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Chapter 3

Entreaty from the Divine

Spindle is awakened the next morning by someone pounding on her door.

“Fuck off!” she shouts back. “It’s way too early for this.”

“It’s me,” Sugin’s voice answers. “Get up, please.”

“It’s especially too early for you!”

There’s a quieter thunk, different from the sound of Sugin’s heavy fist. “We have a client waiting,” she announces, after a moment.

Spindle remains silent. Maybe she’ll go away.

“Come hear her out. Over breakfast. It’s her treat.”

“Uh-huh, nice carrot. Where’s the stick, Broadshield?”

Sugin heaves a muffled sigh. “And because if you don’t, it counts as shirking your sentence,” she adds reluctantly.

“What’re you gonna do then? Beat the door down? Cost the guild a whole bunch of money?”

“I have a key.”

Spindle grits her teeth. “Of fucking course. I don’t even get privacy, do I?”

“Please, Spindle. I really don’t want to drag you out.”

“Course you do. Isn’t that what you signed up for?”

Silence, for a moment. Then, Spindle hears the click of the key turning in the lock. “Fine. Fine!” she groans, throwing off the bedclothes. “You win! I’m coming. Stay out of my fucking room, okay?”

Sugin escorts Spindle downstairs. She tries to wrap an arm around Spindle’s shoulders, but Spindle slaps it away. She doesn’t try again after that.

This morning, the guild’s tavern is a lot busier. Grizzled mercenaries and oddly-dressed sorcerers mill about, breakfasting and raucously chatting with each other. At the far end of one of the tables – right where I ate yesterday, Spindle realizes – the crowd is particularly dense.

Sugin takes Spindle’s hand, despite Spindle’s protests, and elbows her way through the throng. “Back off, you horndogs,” Sugin barks. “That’s our client.”

Grumbling, the mercenaries start to disperse. Once they’ve cleared enough, Spindle quickly realizes what all the fuss was about.

A gorgeous blonde elf in a pink robe waves eagerly to Sugin. “Oh, you’re back! And this is the partner you were telling me about?” She turns her sunny smile on Spindle, who abruptly notices that the robe exposes her right breast.

“You told her we were partners?” Spindle hisses. “Nice euphemism, you big prick.”

“Is there a better word for it?”

“Of course there is!”

The client clasps her hands together. “Oh, you two are just perfect together! I’m so happy for you. I can feel the strength of your bond.”

Sugin winces. Spindle yanks her hand out of Sugin’s grip and turns her back. “I’m going back upstairs. Fuck this. Fuck you for subjecting me to this.”

Sugin’s hand finds her shoulder again, gripping forcefully enough to halt Spindle in her tracks. “Spindle, please. I apologize, Holy Dedicant, but you’re mistaken. My relationship with her is strictly professional.”

Dedicant? Are we being hired by a fucking temple? Spindle wonders, turning to look at her again.

“Oh, my, I am so sorry!” the dedicant gasps, covering her mouth with her hands. “It isn’t romantic?”

“Just business,” Sugin confirms. “We work together.”

“Ah. A companion for when the road is long, then?” She lowers her hands, and her smile returns. “Well, that is beautiful as well. Won’t you introduce us?”

“Of course. Holy Dedicant, this is Spindle the Jester. Spindle, this is the Holy Dedicant Llywa Summerkiss.” Sugin releases Spindle and starts to sit down right next to the client. Spindle circles around to the other side of the table, intending to put some distance between herself and the too-handsy scalefolk, but Sugin stands again and follows her. Spindle groans and rests her head on the table.

“Is she alright?” Llywa wonders.

“No I’m fucking not,” Spindle cuts in, before Sugin can answer for her. “I’m hungry. I’m pissed at this bitch.” She gestures vaguely at Sugin. “I don’t want to be here.”

Llywa blinks. Her smile wavers. “Oh. I’m sorry, Spindle. Let’s get some breakfast in you. Maybe that will help you feel better!”

As if on cue, the barperson turns up with a steaming plate of bacon and eggs. They look as bedraggled as Spindle feels, their dress even more disheveled than before, but they’re smiling. There’s a smear of something red on their neck, too bright to be blood, and bruises on their collarbone. Well, at least SOMEONE had a nice night.

Spindle grumbles, but she can’t deny her hunger. Especially now that she’s mentioned it out loud. So she digs in.

“Spindle, dear, would you like me to explain the job now, or would you rather I wait until you are done?” Llywa inquires.

Spindle irritably motions for her to go ahead, eyes still fixed firmly on her meal.

“Very well.” Llywa places her hands in her lap. “As your lovely partner mentioned, I am a Holy Dedicant of Nyna. I serve at the temple here in town.”

Spindle raises an eyebrow, glancing up. “Well, that explains the boob.”

Spindle was raised in a largely agnostic environment, but even she’s familiar with the goddess Nyna. The most famous and widely worshipped of the elven pantheon, Nyna presides over the overlapping yet distinct domains of romance, love, sex, and reproduction. Her temples freely provide assistance in any and all of those areas, from contraception, to postnatal medical care, to surrogacy. Spindle’s spent many a morning after at the temple in question, getting her snatch magically swabbed out to ensure she doesn’t wind up pregnant. Now that she thinks about it, Llywa looks a little familiar.

She realizes she’s staring, and nods at Llywa to go on.

“You know it, then? Good. You are always welcome in Our Gravid Mistress’s halls, Spindle, should you ever require our services.”

