A good bluff doesn’t stop after the words are spoken. You can’t just stand around, waiting to see if the mark will buy it. People are by and large more sensitive to desperation than any other emotion. It’s why it's so easy to pick out a panhandler from a distance regardless of how they’re dressed, or the little feeling you get right before someone tries to sell you something.

You have to follow through. Inhabit the lie. Wear it, like it’s a jacket you’ve owned for years.

The last thing I wanted was for this to turn to violence. Allowing Roderick to sense that would be a counter-intuitive and an amateur move. So, just for a moment, I let myself believe it too.

How would I take them, if I was the monster I was pretending to be?

Kill the caster. But not quickly. Roderick shared the conflicting priorities of being both the figurehead and a magic user. I didn’t have enough information to know whether Roderick’s men would care if he died, but the fact that they were all still here implied that they probably would. Openly assassinate a figurehead, and you create a martyr with a pissed off following. Maybe they crumble later, but later wasn’t helpful at the moment. Disable and render them impotent, and you create an exploitable weak point and split the opposition’s attention between the injured leader and the one pressing the attack.

was the first move. Roderick’s robes had sewn in golden bits of armor that protected his vitals, but his sleeves were mostly unprotected. If I could pin his source hand to the wooden deck chair, it would both render him useless and begin to sap his body heat, adding a ticking clock to the scenario. A shot to the wrist was an iffy proposition at the best of times, but with the increased accuracy of the ability and the static nature of my target it fell into the category of an acceptable risk.

Distance was off, though. Needed to be just a little closer to make the shot. I took a half-step in Roderick’s direction, disguising it as a pivot to face the two goons behind me.

They were a bigger problem. Both of them were sword and board types, not unlike Nick. The biggest differential was that there were two of them. They hadn’t drawn their weapons yet, but their hands were ready, fully prepared to draw. In the short time it would take me to pin Roderick to his throne, one-or-more would have already brought their weapons to bear.

As it had been demonstrated first hand, Nick’s biggest weakness was a solid flank. I needed to throw at them, and I had to miss, planting the knife behind and between them. A massive snarling wolf tearing at their backs would be more than sufficient to create an opening.

Depending on which of them had the misfortune of Talia’s attention, I could reposition myself, so the recalled knife struck whoever wasn’t in the process of being mauled, grab the burrowed knife as it made its way out and finish the job. Then it was simple as targeting the throat, or cephalic artery. They were both wearing bracers that only provided coverage to the outside of their forearms, leaving the inside covered with nothing more than a strap.

I was already in Bob’s head. From his behavior, I knew he would likely rush to Roderick first, overestimating how much time he had for me to deal with the other two. If I took too long, and he freed the Guild Leader, that would be an issue. There was the option of using Audrey to tie him up, but I had no intention of dragging this out.

Problem was, Bob was tall. His banded leathers looked tough, so it’d be awkward for me to get at his throat if his back was to me. A well-timed use of would motivate him to check the bolt-tip beneath the arm of the chair, to see if it was flared—smart on Bob’s part because if it wasn’t, it could be pulled out quickly without causing damage rather than broken.

Unfortunately for Bob, the bolt was flared. And the moment he bent down to look, or took a knee, I’d be ready.

Then, and only then, I’d kill the caster.

It wasn’t all perfect. I was trusting that Kinsley would get clear, and that given his appearance, Roderick wasn’t some sort of dual-specced melee casting hybrid. But those were small variables. Within the realm of acceptable deviation.

Fifteen, twenty seconds at most.

Tension left me, as I went over it again, and I realized something. It was actually doable. There was always a chance of some feat or special weapon screwing things up and forcing me to improvise, but barring that, I had a solid chance of taking them all off the board.

My face felt strange, and I realized I was smiling. The tension went out of my body leaving me with a relaxed feeling. My hand subconsciously reached towards my side as I mentally rehearsed movements of the draw. One of the goons nearly drew his sword before the other one stopped him, placing a hand on his arm.

Try it. See what happens.

I glanced over at Roderick, waiting for him to make his decision. I was so deep in focus, that when he licked his lips and spoke, I didn’t hear him. Still, no one moved.

“What was that?” I asked.

“… I apologize for the misunderstanding.” Roderick said. He grimaced when he spoke, as if repeating the words pained him. “We appreciate what the merchant’s guild has already done for the region. It would not be nearly as well-defended, and our Users and inhabitants as well-armed, were it not for Guild Master Kinsley’s benevolence and generosity. I think I speak for all of us when I say the consideration of a merger was premature. And poorly thought out.”

Still not completely buying it, I glanced over at Kinsley. Benevolent was, perhaps, the last word I would use to describe her.

Kinsley, still wearing the expression of a person who had walked into a room and discovered a bomb, recovered quickly. “Not going to lie, Rodrick, I’m kind of pissed you thought I was lying about my guild. Not the best foot to start a business relationship on.”

“Half my men are injured, the other half missing in action. It’s not been a day for clear heads.”

Kinsley walked up to him and planted herself there. “I understand. And considering the peak fucked-upedness happening in the last six hours, I’m going to cut you some slack. This is what we’re going to do. I’m going to pretend you didn’t intend to supplant me. It never happened.”

Roderick looked relieved at that, but Kinsley wasn’t done. “In return, you’re going to publicly pledge to support the Merchant’s Guild when this is all over. You will be a trendsetter, paving the way for other groups to do so. And you won’t be the only one. Word has spread. Several groups have already reached out to me. But you’ll be the first. We’re going to be such close allies that people will wonder if we’re related.”

Something about Kinsley’s tone, her cadence, caught my attention. A brief memory bubbled to the forefront of my mind. The two of us, sitting across a table from each other in the sweltering humidity of the abandoned warehouse, negotiating.

Maybe you talked to a friend, who talked to a friend, who eventually gave you my number. I let you know I couldn’t really pass as a pre-teen girl and take the test for you, but told you all the right things to say to Dad to get him to push it back.

I felt an odd swell of pride and bewilderment, as I recognized the tactic. Kinsley had less practice, but considering how she had only seen me do it once, it was impressive how quickly she’d picked up on it.

Roderick’s defeated expression changed, turning crafty and opportunistic. “Assuming we succeed in fortifying the receptacle? Making this temporary alliance permanent would be beneficial for both parties. I accept.” He stood and offered his hand to Kinsley. She shook it firmly.

Then immediately wheeled around and grabbed my sleeve abruptly to drag me away. “Give me a second to confer with my colleague, I’ll get back to you.” She called over her shoulder as she pulled me towards the house.

It was like watching a deliveryman fumble a fragile package at the last moment.

My heart hammered.