Chapter Text
When Princess Adaine of the House Abernant, second in line to the throne of the elven kingdom of Fallinel, woke up that fateful morning, she most certainly didn’t have “getting kidnapped by pirates” on her list of things she expected to happen that day.
To be fair, most people wouldn’t. That sort of thing only tended to happen in fiction—unless, of course, you were a sailor, and even then there was a higher chance of the pirates just killing you if you put up too much of a fuss. And while there were certainly a fair share of kingdoms out there who were determined to finally track down the floating city of Leviathan and put an end to the “pirate menace,” Fallinel was not one of them. They could hardly be bothered to pay attention to the troubles and woes of peaceable countries, let alone one that was entirely populated by criminals.
But Adaine was not most people.
For one, she was a princess, and it was a truth universally acknowledged that children of royalty, whether they were heirs or spares, always had to worry about being kidnapped—especially if they were girls. An unfortunate truth, but a truth nonetheless.
And for two, ever since she was thirteen, Adaine had been getting flashes of things that could happen.
Not would, exactly, just… could. It didn’t help her anxiety, which had been bubbling just underneath her surface for as long as she could remember, and it definitely didn’t help dispel the stories that her parents told the public. By the time she was fifteen, she learned to keep her mouth shut about the flashes she got, but she never wrote them off completely. Terrible things happened if she paid them no mind.
Even if nobody would listen to the ramblings of a princess whose parents had convinced the kingdom that she was completely and utterly insane.
However, when she woke up that morning, the only flash she got was of a honey cake, which did nothing except make her hungry. And she knew damn well that the only thing waiting for her was a few bites of lembas bread.
With a sigh, Adaine swung her legs out of bed and picked up her spectacles from her nightstand, her vision going from blurry to clear as she put them on. The same fancy-yet-sparse space that she’d been waking up to for two solid decades stared back at her—walls, floors, and ceiling made out of the same white marble, a silver standing mirror, a stupidly ornate wardrobe, a desk with hair and makeup supplies haphazardly strewn across it, and one bookshelf that supposedly only contained books on etiquette but in fact contained several books on magic that were safely hidden via fake covers.
“Another perfect fucking day,” Adaine muttered, getting to her feet with a stretch.
Technically, a maid was supposed to help her get dressed, but all of the maids who worked in the palace were too afraid to even go down the hall to her room. She felt a little bit guilty about that, considering it was partially her fault—as a preteen, she’d reacted incredibly strongly to the notion of someone having to see her sans clothing every day, and that had resulted in a rare instance of one of her fits and one of her so-called “temper tantrums” colliding. Adaine didn’t fully recall what happened, but she was fairly certain it ended with someone getting an undeserved black eye.
There were a few perks to being labeled as a madwoman, and privacy while changing was one of those things. It wasn’t the same as being able to forgo corsets and skirts that were far too long and heavy completely, but it was something.
As soon as Adaine finally knotted the corset around her waist (and took a few practice breaths, as she always did), a rhythmic knocking sounded at her door.
“I’m decent,” she called—a daily refrain that was starting to feel as natural as breathing, though she’d only been doing it for about five months.
The door to her room opened, revealing a familiar smiling, freckled face framed with carrot-colored hair.
“Hey, girlie!” Kristen Applebees sang, slipping into Adaine’s room and closing the door behind her. “How are we doing today? Ready to greet the world with enthusiasm and take on the day by storm?”
Adaine smiled in spite of herself. “Something like that.”
“Okay, good, because remember, it’s Sightseeing Saturday, and we gotta prove that these actually help you.” Kristen scooped up the various hair and makeup supplies from Adaine’s desk. “You want the crown braid today, or do you just want it down?”
“I—just keep it down, it’s not like there’s a lot of it to style.”
It was a high elven tradition to keep one’s hair largely uncut, though the past few rulers—King Angwyn included—had begun implementing haircuts among the higher echelons of society, probably in an attempt to prove that Fallinel was somewhat capable of keeping up with the times. Adaine had once given herself a haircut with scissors in a mirror when she was roughly seven or eight, and since then, her parents had not allowed it to grow past chin length. She believed their exact reasoning was “if that’s what you wanted, then you’re stuck with it now.”
