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-=[Callista Leisl]=-

I awoke with a start, atop some kind of uneven surface. I rapidly tried to mentally reorient myself as to where I was and how I ended here. The earth and rocks under me definitely didn't feel like the plush bed of my sleigh.

All of it crashed into me at once. 

Searching for the perfect clueless idiot newborn Star-Eater to enslave, using the Leisl lavalier to pry information from the seedy back alleys of Skulldug. Spending an exuberant amount of money on a lavish dress in the local barbaric style and a ticket to the ball. 

Dancing and mingling with the hunter-savages of Skulldug that saw themselves as superior to all other tribes. The court of Arch-Sorceress Amari at Skulldug, being invited to speak to the self-proclaimed Empress of Thornwild, Goddess of the Hunt.

Buying Seer information from her for three hundred gold about a dragon attack and the rise of a new Nordstaii cultivator hero. Buying a quartet of strongest, fastest Nordstaii horses and the trip up frozen river Glinka. Carefully observing the dragon-ravaged ruins of Svalbard from the top of a nearby mountain.

Buying the allegiance of Jarl Bobliss Kolamach of Bernt. Spending even more gold and mentally dominating an entire warband of marauders aligning many of them to my cause. Sending three expendable men to Svalbard as a test of the newborn cultivator’s skills. 

Watching through the Farcast sphere as the teenage cultivator eliminated two of them and sent one back disarmed.

Arriving in Svalbard as a merchant and… somehow catastrophically screwing everything tits up when the promised Nordstaii cultivator turned out to be some kind of an impossible Sorcerer, a creature from the legend of Archmage Korranta.

Goldara’s locks!

All of this mess, it was a trap set by that bitch Amari! It had to be! She sold me a lie... an incomplete prophecy. 

With horror, I recalled Amari’s parting words to me: “Good luck trying to tame the Apex Omniarch, little kitten."

The Apex Omniarch?! I thought this was something said in jest, a joke title! But from what I saw, Amari had no respect for anyone in her court. Everyone was below her, but she called Ioan an Apex… What? Predator? King? Mage? A type of spider? I had no idea what the word “Omniarch” meant!

I bit my tongue, silencing my scream of rage, hating myself, hating Empress Amari, hating everything. Trying not to squeal, I also realized how badly I had to pee too after chugging three jugs of ridiculously tasty water and sleeping for Goldara knew how long.

Fighting with my own body’s urges, I remained perfectly still, my feline instincts kicking in. I gradually opened one of my eyes ever so slightly, pretending to be asleep as I examined the scene around me through white lashes.

The pub was quiet, save for the cracking of the fire and soft scratching of a pen on paper. Ioan was sitting close by, facing away from me, writing something in a book, completely absorbed in his task. I squinted at the letters trying to make out what he was writing. 

The text was illegible. 

What? I thought that this boy couldn't read. How was he writing entire sentences? What language was this even?! I knew all the Nordstaii words and yet I did not recognize a single letter or word from the book he was writing in! 

I took stock of my other senses, careful not to move a muscle. My body felt surprisingly refreshed after my nap. The aches from digging had faded, and my mind felt clearer than yesterday. Maybe my lavalier was able to heal me… even though it was buried in the floor?

The reality of my predicament weighed on me like a heavy stone. I was still bound by the blood pact. For the first time in my life as Star-Seeker, my lavalier was snipped off my neck, and I was at the mercy of this... this boy who could somehow do magic and moved with the fluid grace and tirelessness of a Star-Eater.

I needed to escape, to reclaim my lavaliere, and to turn the tables on Ioan. But how?

My first thought was of Cecil and the rest of the Bernt mortals. They were disorderly, savage idiots, true, but they were predictable idiots. Cecil would spill the beans as soon as my spell over his simpleton brain would decay enough.

If Cecil talks about Ioan to his marauder friends and if I don’t return, then Jarl Bobliss will put the two and two together and send an entire warparty to Svalbard. How long would it take the mortals to realize that something went wrong? 

Not an ideal situation, but it was a start. But no, relying on those Nordstaii buffoons was too risky even if I still had the tiniest bit of mental dominion over most of them. I needed a plan of my own.

I could try to manipulate Ioan, play on his obvious curiosity about magic and the wider world. If I could convince him to let me wear the lavaliere "just for a moment" to demonstrate its powers, I might be able to overpower his will. 

I was close, so close to binding him… if it wasn’t for that damn cat of his, getting in my way I’d already be on my way back to Iridium with my gold and prize in tow.

Regardless of everything, I had to keep grinding at the blood pact chain. Soon enough the gold thread between me and Ioan would snap and then… then the raiders would hopefully get here and I’d use the opportunity to my advantage.

My mind raced through other possibilities. 

Could I trick Ioan into entering my sled? The Star-Shard within might be enough to amplify the scraps of magic I wielded now, disable him, at least temporarily.

I suppressed a sigh of frustration, trying not to wiggle as the urge to use the bathroom intensified.

