Guelder was getting worried.

  Her meeting with the druids had ended on a dubious note. Sable couldn't pinpoint any serious transgression in her activity that would warrant an intervention by a riled up nature goddess. However, there was definitely something going on. The balance of Nature had been disturbed, even though the baroness had likely nothing to do with it. There were sightings of invasive species, mainly in the Kamelands and Silverstep area: magical beasts like owlbears, wyverns, manticores, hydras, even venomwolves. Guelder had to look into the phenomenon from the people's point of view as well, which made her all the more impatient while waiting for Tristian to show up for today's welfare-themed meeting.

  Except he didn't.

  Tristian was never late. He usually came too early, unwilling to waste a single minute he could spend in Guelder's company with productive work for the good of the people. And the plan for building a hospital, to be discussed today, was one of his pet projects. Guelder had sent Linzi to Captain Hyland to find out if the city guard knew anything, to no avail. The cleric was nowhere to be found.

  It was a good thing she knew his scent. For some reason, the base notes were akin to Darlac's scent, something like incense, but with hints of suntanned skin instead of steel. Guelder's elven form disappeared in a miniature whirlwind, giving way to her beast shape. She meowed to Pangur to come join her, and set out to track down her missing Councillor.

  Alas, Tristian's job involved mingling with the common people, like, a lot. Guelder prowled around the main square several times, visiting shrines and vendors' stalls, weaving her way between people's legs, revelling in anonymity. Nobody scraped and bowed to her while she was in leopard form, lest they would accidentally express their homage to Pangur and make themself a laughingstock. She appreciated this as a mark of a healthy state. Were she a tyrant, people would probably fall on their knees before Pangur without hesitation.

  After numerous twists and turns, the trail led her to the entrance of the Stag Lord's prison, a building she had not yet renovated or repurposed. It still had its original function and a few inmates. Guelder had been planning to build a new, more humane prison, and reuse this place for another purpose, but this task was quite low on her priority list.

  As soon as Pangur caught up with her, she dropped her shapeshift, braced herself against memories of torture and humiliation, and entered.

  Damp, stuffy air slapped her in the face, smelling of mould, unwashed bodies and rarely emptied buckets. Two guards instinctively crossed their halberds in front of her, before they recognised their ruler. Then they snapped to attention, ashamed of their error.

  "Is the Councillor here?" she asked softly. She didn't feel like giving away her presence for the time being.

  The two guards looked at each other with clueless faces and shrugged.

  "I asked a yes-or-no question. Do not waste my time."

  "She will disembowel us," muttered one of them, a tall, mustached fellow, jerking his head towards the inside of the prison.

  "Is it any better if Her Grace rips our throats?" said the other, a balding man, gesturing towards the baroness.

  "I take that as a yes," snapped Guelder. "Now let me pass, and give me a ring of keys."

  They scrambled to obey and let her explore the prison without further hassle.

  Guelder glanced down the corridor lined with cells, or rather cages. There were no visitors bringing comfort to the inmates. If Tristian was in there, he must be either in the warden's office or the torture chamber. Driven by an unconscious urge, Guelder made her way to the latter. She remembered that the Stag Lord had liked to leave the massive oak door open while his men were having their fun inside, so that every other captive could listen in and reflect on their future. Now the chamber was closed, which felt even more frightening. Guelder sneaked to the door and pressed her ear to the almost invisible gap at the hinges.

  Someone was crying in there.

  Guelder slowly turned the key in the lock and entered. The door opened to a crack without a single creak.

  A whimpering human girl, stripped to underwear, lay on the same rack Guelder used to be strapped on. Her freckled face was partly hidden under the blindfold covering her eyes. Her mud-coloured hair used to be in a neat braid, now falling apart. Another human shape sat on a chair, slumped, his hands tied back. A sack covered his head, but his blond hair peeked out from underneath.

  "Let her go, you monster!" he wailed, his voice muffled by the canvas.

  A dark figure stood above the girl, slender and tall, with pointy ears.

  Jaethal started as she noticed the baroness. She raised her hand, signalling to her to keep quiet. In response, Guelder jerked her head towards the corridor. Jaethal shook her head. Guelder decided to turn a blind eye to this insubordination, and nodded to her, giving permission to continue the interrogation.

  The unpleasant, nagging force field of a spell filled the air in the chamber.

  "Speak, cleric," spat Jaethal.

  "I'll tell you everything, just leave her alone!"