Adaine didn’t mind brushing her hair or doing her makeup by herself, but Kristen enjoyed doing it, and she had to admit that it felt nice. Kristen had confessed to always wanting a sister to do activities like this with, which made Adaine laugh at the time—Aelwyn was much more likely to ruin anything Adaine did with her hair or makeup than help her with it—but after five months of this… well, it did feel like she had an actual sister helping her with her daily routine.
The real irony was that even though Kristen was good at making Adaine look sufficiently princessy, she herself never wore makeup nor did anything special with her hair other than tying it back. She claimed it was so she had more time to pray in the mornings, though Adaine was absolutely positive that prayer had nothing to do with it.
“So, what do you wanna do today?” Kristen asked, gently placing Adaine’s tiara on her head. “Library again, or do you want to try something new?”
“Um…”
Adaine’s first instinct was to simply say “library again,” just to stay in her comfort zone. But then her stomach let out a growl that her parents would describe as “highly undignified,” and she remembered the flash she’d gotten.
“Do you think there’s any shops in the city that sell honey cakes?” Adaine said tentatively, scratching the back of her neck.
Her friend immediately lit up. “Oh! Oh, I don’t—I don’t know for sure, but we can definitely look! And if not, we can just go to the library after—”
“You don’t have to say that, Kristen,” Adaine assured her.
“Oh, thank Helio,” Kristen sighed, shoulders slumping in relief. “I’m sorry, Adaine, I know you love it there, but I can’t spend one more Saturday making awkward conversation with the librarian.”
Adaine raised an eyebrow. “You know, you could try pursuing the selection.”
“Most of it’s in Elvish, Adaine, you know I only know the religious words.”
“Have you considered taking some classes?”
“Okay, I hear you, and I’m listening,” Kristen said, holding up her hands. “Circling back to where we’re going today—why honey cakes?”
“Um…”
Kristen knew about Adaine’s flashes, of course. She was the first person outside of Adaine herself to recognize them as premonitions and not delusions, even if they weren’t always accurate.
The problem was that Kristen tended to take Adaine’s flashes a bit too seriously, as if she was some sort of divine prophet rather than a socially inept twenty-two-year-old with annoyingly intrusive precognitive abilities.
“I’ve just—I’ve got a craving,” she fibbed, lifting her shoulders in a shrug. “And you know that the kitchen staff only cooks actual meals for special occasions.”
Kristen groaned. “I never thought I’d get sick of flatbread until I came here. How do they not even flavor it?”
“The point isn’t that it tastes good,” Adaine reminded her, giving her a tired smirk. “The point is that—” She put on a mock sing-song voice as she waved her hands— “just a few bites will fill your stomach!”
“Okay, yeah, we’re absolutely going out to eat even if we can’t find honey cakes,” Kristen declared, putting her hands on Adaine’s shoulders. “You need to get some actual food in your system, and I will literally die if I eat another bite of lembas.”
Adaine let out a laugh-snort. “All right, Kristen, if you say so.”
“I do say so! Now, grab your bag and get your walking shoes on, because—”
“Um.”
Kristen stopped halfway through opening the door again, giving Adaine a confused look. “Um, what?”
“I, ah.” Adaine jerked her head towards the hallway. “I need to do the whole song-and-dance routine. We need approval for this, after all.”
“Riiiiiiiiiiiight,” Kristen recalled, deflating slightly. “Okay. You want me to walk with you?”
“You don’t have to if you don’t—”
“No, no, I want to, you need the support.” She linked her arm with Adaine’s. “Game faces on?”
“Game faces on,” Adaine repeated.
The two of them began the trek to the throne room, which was a lot longer than it needed to be. It made sense, of course—Adaine’s room was in the most secluded part of the palace, and it had been since she was an infant—but that didn’t stop it from feeling like absolute hell as she and Kristen walked through the halls.
After all, she didn’t need elf hearing to pick up on the whispered conversations of the palace staff as they passed them by.
