman on Elanor. Stepping past Ludmiller, the high priest reached out his hands and cast his first spell. Cleansing magic rushed through Elanor, purging the poison from her with simple efficiency.

Next, he reached out to the bag of gold coins that Stewart passed to him, judged them in one hand—and smiled as power poured through him, rejoining Elanor's soul to her body. She coughed twice and jerked upward. "Welcome back," the high priest said.

Elanor's teeth felt odd. Not as bad as normal, but a tiny bit wobbly. "Did the poison finish me off?"

Seeing her sitting up and looking healthy again overwhelmed Stewart with relief, and he couldn't stop himself from reaching out to her and pulling Elanor against him.

"Actually, I killed you. The poison was too much once it had taken hold. It would have taken you months to recover. This," Ludmiller flicked one of her daggers out, spun it in the air, then sheathed it again, "with the help of the high priest, S—"

"I'm not the High Priest, just a high priest. And always happy to serve balance and order." Stepping back, he turned and left the room.

Unable to stop fiddling with her teeth, Elanor was surprised at Stewart's grip. It felt nice to be held by him, but at the same time she reached her left arm out and around, pulling him closer with strength that was almost his equal. "Is the maid okay?"

"Who?" Stewart asked.

Elanor looked over at Ludmiller, but got a shrug from her too. "I was walking along the hall that led to the back stairs when a maid got my attention and told me she'd seen a man poisoning our meals. I followed her to the kitchen, where I found the man still lingering by the outside door. When he tried to run, I chased him and called for the guards."

"And then you beat him senseless with your fists, despite him having a poisoned knife, and handed him over to the guards." Ludmiller rubbed her jaw. "You were not the noble lady he was expecting."

Laughing at Ludmiller's grin, Elanor stretched and tried to extricate herself from Stewart. "I need to go and reassure her. The last I remember, the head cook was not happy with her." She realized that she was still wearing the same clothes she'd worn when she'd been in the fight—and they stank of sweat and blood. "A change of clothes, first."

Finally surrendering his grip, Stewart dutifully turned around, only to hear a snort from behind him before Ludmiller closed in on his side.

"Your Majesty, I promise I won't kill her again and will, in fact, slaughter anything else larger than a lizard that enters this room until such time as you return—but people will talk if Elanor steps out fully dressed while you were in here the whole time." Ludmiller imperfectly executed a bow, but didn't straighten until Stewart was outside. The moment the door closed, she groaned. "You didn't?"

"I was in the bath and he was very gentlemanly about it." Slipping out of bed, Elanor looked down at what had been an outfit she'd planned to show herself off a little with, but was now ruined. "Do you have my—"

Ludmiller raided Elanor's wardrobe and set out underthings, Elanor's trousers, arming doublet, a shirt, and then began the task of ferrying armor over while the woman got dressed. "How can you wear all this?"

"One piece at a time," Elanor said, smirking at Ludmiller's groan. "And, with how today went, I might never take it off again. How long was I out for?"

"It's late. Several hours after sunset. The priest tried a lot of healing magic before he decided it would be better to kill you and cleanse the poison that way." Next for Ludmiller to present to Elanor was her weapons. "These are your revolvers, but Tinpot has some new things for you when you next head home. There's also an oversized duster you can wear over your new armor."

The two revolvers went into her holsters after Elanor checked them for what was loaded. She took the two belts of spare bullets and wrapped one each around her wrists. Next was a few daggers, her shield, short spear, and finally several talismans. "And, the last thing you get to take with you, until things are a bit calmer, is me."

"You don't have to—"

Travis cleared his non-existent throat, to remind them he was present. "Sorry, but I don't want anyone to get close enough to touch you without Ludmiller being close enough to kill them. At least for a day or two."

"Travis," Ludmiller said, "you weren't watching just now, were you?"

"No. I've had a lot of practice not looking, and I can assure you I didn't see anything from when you made Stewart walk out. I'm still doing my best not to look—and just listen." His tone was as even and droll as he could make it, but even Travis wouldn't have trusted himself.

Elanor let out a sigh. "Sir Travis, you once again prove yourself to be a perfect gentleman."

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