Page 11 of A Match Made in Slumber

The needle didn’t just point; it went nuts, spinning in frantic, chaotic circles, completely overwhelmed by the unauthorised residual magic that had bled into the air all around my stand.

With readings off the chart, the game was up.

“Standard commerce, eh? Does it include twisting the fabric of the space-time continuum into a cinnamon pretzel, Elian?” Cholerius said, his voice a modulated drawl laced with a lethal dose of snark. “I see you still have that flair for the catastrophic I remember so well from the Academy.”

He didn’t wait for my retort, not that I had a witty one to hand. His gaze roamed across my booth as if hoping something would spontaneously combust to illustrate his point.

“Do you remember the Courage Spark incident at the winter gala? That delightful little matchstick you invented to grant yourself two minutes of absolute bravado to ask… who was it again? Horacy Fergis to dance?” Cholerius offered a thin, mocking smile while my teeth ground in humiliation. “Sadly, you miscalculated the compound. It misfired, prompting you to climb onto the main banquet table and inform the High Dean, in excruciating detail, what you thought of his articles on modern applied magic. I think you described the lot as the indulgent ramblings of a concussed moron? It was… certainly something.” His expression and tone cooled. “Shame the dean punished our entire year for that antic.”

I winced at the memory.

My silence, however, didn’t put Cholerius off the mood to reminisce. “Or that time you tried testing the Spring Feel match during Practical Introduction to Spellwork? And the fabric of your clothes turned entirely to butterflies? Left precious little to the imagination once they decided to flutter off, didn’t it?”

A collective, intrigued gasp rippled through the gathered mob. The bastards were eating this up, while my ears burned as if I’d used the Brimstone Burster to clean them.

“Well, I suppose I should count myself lucky you haven’t managed to level the entire municipal district on this occasion,” Cholerius murmured, as he gestured vaguely to the spinning instrument.

“That’s enough now, clerk,” Kill’em growled, his voice a low, rumbling warning. As if detecting my distress, he stepped closer, his motion entirely natural. He placed a heavy, protective hand on the small of my back to calm me. “I presume you have a point to make. You’d better get to it before I lose my patience.”

The grounding weight of Kill’em’s touch worked like a charm. I straightened, tilting my chin up. At the same time, I reached back and squeezed Kill’em’s other hand, trying in turn to soothe him. The last thing I needed was for him to enter warlord mode and slaughter a Council representative on the first day of the market. Even though one could argue Cholerius had it coming.

“Yeah, Cholerius, make your point,” Settie chimed in from the side, indignation making her voice high-pitched and sharp. “But try not to be a complete di—”

I elbowed her hard in the ribs, cutting her off before she committed contempt of office against a legal enforcer on duty.

Cholerius snapped the compass shut, the metallic click sounding like a miniature guillotine. “Well, this is quite straightforward. My magispheric monitor registered a localised planar distortion of such magnitude that I initially assumed an equipment malfunction. Imagine my complete lack of surprise when the tracking ether led me directly to your… shockingly well-organised booth.”

He paused, a faint twitch of his eyebrow betraying his confusion as he surveyed the neat, tiered velvet displays, void of a single trace of my usual, err, relaxed chic styling.

Only then did Cholerius’s eyes flicker upwards, freezing as they took in the imposing frame of the ash-blond big’un standing beside me. He blinked. A flicker of genuine, involuntary reverence crossed his features. For a fraction of a second, the tightly wound arbiter looked derailed by Kill’em’s immense aura, his breath hitching before his official training kicked back in.

Recovering his icy, pedantic sneer, Cholerius smoothed his golden robes. “And who, pray tell, is your oversized assistant? I don’t recall seeing, never mind approving, a labour permit accounting for individuals who look as though they recently conquered a small principality. Or are you also employing undocumented workers without the proper paperwork, Elian?”

“He’s just a friend. He’s only helping out,” I offered the lame and hopeless line of defence even though I knew it wouldn’t work.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Kill’em’s expression darken. He appeared somewhat disgruntled upon hearing the just-a-friend description. Even more ridiculously, saying those words aloud felt wrong to my own ears. A sudden spark of confused frustration bit at me.

“Sir,” Cholerius addressed Kill’em in a stern tone, pulling his ledger open and readying his stylus. “I need your official statement for the record. Please provide your full name, title and origin to assist with this investigation.”

Kill’em didn’t bother answering. He looked down at Cholerius from an impressive height, his expression hardening into the stern resolve of a man used to giving orders rather than taking them. Ignoring the arbiter, he turned towards me, placing his large hands firmly on both of my shoulders.

“Elian,” his deep voice carried a tone of quiet command. “Does this quill-pusher represent actual authority in this place?”

“Um… unfortunately, yes,” I muttered. “He’s an enforcer for the Council. Kinda big fish.”

I could tell Kill’em didn’t find this bureaucratic intrusion amusing; his temper on the precipice of flaring. His jaw clenched in a visible internal struggle. As a soldier, he no doubt understood the chain of command—and the necessity of respecting law and order—because he chose not to obstruct the process.

He glared back down at the arbiter, his posture as rigid as iron. “Commander Keălhem Reñyés. Highest Vanguard of the Realm. Originally from the Asirhwÿn Regiment, currently stationed at the Sable Citadel in Barbarian Territory.”

For a time, Cholerius offered nothing but a blank stare, punctuated by the chorus of “oohs” and “aahs” from the crowd. His writing implement hovered in mid-air, forgotten. As the gravity of the information registered in his academic brain, he let out a flat, dry, “I see.”

I cleared my throat. “Wait a minute, Cholerius,” I interrupted with a wave of my hand. “It’s not what you think. I didn’t do it on purpose. It was a complete fluke. You see, um, I tried to strike a new prototype, I grabbed the wrong strip by accident and the compound contamination occurred. One thing led to another. You understand alchemy. There was absolutely no premeditation.”

Cholerius let out a long, long-suffering sigh. “Well, Elian, that is exactly what I expected. Another one of your wacky accidents. We’ve known each other a very long time, but the law is the law and the rules are rules, even though you seem to misunderstand the fundamental concept of structure and boundaries. Be it in alchemy, the legal system or market trading.”

He began tapping the stylus against his ledger again, listing the offences with agonising precision. “So, to sum it up. We’ve got one unauthorised, illegal summoning charm. One severe planar space violation with localised destabilisation, pending further assessment. And one cross-dimensional kidnapping of a high-ranking military dignitary.” He glanced up at Kill’em. “Do you wish to press charges, commander?”

“‘Charges’?” Kill’em regarded Cholerius with narrowed eyes.