“—hear she cuts her hair like that herself, I can’t believe they let her around scissors—”
“—don’t even know why she bothers with makeup, I can see those bags under her eyes from here—”
“—such a beautiful girl, too, I imagine she’d have no shortage of suitors if she wasn’t so unwell—”
“—oh, if I was the king or queen, I wouldn’t tell a soul about her delusions, that way she could get married off and be someone else’s problem—”
Adaine resisted the urge to whirl around and punch whoever said that in the face.
The one true upside to everyone thinking she was crazy was that, at least for now, she didn’t really have to worry about getting married off. Knowing her parents, they’d figure out some way to make it happen eventually, but she could have the privilege of waiting until they’d settled on a match for Aelwyn, at the very least.
Just as well. She didn’t mind the idea of falling in love, and she’d often considered that it would be nice to form a partnership with someone, but her skin crawled every time she attempted to picture herself as a married woman. Especially if it was arranged, and she didn’t even know the person.
Then again, that would be her only chance at a new life…
“You okay?” Kristen whispered, tugging on Adaine’s sleeve.
“Not particularly,” Adaine answered, keeping her voice low. “Are we there yet?”
“It’s your palace, you should probably know.”
“I’m trying my best to only look at the ground at the moment.”
“That’s fair.”
Of course, it wasn’t exactly like it was a relief to finally reach the throne room. True, she didn’t have to overhear the gossip of the staff… but now, she had to deal with her family.
“Oh, hello, sister dear, so nice of you to join us,” Aelwyn drawled as Adaine and Kristen came in. “You really shouldn’t keep Mother and Father waiting like this, you know, we were beginning to think that you weren’t coming.”
“Lovely to see you, too,” Adaine snipped in response. “You’re looking particularly basic this morning.”
Aelwyn stuck her tongue out at her in response.
Her assertation of her sister wasn’t incorrect, but it was a bit of a disservice. Aelwyn was only basic because she was every bit the perfect elven princess—long blonde tresses carefully maintained by a whole slew of hairdressers, a poise and posture cultivated through years of flawless etiquette training, and a winning smile that charmed the hearts of countless admirers all across Fallinel. Aelwyn was universally beloved, universally adored, a society darling, sweet and cordial to everyone she met.
Everyone, that is, except to her lunatic little sister.
“Settle down, girls,” Queen Arianwen said absently, waving a hand. “Adaine, if you’re already antagonizing your sister, I don’t think—”
Adaine’s heart leapt into her throat. “N—no, Mother, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to say that.”
“Don’t apologize to me.”
…Right.
“I’m sorry, Aelwyn,” Adaine muttered.
Aelwyn blinked at her owlishly. “What was that? I couldn’t quite hear—”
“I’m sorry, Aelwyn,” she ground out.
Arianwen pursed her lips. “That’ll do, I suppose.”
“Adaine, please inform Sister Applebees that she needn’t be in attendance,” King Angwyn told her, not even bothering to look up from the announcement scroll he was reading. “You already take up so much of her time as it is, and given that she has so little of it, I’m sure there are other things to occupy her attention.”
Kristen visibly flinched at that. Adaine gave her hand a comforting squeeze.
“Um—well, Your Majesty, I did come here with the intention of being her companion,” she reminded him, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Besides, us humans are good at finding valuable ways to spend our time.”
“Evidently not, considering how much of your history involves you tearing each other apart over petty grievances.” Angwyn set down his scroll, fully ignoring the fact that Kristen was now visibly considering smacking him upside the head with her staff. “Let’s get this over with, I suppose. Adaine, do you think you’re able to withstand a trip outdoors today?”
Adaine stood up as straight as she could. “Yes, sir.”
“May I ask why?”
Go over the talking points, you’ve done this plenty of times, just sound convincing and calm.
“Well, ever since Sister Applebees has begun taking me on outings, my fits have rapidly decreased,” Adaine informed him, clasping her hands. “As a matter of a fact, I haven’t had one in over a month and a half, which I’m sure you’ll note is a new record for me.”
