Poisonous Fox

Lady Trigg remained standing as the Inquisitor tried, and failed, to negate the princess’s orders. She was still smirking at the Inquisitor’s sputters, at least she was until she heard a plopping sound.

Another drop of my blood had hit the metal plate beneath the chair. Surprisingly, I was not gushing blood. But it left the few drops striking the metal all the more noticeable.

She frowned.

“This is hardly an acceptable state,” Lady Trigg said, cutting through the Inquisitor’s latest protestations. “You–” she pointed at one of the soldiers standing guard. “-Fetch a healing serum. You–” she pointed at the other soldier standing guard, “-notify my second to prepare the strongest grooming kit. And you–” she pointed at the Inquisitor this time “-release Her Highnesses pet at once.”

“-But–”

“-bahp-ba-bap-” Lady Trigg made the nonsense sound over the top of the Inquisitor. “-feel fortunate that you were not punished for this oversight. Though…” her lips curled “...that could change, should you so desire?”

“No, Lady Trigg.” The Inquisitor said, almost biting out. “Should I release the prisoner now then? Or should we wait for the healing serum? I would not want to exacerbate the incision needlessly.”

“A fair point,” Lady Trigg said. She switched her attention back to me. “Will you struggle and exacerbate your wounds?” she asked me.

I shook my head, or tried to. The binding to the back of the chair made it difficult.

“No, ma’am,” I said.

“No, Lady Trigg,” she corrected. “And you had better not. There are many ways to break a new pet.”

She did not sound like she hated that idea.

The Inquisitor began freeing my manacles, starting at my wrist, then ankles, then waist, and finally head. However, a single piece of metal was left upon me, one I was hoping he was solely saving for last, and one I truly wished would be removed. I desired this so strongly I dared broach the subject.

“-and the collar?” I asked.

The Inquisitor turned to Lady Trigg to see her response.

“Leave it. It suits her.”

“And seals her Marks,” the Inquisitor added. “Which I remind were potentially proffered by a divine agent, and which we have yet to fully identify.”

“All the more reason.”

The tent flap opened once more, and in stepped a soldier carrying a glass bottle–it looked almost like an artisan water container. The glass was clear, the liquid sparkled, and the top appeared to be corked.

“Lady Trigg,” the soldier proffered the solution.

“Must I do everything?” Lady Trigg asked. “Apply it.”

The soldier bowed his head and approached nervously. The Inquisitor was standing nearby, watching me carefully. The soldier stumbled on the metal plate, almost dropping the bottle.

“Fool,” Lady Trigg said, but did not move.

The Inquisitor did, however, catch the soldier with a wing.

The soldier winced and recoiled from the feathered touch.

“Give me that,” the Inquisitor said, grabbing the bottle from the man and easily over-powering his grip.

“As you say, Inquisitor,” the soldier said. I noticed that he did not bear the seal of the gavel, but instead the purple oleander.

The Inquisitor popped the cork and tilted my head back firmly, forcefully, but not cruelly. “Open,” he commanded.

I obliged.

He tilted the bottle back, pouring a dollop of the sparking fluid in.

“Swallow.”

I did, feeling the effervescence on both my tongue and throat. A warmth spilled out from my skin, reminiscent of strong spirits, but without the hotness or foul flavor.

As the serum worked, the Inquisitor re-corked the serum and thrust it back to the soldier.

The soldier hesitated, but after a glare from the Inquisitor, and a scoff from Lady Trigg, took it.

Meanwhile, the wounds along my right arm, where the Inquisitor had cut, began to close. The razor burn on my shoulder cleared. My fur remained shorn. My left side, while soothing, did not regrow.

“Bring her to the servant quarters,” Lady Trigg said, stepping out from the tent. “I must see to the grooming supplies. Do not foul Her Highness’s property,” she warned as she stepped out.

The Inquisitor growled after she left, but he never took that anger out upon me. I was given the feeling that he was far too professional to do such. Instead, he calmly escorted me from the pavilion, while flanked by the same soldiers who had entered with Lady Trigg. The Inquisitor’s guards remained in the pavilion. I wondered if there was a power play involved, not that I knew enough of the politics surrounding the princess.

As we stepped out, the overcast sky seemed bright, and left me wincing. The Inquisitor never stopped moving, however, instead guiding me by the shoulder, towards another large tent. While I worked to regain my vision, I heard a slew of voices, chief among them was Kate.

“-hey! Where’re you taking her!” she called.

The Inquisitor remained silent, striding quickly and with purpose.

I turned towards where her voice was, and I thought I saw her and Muleater, with Kate pulling forward, and Muleater holding her back.

“-Let go! Hey! Over here–”

“Silence,” the Inquisitor said. “Lest you offend Her Highness.”

“-what?” Kate asked, her voice somewhere behind us now.

Another tent flap opened, and the scent of chemicals, cleaners, overly-strong fragrances, and water flooded out.

“I leave the prisoner in your command,” the Inquisitor said. It was unclear who he was speaking to, but the soldiers that had escorted us shoved me into the tent, following after.

“In you get then,” a matronly voice said. “And off you go,” the same voice said after the Inquisitor. The tent flap fell close behind me, and the scents grew that much stronger.

“Let’s see what we have to work with. A right mess you are. Well, get the buckets.”

I heard movements, and my eyes finally adjusted.

Nobody was there that I recognized. The soldiers stood off to the side, and several women with firm and plain garb, firmer hands, and calluses were about. They carried with them another set of implements. Brushes, scissors, exfoliants, and a bucket of what almost smelled like bleach.

“A right mess indeed,” the matronly voice said again. I got a firm look at the woman. She was bigger than the others, and given by the deferential body language the other two women held, was in charge. “Well, get the beastie scrubbed clean.”