  "Who are you?"

  "My name is Tristian. I serve the Dawnflower."

  "Whom else do you serve? List all of them!"

  "Baroness Guelder of Nightvale."

  "And?"

  "I have no more names to give you!"

  "Where do your powers come from?"

  "From my goddess!"

  "Which goddess?"

  "What do you mean, which goddess?" lashed out Tristian. "How many deities do you think a man can serve?"

  "Help him out, girl. Whom does he serve?"

  Amalia whimpered, then squeezed an answer out of herself.

  "The great goddess of the Cleansed! The one who will purge this place from evil!"

  Jaethal raised an eyebrow.

  "Interesting. Tristian, what do you have to add? Is she telling the truth?"

  Silence.

  "As both of you are blind at the moment, I tell you that I have a small box in my hands. In case you wonder what is inside... A swarm of spiders. As far as I can tell, they tolerate captivity quite poorly. If you upset me with your stubborn silence, this box might accidentally slip out of my hand and its content will spill onto the girl's face. Tiny but angry little horrors, willing and able to explore all the nooks and crannies on a person's body..."

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  The girl let out a heartwrenching wail in horror. Guelder was fairly certain Jaethal was bluffing. Even with all the perks of her undead state, it was impossible that she could herd a proper swarm of venomous spiders into the box. It was probably a collection of hand-picked, harmless house spiders, if anything. She strained her mind to detect arthropod life in the chamber, but the suspenseful scene and Jaethal's bothersome spell (probably Zone of Truth) made it hard for her to identify any sign of it.

  "Now tell me the truth, Tristian. Bear witness to your deity, like the faithful cleric you are. Do you serve the great goddess of the Cleansed?"

  "Stay strong, Amalia!" exclaimed Tristian. The girl's wail turned into a determined, defiant growl, signalling that she was ready to endure torture for her faith.

  Guelder hid her face in her palms. Jaethal might be a seasoned judge and a talented inquisitor, but her interrogation methods were in dire need of some polish. Even supposing that her measures against Tristian had not been motivated by their differences of character and faith, this was leading nowhere. If Tristian wanted to keep his position as a mole and obtain more information on the Cleansed, he couldn't afford to openly confess his real faith and reject the teachings of the cult. On the other hand, a Zone of Truth made it impossible for him to declare a fake belief convincingly. All in all, he was masterfully navigating the situation, avoiding all the pitfalls of truth and lies. However, that didn't yield any useful information, apart from the fact that Tristian would make a great secret agent.

  Also, if there were spiders in that box, the poor critters must be in distress and danger, no less than the interrogation subjects. It was time to intervene.

  "Jaethal, stop! Take two steps backwards, and raise your hands!"

  The inquisitor obeyed, only minimally rolling her eyes. Guelder switched to Elven.

  "Wait for me in the warden's office. Instruct him in my name to go for a walk and stretch his limbs."

  "As you wish, Your Grace," said Jaethal, feigning submission. She scooped up her scythe and left the room in a hurry, her black cloak flapping around her slender frame.

  Guelder yanked the bag off Tristian's head, then removed the girl's blindfold and cut through her bonds with a pocket knife.

  "Get dressed and go, Amalia," she said. "You are free."

  Sniffling, the girl found her clothes and wiggled back into them.

  "Thank you, Baroness," she whimpered, smiling through her tears. "You're so nice. You deserve salvation."

  "Erm... thanks, I guess."

  Amalia bobbed an awkward curtsy, then picked up a vial from among her belongings and handed it to Guelder.

  "Please accept this holy water as a token of my gratitude. It's the most precious gift I can give you. Father doesn't even know that I took it. Drink up and be blessed by the Great Goddess for all your remaining days."

  "Amalia, no!" screamed Tristian. "I mean, you stole from your father and—"

  Guelder unstoppered the vial and smelled the water. There didn't seem to be anything off about it.

  "It's okay, Sir Tristian," said Amalia, grinning happily like a child. "In fact, I'm sorry I brought only one. You deserve one, too, for sticking up for me with the mean lady. I'll get some more, I promise! Or maybe you two can share!"

  The girl curtsied again, once for Tristian and once for Guelder, then scurried away.

  Guelder pressed the palm of her hand on her stomach, and cast a spell to reinforce her system against poison, just in case. Prepared for everything, she took a gulp from the water, despite Tristian's sputtering protests. Then she cut through his bonds as well.