Angwyn let out a grunt. “That just means we’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, isn’t it?”
“I—”
“What your father means is,” Arianwen interjected, putting a hand on her husband’s arm as she attempted to sound soothing, “you’re not used to being regularly outdoors yet, and there are so many things out there that have the potential to set off one of your fits. You understand, Adaine, we just want you to be safe.”
You want me locked up in my room so I’m not an inconvenience, more like.
“Sister Applebees is a very calming presence, and I’m sure you both know that she’s fully capable of defending the two of us from anything that may come to pass,” Adaine said, keeping her voice as even as she could. “I think that these weekly outings are giving me the enrichment I need to… be a better royal.”
Even saying it left a bad taste in her mouth.
“You think?” Angwyn repeated, raising an eyebrow.
“I know,” she quickly amended. “I know that they’re doing me good.”
“Oh, for goodness sake,” Aelwyn said in an exasperated tone, looking up at the ceiling. “She just goes to the library every Saturday, Mother and Father, what’s the fuss? It’s not like she’s engaging in debauchery or anything.”
Adaine stared at her, rather taken aback—she couldn’t remember the last time Aelwyn had actually stuck up for her.
“Besides,” she added flippantly, twirling a lock of hair around one finger, “I’m having friends over today, and I’d really rather not have Adaine in the palace while that happens.”
And there it is.
“Actually, Your Majesties, I wanted to try something a little new today,” Kristen piped up. “If it doesn’t work out, we can go back to the library visits, but I… thought I’d take Adaine out for lunch.”
That was definitely the wrong thing to say.
“Oh—no, that’s out of the question,” Arianwen said, shaking her head. “I keep my daughters on a strict lembas diet for a reason, Sister Applebees. Troubled mind or no, Adaine is still a princess, and she shouldn’t be risking her looks.”
Oh, sure, one day of eating something other than a few bites of flavorless bread is going to cause me to get fat, Adaine thought. As if that’s such a bad thing, anyways.
“Don’t worry, Your Majesty, I wouldn’t be ordering anything other than lembas and tea for Adaine,” Kristen told her, giving her a winning smile. “I thought it’d be a good way for her to practice being in more of a polite social setting, and I have Calm Emotions prepared in case it gets too much for her. Besides, it’s really for my benefit—humans have some pretty hefty nutritional needs, you know.”
Adaine felt a small swell of pride at how quickly Kristen was able to spin that story, remembering how bad she’d been at lying when they first met.
“Gods, I can’t keep track of human needs,” Angwyn muttered, rubbing his forehead. “I suppose if you’ve got some way of keeping her from having one of those fits in public…”
“And you’d just be taking her for mid-morning tea, then, is that right?” Arianwen added. “No unnecessary foodstuffs?”
Kristen nodded. “I promise.”
A beat.
“Well, all right, then.” Arianwen turned to Angwyn. “Darling, I say we allow it.”
Angwyn clicked his tongue. “It’s risky… but, then again, this entire endeavor has been risky.”
A flood of a relief washed over Adaine as she felt herself instinctively relax. She remembered to drop into a grateful curtsy a split second too late, but this time, her parents didn’t seem to notice.
“Do your best to not let her out of your sight, Sister Applebees,” Arianwen said, giving Kristen a warning look over her glasses. “I’ve gotten reports that you’ve been letting her wander the library unaccompanied. I would watch your step, if I were you.”
Kristen’s smile became strained as she inclined her head in a bow. “Understood, Your Majesty.”
For the first twenty-one years of her life, Adaine had nobody who she could really consider a friend.
Not for lack of trying, of course—when she was young, she’d really tried to talk to other children her age, or at least the ones who her parents deemed suitable companions. But it soon became apparent that she had very little in common with many of them, and even if she did, her anxiety would creep up on her at the worst possible moments.
Once she was a preteen, and what could’ve been written off as a child’s stubbornness and intense emotions saw no signs of going away, everyone started to really avoid her. And as Angwyn and Arianwen continued to weigh disapproval and expectations heavier and heavier on her shoulders, her fits started to get worse and worse…
And then the flashes started.
