When I’d first heard about the elves, I had wanted to go visit them. On Amaranth, the elves represented the height of civilization. However, now that I had been “requested and required” I felt decidedly ornery. Who were they to require anything of me? And of course, an adventure is one thing, but when it hits that you’re not sure that coming back is within your power, that’s another thing entirely.

And the worlds needed me to come back. Or did they? I was important, sure. But Kathy and Jill knew what was going on from the earth side, and Xyla was incredibly powerful inside her forest. They could help protect the gate. Not going might be more dangerous than going, and I still wanted to see how the elves lived.

I started making preparations. The first step was to get a lot of posters.

I made a trip to the National Gallery with Valeria for some, and we made an afternoon of it. It was interesting seeing the paintings through her eyes. From her point of view, the more realistic a picture, the better. Modern Art was just silly to her, and she was only a little less dismissive of Impressionism. I suppose my tastes were influenced by the existence of photography, and the fact that anyone with a cell phone can have a picture of reality in a few seconds.

I hit the gift shop, and then went to a mall and got a bunch of posters there from a store that specialized in pop culture. The only thing I knew about the elves, really, was that they liked Botticelli, but I wanted to have a variety, from the Mona Lisa to Rhianna in an S&M outfit. There was even one of Mick Jagger with his tongue out.

Then had some more professionally printed. Porn off the internet. Memes. At Gren’s insistence, a giant 18 x 22 of her topless. The cell phone didn’t have enough pixels, and so it was grainy, but she still liked it.

There was some debate about who was going. Gren, Lesseth, and Valeria all wanted to go with me – and so did Kendala. Xyla was staying, obviously, and so was Kathy, and as a result, Talos. But I was reluctant to leave the gate guarded just by them. Sure, Xyla could do a lot, and Talos was no slouch.

“It’d be different if you had powers, Kathy.”

“You could leave the crown,” she said, grinning.

“No!” everyone said at once.

“I’m joking,” she said. “Kind of. I don’t need to put it on. Do you know how much experience I got for killing all those –” she looked at Gruush, who was staring at her. He was wearing a zoot suit, and rocking it. The pink and yellow polka dot tie clashed a little with his green skin, but it got top marks for individuality.

“Anyway, lots of experience,” Kathy finished. “And a few class choices.”

“Now you tell me?” I asked. “Why keep it a secret?”

“Well, you’ve been busy,” Kathy said. “And, I was hoping to spring it on you at a dramatic moment.”

“Of course.” There was something a little hypocritical about her having to know everyone else’s secrets, when she was tight-lipped about her own. “So what class did you choose?”

“The premium one, of course.”

“Why are you dragging this out?”

Kathy smiled. “Me? Would I do that?”

“She’s a Dragon Knight,” Talos growled. “Third level. She flies and has a natural proficiency with weapons. We’ve been training with swords, and she’s quite passable.”

She could fly! We could have been using her to do patrols. Then again, maybe that’s why she didn’t tell me, because that would take away from her time with Talos.

She was ahead of me. “While you’re gone, I’ll look around from the air every day. We should be able to see anything approaching. If I have Jill’s phone number, I can ask for her help on this end. But,” she said. “I still think you should leave the crown. Or a reasonable facsimile.”

“Why?”

“So I can threaten to put it on, in case I need to convince Gavabar or Zargaza to help with something.”

She had a point there. I could imagine situations where she’d need troops, which only brought to mind another problem. The zombies would respond only to my control. I could leave them some standing orders, but that was it.

There wasn’t much to be done about it, but I wondered how long I could put the Queen of the Elves off. I decided I’d better talk to the emissary. Without the zombies transporting things, trade would suffer. Depending how long I was gone, I might not even be able to meet my obligations to the trolls. But if I could stockpile enough in the trading posts, then maybe it’d be okay.

Trolls waved at me as Gren and I entered the village. I’d become super popular after the defeat of the orcs. I wore a modest black dress, because I wasn’t interested in getting the wrong kind of attention; I wanted to be the conquering hero, not a sex symbol.

Okay, maybe I enjoyed being a sex symbol too, but I felt a little guilty about that enjoyment.

It wasn’t hard to figure out where the emissary was. He had his own tent, a purple affair with banners around it, and he’d stuck it right near the great hall. It was garish, but not everyone’s favorite color could be black or it would be boring.

Knocking on a tent door wouldn’t make a satisfying noise, and it didn’t have a doorbell. So I called, instead. “Yoohoo! Anyone home?”

“By the rancid tits of Gorgorab, who is it at this thrice-cursed hour?” answered a surly high tenor.

“Gorgorab?” I asked Gren, sotto voce. It was after ten in the morning.

“Orc goddess. Zargaza would know the details better than I.”

“Shouldn’t they swear by their own goddesses?”

“Well, probably not and call them rancid.”

I nodded. “Alrighty then.” I raised my voice again. “My name is Abby. I understand you wanted to talk to me.”

“Don’t go anywhere!” said the voice from within.

“Well, I’m kinda in a hurry,” I said.

“I shall soon grace you with my presence.”

Lovely. “Good, because I have already graced you with mine,” I retorted.

It took him eight minutes, but when he emerged he was dressed and his long blond hair was brushed. He had on a short red tunic which he wore with bright blue tights that hugged his slender legs and the very obvious codpiece beneath. He swished his feathered hat through the air at me, and bowed. “Harmodiel,” he said. “Emissary of Queen Maeve, long may she reign; arranger of the grand fete of Winter, 734; twice voted sommelier of the year; and favored of Princess Sillandra.”

I curtsied back. “Abby,” I said.

“Defeater of demons,” Gren interjected, “Triumphant over trolls; all-conquering defeater of orcish hordes; lover of voluptuous vixens, and possessor of a colossal –”

“But you can call me Abby.”