Llywa smiles indulgently at her, and Spindle’s heart skips a beat. Llywa really is unreasonably pretty. Too bad she’s meeting her in this context. She shovels another forkful of eggs into her mouth, trying to maintain her surly façade.

“First, a bit of context. The heads of the temples of Nyna are constantly in contact by messenger bird, and by other means as well. It is important for the services we provide, but really, it’s mainly because the Most Holy Dedicants do so enjoy chatting with one another.” Llywa hides a giggle behind a soft, tanned hand. But all too quickly, the mirth drains from her face. “However, for the past few months, we have not been receiving correspondence from the Peak Horn temple at all. Even worse, anytime we send messenger birds to Peak Horn, they fail to return. It has the other Most Holy Dedicants in quite a tizzy.” She shakes her head sorrowfully.

“So the job’s... recon, then? Figuring out what happened there?”

“That’s exactly right! You’re quite clever, Spindle, dear,” Llywa coos.

Her praise drips like warm honey down Spindle’s neck, and Spindle breaks eye contact, abruptly quite flustered. What the hell is wrong with me all of a sudden, she chastises herself. She’s not trying to sleep with me just cause she has a nice voice.

There’s a creak as Sugin shifts in her seat, and Spindle hears her exhale quietly but forcefully. Well, at least I’m not the only one.

Collecting herself again, Spindle squints. “Okay, so that’s all good and noble of you, or whatever. Why did you come to us with this? Why not have a temple closer to Peak Horn set this up? Peak Horn is about as far from Ash Downs as you can get without leaving Centegral entirely. If I have to go that far with just Broadshield for company, I’m going to lose it.”

Llywa beams radiantly. “Because this mission is not just a simple reconnoitering. Nyna has personally tasked me with seeing this through. But I am no fighter, and the road is long and harsh. I would hire you as my traveling companions.”

“You mean the actual Nyna? In the flesh?” Spindle’s eyes narrow, skeptical. “Or whatever it is goddesses have instead?”

“Oh, yes.” Llywa melts a little, eyes glazing over. “It was the most wonderful night of my life. She joined me in my bed to whisper my task in my ear... and...”

Spindle rolls her eyes. “Suuuure she did.”

Llywa giggles beatifically, then takes a deep breath and chases the reverie away. “Believe what you will. But she did promise to visit me again when the task was complete. If you are there with me, you will have the chance to see for yourself!”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever,” Spindle flatly grumbles. She has to admit that the idea of sleeping with a literal sex goddess is distinctly tempting – why wouldn’t it be? – but there’s no way it’d actually happen. “You still didn’t answer my other question: why us?”

“I cannot have incompatibilities in my party. It would be bad luck, for a mission so intimately associated with Nyna. But you are compatible, and you come as a unit! You two in particular are perfect candidates.”

“Compatibility?” Spindle scoffs. “In case you didn’t get it the first time, Dedicant, Broadshield and I don’t get along.”

Llywa tilts her head. “Really? But Nyna’s gift has never steered me wrong before. I can sense the ghosts of her hands all over you, Spindle. I can feel how perfectly your bodies fit together. I can—”

“No! Enough of that!” Spindle shrills, entirely louder than she meant it. She stands with a clatter, slamming her palms against the table. Her cheeks burn with embarrassment. “It was one time, and I’ve since realized it was a fucking mistake!”

In her peripheral vision, she catches Sugin turn away from her slightly, resting her chin on her hand. Good, at least she has the decency to be embarrassed too. She should be.

Llywa stares for a moment. The room has suddenly gotten very quiet, every ear in the place listening to the drama unfolding. Spindle grits her teeth.

“Very well,” Llywa eventually concedes, infuriatingly serene. “My apologies for misunderstanding. You need not have sex with her again if you do not wish to. Nyna should be satisfied nonetheless.”

Spindle sits down again, arms folded. That was... probably a con, actually, she reflects. The existence of Nynan sight, a preternatural sense for sexual rapport, is quite understandably disputed. I shouldn’t have taken the bait. She casts about for a way to salvage her pride. “If ‘compatibility’ is so important, then what about your ‘compatibility’ with us? Surely that’s a factor too,” she shoots back in a huff.

“Oh, of course it is!” Llywa claps her hands. “I cannot sense when I myself am compatible with someone, but I have already taken the liberty of testing my compatibility with Miss Sugin. I can assure you, there will be no problems there!”

Sugin chuckles. “Y-yeah, no kidding.” Spindle blinks at her awestruck tone. Really? This early in the morning?

“What about you, Spindle?” Llywa stands, offering her hand. “Would you like to evaluate your prospective employer?”

Sugin nudges Spindle’s shoulder. “Trust me, Spindle. You won’t regret it.”

Spindle narrows her eyes, looking Llywa up and down. That’s very tempting. It’s almost as if Llywa can read her thoughts, because she flutters her long eyelashes at Spindle. Spindle’s heart flutters in turn, but she scowls to hide it. Too tempting. What’s the fucking angle.

“Did I ever say I agreed to do this?” she growls, standing up. Ignoring Llywa’s outstretched hand, Spindle strides off toward the door. “Stop acting like it’s a foregone conclusion.”

“Spindle!” Sugin calls.

“Fuck off!” Spindle retorts, from the doorway. “Find some other rube to walk to fucking Peak Horn with! I’m not taking your stupid job!”