Adaine knew, deep down, that her parents didn’t actually believe that she was insane, or at least didn’t think it was as bad as they said it was. She’d just made the mistake of telling them about the flashes, and they saw that as an excuse to give the kingdom an explanation as to why their youngest was so willful, sullen, and riddled with irrational fear. Nothing to do with them— she was just simply, tragically mad.
She’d tried telling other people the truth, of course. When she was a teenager, she’d desperately explain to anyone who would listen that she wasn’t insane, not like the king and queen said, that they were controlling and neglectful and awful and they hated her and they practically kept her prisoner in her own fucking home, and nobody listened.
Because she was crazy.
Which was why it was such a shock when, five months ago, an emissary from the Church of Sol showed up to court. Not just any emissary—Helio’s actual Chosen One, selected since birth to be his champion.
Kristen initially told Adaine what she’d apparently told everyone, that she’d heard of the poor mad princess of Fallinel and decided that she needed some spiritual help. But after a week of Adaine staunchly informing her that she refused to be treated as a charity case, Kristen admitted to her the truth hidden underneath all of that church talk.
“I think you need a friend,” she’d said quietly, fiddling with the folds of her bright yellow robes. “And… if I’m being honest, I need one, too.”
Ever since then, Adaine and Kristen had become practically inseparable.
For the first time in as long as she could remember, Adaine felt happy, and it was all thanks to the weird, sunshiny, wonderfully scatterbrained mess that was Kristen Chilis Applebees—a rare follower of Helio and Sol whose sanctimonious attitude was deeply rooted in true, genuine kindness and concern. And while she certainly didn’t stop praying and believing, it soon became very clear that Kristen was shirking her duties as the Chosen One by being in Fallinel… though, that wasn’t something that Adaine felt was her place to bring up.
Kristen even went into the trouble of spending months trying to convince Angwyn and Arianwen to let Adaine have weekly outings, citing that it very well may have been lack of connection and stimulation that could’ve been causing her “condition” to deteriorate. Even if she’d had to throw in some nonsense about etiquette and getting Adaine ready to be a proper noble wife in order for them to agree, it worked.
Which is why the two were currently tucked away in a secluded booth of a tea shop, stuffing their faces with horderves like their lives depended on it.
“See, you guys actually cook food over here,” Kristen said, swallowing a bite of cucumber sandwich. “Why the hell do you stick with lembas bread? Hell, why do you only serve real food for special events or if it’s tiny?”
Adaine shrugged, stabbing a shrimp bite with her fork in a deliberately unladylike fashion. “High elves invented a foodstuff that keeps you fully fed and healthy with just a few bites, and now we feel like we have to prove that we’ve transcended the need to eat properly. Honestly, I think it’s just because we’ve been clinging to the skinny-and-dainty beauty standard for too long.”
Kristen snorted, gesturing to her own frame—plump and curvy in all the ways that suited her perfectly, but made her look like a fish out of water in comparison to all the other posh, willowy elves seated in the tea shop. “You’re telling me that?”
“Look, you don’t have to wear a damn corset every day,” Adaine said, wincing slightly as she rubbed her midriff. “I already have enough trouble breathing as it is.”
“Nah, girl, I hear you.” Kristen took a swig of mint tea. “Honestly, I’d just wear pants if I could, I trip over these robes on a daily basis. Pass me the shrimp bites?”
“Cheers.” Adaine slid the plate of shrimp bites across the table. “Why don’t you wear pants?”
“Uh, church dress code?”
“You’re the only member of the Church of Sol in the capital,” Adaine reminded her. “Hell, I’d wager that you’re the only holy person, period. You know my parents don’t even worship Galicea anymore, right?”
Kristen’s mouth fell open. “You’re kidding.”
“I’m not. Something about her image being tainted by werewolves.”
“Wh—that’s absolutely ridiculous!” Kristen exclaimed. “She’s, like, the patron deity of the elves!”
“High elves,” Adaine corrected. “Wood elves and drow have different goddesses.”