There were far too many unknowns, too many ways everything could go wrong. As a future Jotun… Ioan was dangerous, unpredictable, his powers beyond anything I'd encountered before. 

Just that damned cat of his, with her supposed ability to see the future… Why didn’t the barbarous Arch-Sorceress of Skulldug warn me about the cat? There was supposed to be no cat here, no magical bullshit, just a simple ensnare and bind job. Amari didn’t even want the boy for herself, she just wanted to invite him to her court, to speak with him briefly. She told me that I could keep him! 

Argh! Stupid, stupid Cali... outwitted by a barbarian Sorceress!

I lay there, desperately trying to keep still and formulate a plan of escape, I felt an unsettling sensation. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up, and I had the distinct feeling of being watched. Slowly, carefully, I shifted my gaze.

There, perched on the windowsill like some miniature gargoyle, was Ioan's infernal black cat, a sphere of omniscient darkness.

Stormy, he called her. 

The miniature-beast’s silver-violet eyes were fixed on me with an intensity that gave me goosebumps. It was as if she could see right through my feigned sleep, reading every thought that flitted through my mind.

I tried to not to move, pretending to snore softly, but those eerie, sharp eyes pinned me in place. 

She knew. She knew everything and she was going to eff it all up, get in my way in just the worst possible moment, trip me up.

Was this what it felt like to be a mouse, pinned by a predator's gaze? The irony wasn't lost on me–a Felix Arcanicx, intimidated by a common housecat! If my Magellanum sisters could see me now, they'd never let me live it down. 

A highborn Star-Searcher, the cleverest of her generation, one able to ensnare any mortal man, brought down by a tiny kitten’s machinations!

The urge to use the bathroom was becoming unbearable, and Stormy's unblinking stare wasn't helping matters. I shifted slightly, trying to ease the pressure, and the little beast had the audacity to narrow her eyes at me. 

It was almost as if she was daring me to make a move. 

"Mrrp," Stormy chirped suddenly, a sound so innocuous it shouldn't have sent a chill down my spine. But it did.

Ioan looked up from his writing. "Hrm? What is it, Stormy?"

"Mrow-brr-mrr," the cat replied, wiggling a paw in my direction as if they were having an actual conversation.

I froze, my heart pounding as Ioan turned to look at me. His eyes met mine, and I knew my ruse was up.

"Ah, you're awake," he said, his tone maddeningly casual. "Sleep well?"

I sat up slowly, trying to maintain some semblance of dignity. "Well enough," I replied, my voice hoarse. “D-did you sleep?”

“Nah,” Ioan shrugged. “I don’t actually need to sleep."

"I... I need to use the facilities,” I stammered out, getting off the questionable dirt pile.

Ioan nodded, gesturing towards a small wooden door. "Through there. Don't try anything funny.”

“Whatever do you mean?” I arched an eyebrow, sending out a thousand threads to grind away at the gold anchor attached to my chest. “I can’t do magic without my lavalier!”

Stormy let out a small growl at my words, which nearly made me trip. 

Surely that damn cat couldn’t know about my stardust ink tattoos or the magisteel piercings containing micro-star-shards within them?

I rushed into the bathroom at a breakneck pace, blushing furiously.

Comments

tibbish

Minor nitpick: maybe have the merchant use the term outhouse or privy (since she is posh) or backhouse or segehouse or (my personal fav) pyssingholes instead of bathroom. It'd fit better with the circumstances which seemed to be Medevialish. And back in Medevial times they didn't have bathroom. They did have toiletries for very high born folks...which didn't have toilets in them. They would've assumed by bathroom you maybe meant that. Toiletries were just for freshening up your make up, clothes, and stuff and they would've been grossed out by the thought of a privy or garderobe being in one since they usually rather public affairs in poor medevial towns (or bars), stunk, and were drafty. Think of a bench with 4, 6, or perhaps 12 holes in it, spaced 2-ish feet apart maybe, with no privacy screen or doors or anything between them. All open air or just with a thatch roof over it. No coverings for the holes either. Which would've dumped into a open pit. Closest thing to toilet paper they would've had would've been reeds, straw, or leaves. And that would've been considered a good privy back then too! Poor smaller towns or villages would just have a sort of sling to sit on that you'd use in the barn. You'd poop where the animal dung was collected in the barns!! And then you'd use your hand to wipe and clean your hand off as best as possible with water. The poop would all get collected as manure for use in the fields later. Your average, and even most well to do or rich people, person just had a chamber pot or commode chair they'd use in their bedroom. The effluvia would get tossed into the manure pile regularly. Tossing it out a window did happen occasionally but usually was a no-no in major cities and could get you fined. No one likes smelling each others poo and pee! Or walking around in it for that matter Bathrooms as we know them didn't exist until fairly recently, mid 1800's or so, when indoor plumbing became cheap, mass produced, and common place. Sounds like they haven't reach that stage yet for either water delivery or sewage either.