Harmodiel looked a bit taken aback by Gren’s speech. “An orcish horde, really?”

“Well, yes,” I said. “I had help, of course.”

“But she was our cunning commander,” Gren said.

“Well. Impressive, I guess, in its own way. Rather dirty work, I imagine. I came to talk about more refined things. That painting you made, of the woman emerging from the sea – absolutely exquisite. I don’t understand why a woman of your talent wastes time messing with orcs and such.”

“Well, sometimes it’s kill or be killed.”

“I suppose,” Harmodiel said, with a voice that indicated that the world simply should not be that way and it was best not to think of it. “May I add that the primitives here did not do full justice to your personal beauty, which is art itself. The contours of your face, the violet of your eyes, the swells of your breasts, the curve of your hips. You are most beautiful.”

“Uh, thanks.” I wondered if he was flirting with me, perving, or just engaging in the sort of pleasantry one would be expected to return. “You’re quite pretty, yourself.”

He put his hands to his cheeks and opened his mouth in delight. “You think so?”

“Fanciful fop,” Gren said.

He glanced at her. “Perhaps we should talk inside the tent, away from the primitive?”

“She’s my wife,” I said.

He looked between me, and her. “Wife?” he said. “You, and her?”

“That’s right.”

“She has four,” Gren said proudly. “And we have a betting pool on who will be the fifth.”

“Troll wives?”

I let Gren talk. “No. There’s a dryad, a human, and a demon.”

He took that in. “Well,” he said. “That’s quite the menagerie. The artistic sensibility, the creative urge, so inspired by variety! I applaud your eccentricity, madam.” Putting words to action, he actually clapped.

Somehow, even his applause was insulting.

“Well,” I said. “Very nice to have met your acquaintance, I’m sure. I’ll be glad to send a few more paintings along with you, and give my regards to Queen Maeve.”

He shook his head vigorously. “Oh, no. She wishes me to bring your gorgeousness in person, to her palace in Avonia. And now that I have seen you, and must give a full report of your beauty and vivacity, I am sure she will settle for nothing less. But if I might see the paintings?”

“I’m not convinced that you’ll treat my wives well.”

“As emissary I am empowered to negotiate on her majesty’s behalf. Your wives shall be treated as honored guests, and housed with you in the palace itself. You shall dine on sweets, converse with princesses, rest your soft posterior on velvet cushions, and sleep beneath coverlets of the finest elven silk, all of you.”

That didn’t sound too bad.

He turned to Gren. “My apologies, honored wife of the inspired artist Abby. I can see that you are not at all like other trolls. Would you like to strike me with a scourge so that I can show you how penitent I am for failing to observe your virtue?”

“Thanks,” Gren said. “I’ll pass.”

“Are you sure? I have one inside, with braided tails, that produces the most delightful marks on my back. I think you’ll find it rather satisfying.”

“How far is it?” I asked.

“Just inside. Won’t take but a minute. In fact, we can go inside, and I’ll remove my tunic –”

“No, I mean the palace. How long will it take us to get there?”

“Six days,” he said.

And six days back. And a stay in between. That was a long time to be away. “I shall have to make preparations.”

“I am already overdue in my mission. I was about to come in search of you, despite the warnings I have received about the dangers of the forest.”

“I am glad you did not,” I said. “Dozens of orcs entered the forest during the invasion, and they were never seen again by their compatriots.”

Harmodiel’s pale skin got a little paler. “Queen Maeve would be very upset if anything happened to me.”

“One doesn’t want to just lose an emissary,” I agreed. “Especially not one who was sommelier of the year twice. Even having him lose a few body parts would be a great loss.”

Harmodiel gulped. “I’m glad you see that. Truly you are a lady of great perception, but we already knew that from the magnificence of your art.”

“It’s not my painting.”

“What?”

“I didn’t paint it. It was painted by a guy named Botticelli, hundreds of years ago.”

Harmodiel shook his head. “It would have been discovered before now. And the technique is so original. You can’t even feel the texture of the paint, and the support is so thin!”

“Yes, yes. I didn’t do it.”

“Of course you did.”

“Nope.”

“We have a difference of opinion, I perceive,” Harmodiel said.

“We have a difference of fact, and I’m in position to know.”

“Be that as it may, and trusting completely in your forthrightness, for such beauty can surely consort only with truth in its purest form, I was not referring to a difference between me and you. You see, Queen Maeve insists that you are an artist, and as empowered as I might be, I do not have the power to dictate that her opinions are anything but what they are. That is why she wishes me to bring, not your paintings, but you, your esteemed self.”

“So what you are saying is that I need to come there and tell Queen Maeve personally.”

“That would be an approach,” Harmodiel conceded. “She has been known to change her mind on things. Sometimes.”

Well, that didn’t sound so bad. Besides, I had an idea. Was it a good idea? I wasn’t sure, but I thought it would work, and getting in good with the elves seemed like a good idea.

“Give me a couple of days, and I’ll come with you.”

“If you would make it one, I would regard it as a personal favor,” Harmodiel said.

I shrugged. “It’ll likely be two.”

“I have some excellent vintages that I might share with you,” Harmodiel offered. “If you were to be quicker.”

“I’ll be as fast as I can. There are things that rely on my attention personally, and I can’t just drop them.”

“Abby is a Queen, herself,” Gren said.

Harmodiel frowned, and then bowed. “Your majesty,” he said. “Still, I would venture to reward you for all deliberate haste, both for my own sake and because it would please her most royal majesty, Queen Maeve.”

I got the message. I could be a queen, but Queen Maeve was the queen. She was queenier.

“I’ll do what I can,” I told him.