“Okay, yeah, but still, what does it matter if werewolves wanna worship the freaking moon goddess? That makes sense! Obviously they’d believe in the force that gives them power—”
Rather than attempt to cut her off, Adaine simply let Kristen’s tirade go on. Her impassioned speeches about freedom of religion and tolerance across cultures were a joy to listen to, not just because of the elaborate metaphors and the fact that this was clearly something that Kristen felt strongly about, but because Adaine was almost certain that she was one of the only members of the Church of Sol who actually felt that way.
Not that she would tell that to Kristen, of course. Even if she wasn’t “properly” fulfilling her duties as the Chosen One, Adaine knew damn well that Kristen’s faith was the thing that she treasured most, and she wasn’t going to take that away from her.
So, she just scooted the shrimp bites back over to her side of the table and continued to indulge.
God, I want to do this every damn week, Adaine realized, slowly closing her eyes as all those different flavors danced on her tongue. Who the hell cares if we couldn’t find honey cakes, it was probably one of those nonsensical flashes an—
Almost as soon as the thought of her flashes popped into her mind, another one came.
For a brief moment, Adaine was staring out at a shining blue sea, the sun slowly setting on the horizon. She could almost feel the wind in her hair, smell the salt of the ocean, hear the barest hint of a song being played in the background—
And then it was gone.
“Really, in the end, what do we have to lose by being—woah.” Kristen snapped out of her rant, giving her a concerned expression. “Ads, you okay?”
“I… yes. I—yes.” Adaine blinked rapidly as the real world settled back in. “Kristen—this might sound odd, but would you consider going to the beach today?”
“Be… cause we’re eating shrimp?”
Adaine shook her head, tapping her right temple. “It happened.”
Kristen’s mouth formed into a perfect o. “You—” She leaned in, voice hushed. “You got a flash?”
“Yes, I—I didn’t really see any major event, but I was looking out at the sea, and the sun was setting, and I could’ve sworn I heard some music, but I couldn’t work out what—”
“Say no more,” Kristen said immediately, getting to her feet. “We’ll pay for the tea, and we can make our way to the beach right away.”
“Wh—Kristen, my flash took place at sunset,” Adaine reminded her, pointing up at the clock. “It’s barely noon.”
“So? We don’t have to be back until sundown, we should be fine as long as we leave when it starts to set.” Kristen waved down the nearest waiter. “Could we get the check, please?”
Twenty or so minutes later, the two ladies were racing through the market, Kristen’s hand wrapped tightly around Adaine’s as the two of them expertly weaved through the crowd.
“We can walk at a normal pace, Kristen!” Adaine shouted, fully unable to hide her giddy delight. “You’re going to get us run over, I swear to god!”
“If we gotta get back quickly, we might as well get there quickly!” Kristen called over her shoulder.
“That makes no sense!”
“I’d say it makes sense! If those heels are giving you trouble, make like Cinderella and lose them!”
Plenty of shopkeepers yelled at them as they passed, and they knocked over more than a few barrels on accident, but Adaine found that she fully didn’t care. Somehow, just throwing all caution to the wind and acting like a schoolkid playing hooky made her forget about worrying what other people might say or do.
Or maybe it was just Kristen’s infectious energy.
Eventually, they burst out of the market and the city proper, tripping over themselves as they tumbled onto the sandy beaches of Fallinel’s northern coast. Adaine fully lost her footing, nearly dragging Kristen down with her.
“I cannot believe,” Adaine said, gasping for breath as the last of her giggles escaped her, “that you talked me into doing that.”
Kristen pulled her back up to her feet, grinning with absolutely zero remorse. “You are cooped up in that drafty palace twenty-four-seven, and I know you don’t get regular exercise. We gotta make up for that some way.”
“Exercise shemexercise, Kristen, my legs are burning… oh.”
Adaine’s happy mood slowly dissipated as she took in the scene around her.
Normally, there were plenty of people at the beach, members of the city who had the luck to not have to be born in society using it as a way to blow off steam. There were dance competitions, the odd bonfire here and there, families with kids—hell, there was even the occasional field trip from Kei Lumennura.
