I moved Zandar (Patreon)

from the Folly where she had been compelled by necessity to give birth, and placed her in a comfortable bed in the Palace. I set up my stew cauldron and began cooking, so she would be awakened by pleasant and appetizing aromas.

"Ah, you're awake," I said, as she began to stir. "I made stew. Have some. It will restore your strength."

All she said in response was "Where's Wulfrida?" referring, of course, to the princess.

"She's safe," I said, after sipping the stew to make sure it was up to my usual standard. "You really should try the stew. It's delicious."

"What have you done with my daughter?" Zandar reiterated, with a note of belligerence.

"She's safe with a lowfolk family," I explained. "I traded our child for theirs. I believe you are familiar with this practice."

"But why?" she said, rather foolishly since the answer was obvious. Fine, if I was going to have to spell it out for her ...

"It's traditional for elves to leave the rearing of our young to someone else," I stated, keeping it as simple as possible so she could not fail to understand. "Besides .. the thought of you with an infant is frankly appalling. I don't want you anywhere near her. Your stew is getting cold," I added, holding out the bowl to help ease the mood since I could see my remarks displeased her.

"Okay," she grumbled, actually more reasonably than I expected. "So what did you do with the lowfolk baby?"

Zandar didn't need to be burdened with the details about the O'Dors' dead child - and I admit I was starting to feel embarrassed about having made, in a moment of foolish soft-heartedness, such an uneven trade with some lowfolk who had not actually done anything to deserve it other than being descended from someone I liked. So I evaded the question by reminding her of the delicious distraction I had prepared for her.

"I made stew," I declared simply.

That's when she went berserk.

In retrospect I can see how, in that context, my words could have been misinterpreted. But only a completely twisted Unseelie mind would ever leap to such a horrid conclusion!

Zandar attacked me and called me all manner of nasty names. I fended off her blows with ease, thanks to Adoyret Sam's training (though alas, I dropped the bowl of stew) and wound up with her in an inescapable Gnostermonger hold.

"I'll kill you!" she snarled.

"That's inadvisable," I said, thinking of the Vulpitanians, Lana, the Shrub Army, Estvan, and the Boy Dukes. "Beings more powerful than you have tried and failed. You're overreacting, my dear. This is all standard elvish practice. I realize it is new and strange to you after living so long among lowfolk, but in time you'll relax and accept it."

"The only way I'll relax is if I'm dead," she protested over-dramatically.

"But Zandar, my sweet," I whispered, "I can't kill you." Which was true; the geas that had been placed on her made her impossible to kill ... but more importantly I wouldn't have WANTED to. Once again she decided to interpret my statement in the worst possible way, because she was the worst possible person.

She stared at me coldly for a few seconds, then hissed "I'm leaving. Show me the way out of here."

"Through there," I said, pointing toward the Gateway arch. "But if you leave this realm, you may never return."

"Fine," she growled, clearly not thinking this through.

"Our daughter is protected from you," I called, hoping she might reconsider. "You'll never find her."

The dreadful prospect of never seeing her own child again did not deter her from walking through the Gate and sealing the ban that would prevent her from ever returning.

I pooked to the scrying chamber so I could see what happened next.

Zandar was standing, dumbfounded, in the stone circle - and wearing the outlandish costume she'd had on when she arrived, and which the Gate had removed when she crossed over into Faerie! I had not expected all of that stuff to be returned when she crossed in the other direction, but now that I had seen it, it made sense.

She wrestled with the constricting garments, and was able to remove the shoes and gloves - but Venatrix had made the dress to my exacting specifications, and Zandar could not remove it herself.

After failing to take off the clothes, Zandar cried for a while, collecting the tears in her little magick bottle. I couldn't blame her for having an emotional outburst at such a low point. I had done it myself often enough.

When she had wept enough, she yelled impotent curses at me, then got up and began trudging away - straight toward Bunkirk! Those insane rabbits might do anything if they saw a well-dressed skunkess come walking out of the "haunted" woods! And the collar of her dress was magicked to prevent her talking to strangers! This could be disastrous!

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