  "I am sorry for what you have been through," she sighed. "Sometimes I am at a loss regarding how to handle Jaethal. Water?"

  Tristian snatched the vial from her hand and splashed its contents all around the torture chamber. Guelder frowned.

  "What was that for?"

  "Holy water is not for drinking," explained Tristian nervously. "It's for damaging undead or purifying a space. Like I did now. To... cleanse this place from the filth of undeath."

  A little baffled, Guelder chalked it up to doctrinal and ritual differences between the religion of Sarenrae and the cult of the Cleansed. She knew deplorably little about religion in general. However, Tristian seemed to be right. Now the atmosphere in the chamber felt much more pleasant than before. Even the last trace of Jaethal's interrogative spell vanished.

  "What was this all about, Tristian?" asked the baroness. "Why did Jaethal bring you here? Even though I disapprove of her torturing Amalia, I can understand her motives there. But why you?"

  "I suppose she took offense because I swapped tasks with Harrim. I just... thought I could put my contacts to good use, and it didn't occur to me that I should follow the chain of command and ask her first. Now I know the error of my ways. But that's unimportant. How much did you drink?"

  "Give me a break, Tristian!" snapped Guelder, losing her patience. "It is just water, holy or not! Go now. You might have forgotten, but we have a working session scheduled for today. Report to me in an hour."

  As Tristian scurried away as well, Guelder finally left the torture chamber and joined Jaethal in the warden's office. The inquisitor had made herself comfortable in the warden's upholstered armchair and helped herself to a glass of wine from his secret stash.

  "Explain yourself, Jaethal!" hissed Guelder, trying to keep her volume low. "I never gave you permission to apply torture!"

  "The girl remained in full health all along, child," said Jaethal calmly. "I only applied intimidation. When you interrupted me, I was mere inches away from breaking him. I can only hope you continued the interrogation in my stead and will share with me whatever you managed to find out."

  "How did it even occur to you to round up Tristian, of all people?"

  "Your pretty little cleric wantonly deviated from his assigned task and took another team member's duty, thereby sabotaging my work. I have reasons to think he has been in the cult for some time."

  "I have trouble believing that," said the baroness.

  Jaethal rose from her seat and deployed her stern gaze, her usual way to suggest that Guelder was being stupid. Some parenting trick, as she'd once explained. Anyway, Guelder had never learnt to respond to parenting.

  "Has he never raised your suspicions? A dandelion seed on the wind, drifting on a long and strangely uneventful journey. No knowledge of the world, no knowledge of his own alleged homeland, no stories to tell, no friends, no family. Just an unoriginal backstory, probably copied from yours. My instinct says he is a sleeping agent, just about to be activated. Do you not want to know for whom he is working?"

  Guelder returned Jaethal's stare in kind.

  "Tristian has never failed me, Jaethal," she said softly. "His healing saved my teammates' lives and my own multiple times."

  "Of course it did. This is how he obtained your unconditional trust. Now all he has to do is wait for the right moment to stab you in the back."

  Guelder exhaled sharply. Her heart said she should tell Jaethal to shove her allegations up somewhere dark, but her brain said she shouldn't dismiss an expert's suspicion. Not even if that expert was an evil servant of a repulsive goddess, who tended to treat her as a child.

  "Since you asked," said the baroness, "he did not make a confession after you left. Jaethal, I commend your efforts and dedication. It means a lot to me. However, I want you to continue your investigation using more discreet and less invasive methods. In order to move things in this direction, I officially absolve you from being the chairperson of the investigation committee. Thank you for your excellent work so far. Please continue while staying in the background."

  "As you wish, child," said Jaethal coldly.

  "Also, the spiders. Do you still have them?"

  "Oh yes, I do. It was a lovely idea of the craftsman to decorate the inside of the box with spider motifs. See?"

  Guelder shook her head in disbelief, and couldn't stop herself from breaking into a wry smile. Jaethal did have potential. Still, Guelder was not keen on providing her with opportunities to hone her interrogation skills.

  She took farewell and returned to the palace to prepare for today's session with Tristian—which ended up being the weirdest session ever. Tristian kept squinting at Guelder, checking her pulse, touching her forehead, asking about her wellbeing, pestering her about her resting schedule. Guelder, who normally liked to spend time with the young cleric, felt relieved when finally every detail about the new hospital clicked into place and she could hand the project over to Hazel for implementation. At last, she could prepare herself mentally for the sacrament. Whatever that was.