But apparently, today was one of those rare days where weather decided to remind Fallinel that it existed.
It wasn’t rainy, of course, and nothing about the cloud cover ahead suggested that even a drizzle was going to happen… but, well, when you lived in a country where the sky was almost always picture-perfect blue, a grey day like today was enough to chase off anyone who might want to spend it outside. The beach was deserted, and the sea was the same slate color as the sky.
In short, Adaine’s flash likely had nothing to do with today.
“Looks like we’ve got the beach to ourselves?” Kristen offered.
“Mmph.” Adaine lifted up her skirts, already feeling sand slip into her heels. “It’s not like either of us are particularly dressed for this.”
Kristen shrugged, ever the optimist. “Okay, so we come back next week.”
“I—maybe, yes, but—” She kicked at the sand. “I don’t know, we’re already here. Might as well find something to do.”
“We could make a sand castle,” Kristen suggested. “Or we could go hunting for seashells.”
Adaine considered that for a minute.
“You know,” she said slowly, pushing her glasses up on her nose, “sea glass is supposed to have some magical properties.”
Kristen clapped her hand over her forehead. “Ohmigosh, you’re right! How did I forget about that?”
“Well, you’re all about divine casting, aren’t you?” Adaine pointed out. “You can just pray to a god to give you spells, components included.”
“I mean, yeah, but… I mean, even Revivify needs…” Kristen trailed off, then shrugged. “Huh, yeah, I guess you’re right.”
Adaine tilted her head towards the shoreline. “Treasure hunt, then?”
For the first few minutes of their search, nothing much came of it. It quickly became apparent that neither of them really knew what they were doing, but Kristen seemed to be having fun—at least, if the steadily-growing pile of seashells and pretty rocks in her arms was any indication.
As they made their way further down the length of the beach, though, Adaine eventually spotted something. Something that probably wouldn’t have been out of place on any other coastline, but was definitely out of place here.
“Hey, Kristen?” she called.
“Yeah?”
“I found a boat.”
Pause.
A clattering of various beach accouterments spilling out of someone’s arms made its way into Adaine’s ears, followed by the telltale pattering of running feet.
“Holy mother of Helio,” Kristen marveled, coming to a stop behind Adaine. “That is a boat.”
It wasn’t an elegant elven-made canoe, or a trading ship that had made the odd decision to dock on the opposite end of the beach from where the actual docks were. It was just a simple rowboat, maybe seating five or six people comfortably, made out of deep brown wood and with no real embellishments.
More importantly, there was no indication that whoever owned the rowboat was close by—or, indeed, that someone owned it in the first place.
“This is…” Adaine kneeled beside it, furrowing her brow. “Is this human in make?”
“Don’t ask me,” Kristen said. “Boats aren’t my specialty.”
“How odd,” she murmured. “Do you think this could have washed up on shore?”
“I mean, it’s possible? Again, I wouldn’t know for sure.”
Squinting slightly, Adaine pulled out her notebook and charcoal, scanning it for any identifying marks.
She did have Identify in her notebook, but she didn’t really think this warranted a usage of it—she wasn’t getting any sense that this was magical, and her mind had somehow made the subconscious choice to make her casting of Identify sound like one of those pompous academy boys that tended to court Aelwyn. What she was able to discern was that it saw no indication of being shipwrecked, meaning that someone had rowed it to shore and left it there.
And yet, there were no footprints leading away from it, or identifying marks of any kind.
Which meant…
Adaine reached out to touch the boat. Her hand went right through it.
“It’s an illusion,” she reported, furrowing her brow in confusion.
Kristen let out a little huh. “Weird.”
“I suppose someone must have cast this,” Adaine said, waving her hand in and out of the illusory boat. “This doesn’t look like a Major Image casting or anything, and I’m fairly certain that most illusion spells are short-range—of course, it could be one of those gnomish contraptions that store illusion spells—”
“Adaine?”
“Hang on a minute, Kristen, I’m trying—”
“Adaine.”
Registering the unnervingly serious tone in Kristen’s voice, Adaine followed her gaze and froze.
Standing a few feet away from them was a goblin.
From what little Adaine could recall about the various kinds of goblinoids, she knew that they were some of the most persecuted creatures in the realm, often through no fault of their own. Seeing a goblin in Fallinel was rare enough—most high elves hated goblinoids more than anyone, her parents in particular citing the days where their ancestors were part of warring fey courts—but normally, Adaine wouldn’t automatically assume that they meant her harm.
Except that this one was pointing a flintlock pistol at them.
“I think I found the illusionist,” Kristen whispered from out of the corner of her mouth.
“No shit,” Adaine hissed, scrambling to her feet.
The goblin snapped his fingers, dispelling the illusion. He couldn’t have been taller than four feet, and likely not even that, but there was something about the way he held himself that commanded attention… or maybe that was just the terrifyingly calculated glint in his eyes, slitted and brilliant yellow behind his glasses.
“I wouldn’t do anything stupid, if I were you,” he told them, adjusting his grip on his gun. “I don’t intend on killing anyone today, but try anything and I will shoot.”
“How about you don’t do anything stupid?” Kristen said fiercely, throwing out her arm in front of Adaine. “I’m the Chosen One of Helio, all right? I could probably curb-stomp you in seconds—”
The goblin laughed. “You’re the actual Chosen One? Oh, they’re gonna have a field day with this.” He raised his voice. “Hear that, Ragh? Two for the price of one, amirite?”
Adaine barely had time to think who’s Ragh before a shadow fell over her and Kristen.
She slowly looked up to see a massive half-orc looming over both of them, scarred and tough and looking absolutely terrifying.
Ah.
“Can we just fuckin’ get this over with already?” Ragh growled, folding his arms. “We wasted two hours waiting at the library.”
“Oh—yeah, sorry, ladies, you two did kind of give us the runaround,” the goblin said, lifting his shoulders in a casual shrug. “Now, I don’t mind that you gave us a quicker getaway, but—” He chuckled slightly. “You made my friend here miss lunch, and he doesn’t do well when he’s hungry.”
“The Ball, I swear to fuckin’ god—”
“Yeah, yeah, keep your shirt on, big guy.” The goblin, inexplicably, pointed his gun up at the sky. “Fig? It’s all you.”
Several things happened at once.
Kristen rushed forward and tackled the goblin to the ground, wrenching the gun out of his grasp.
In response, the goblin sunk his teeth into her arm, hanging on even as she staggered back to her feet.
Adaine attempted to run, only for Ragh to grab her by her wrists and hold her in place.
“Let her go!” Kristen yelled, pointing the gun up at Ragh’s head as she tried in vain to shake the goblin off. “Let her go, or I swear to all that is holy, I’ll—”
She stopped midsentence, eyes going glassy.
Then she passed out.
Thinking as quickly as she could, Adaine slammed her heel onto Ragh’s foot, causing him to let go of her with a howl of pain. She surged forward, not fully knowing whether she was heading for Kristen or making a run for it—
And then a tiefling with pink skin and a dark braid materialized in front of her, seemingly out of thin air.
“Sorry, princess,” she said, giving Adaine a wink. “Don’t worry, this won’t hurt.”
She blew out a stream of black glittery smoke from the palm of her hand.
Forgetting all of her safety training, Adaine inhaled sharply in surprise, breathing the smoke in.
Normally, elves couldn’t be put to sleep by magical means, but there were a scant few concoctions out there that somehow did the trick. They were mainly used to help those who were struggling with sleep, as they’d knock you out in seconds.
And her assailants, whoever they were, had gotten their hands on some.
The drowsiness hit her like a train, and her limbs gave out almost immediately.
Adaine became only dimly aware of what was happening as her senses started to fail her—Ragh’s rough hands catching her right before she collapsed onto the sand, him picking her up and tossing her over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, incoherent chatter between the tiefling and the goblin. Maybe it was the sleep effect, maybe it was just shock, but when unconsciousness claimed her, there was only one thought on her mind.
I have the worst fucking prophetic visions in the world.