“Here we are,” Eztli says.

We are only half a kilometer from the citadel, which completely dominates the skyline. From the front, the citadel looks quite nice. A large hexagonal pyramid, decorated with symbols, and the occasional window. It stands out against the starry night sky, with the moonlight reflecting and forming intricate patterns.

It takes me a moment to realize that Eztli has no interest in the citadel and is pointing to a small building carved into the mountainside. A building that would appear identical to any other building if the words "Silver Dragon Inn" were not carved above the door. The letters glow a soft blue, barely contrasting with the blueish stone.

"Let us go inside, to my room, and I will explain the plan to you."

He enters, and I sheepishly follow. A reception desk is located right behind the door and is currently empty. Eztli walks past at a quick pace, talking down the stairs, another staircase, and a corridor. The hallways are strikingly similar to the one Marl lives in, with the same glowing ceiling. The only significant difference was the lack of beggars.

He enters a room on the left, and I follow. The room could not have looked more different from what I expected. There is a lovely fireplace in the corner with magical-looking blue flames. Two leather seats and a small table face the hearth. On the other side, there is a large bed with white sheets and a brown checkered blanket on top. A number of wooden closets have been built into the wall on the far side. There is a coat rack next to the door. The floor is carpeted in red and gold.

After closing the door, I clear my throat and glance at Eztli. “So, what's the plan?”

Eztli looks at me with a blank expression. His skin begins to shift and bubble. For a moment, it looks like it is boiling. And then, in a split second, it is over.

Eztli's appearance has completely changed. His skin is green and scaly, and his head resembles a snake rather than a human. He has two huge fangs and a forked tongue. His nose has disappeared, leaving only two gaping holes. Only the eyes have remained unchanged. I gasp at the sight.

“You are a Yuan-ti.” I gasp.

He ignores me and walks to the closet. He grabs a silver robe that is almost identical to the one he is currently wearing.

“Here is the plan.” Eztli says. “The citadel prison is located on the first floor. An ordinary door leads there, but do not be fooled. The prison is one of the best-protected rooms in the world."

He pauses for a moment before continuing. “Guards are not allowed inside the prison itself. They only patrol the gallery that leads there. But this does not mean it is undefended. It is outfitted with the most extensive network of protective and divination spells imaginable. Setting a single step inside will send a nationwide alert.”

“Those spells are also it’s weakness,” Eztli explains. "Not only can they all be bypassed by a simple amulet," he says, tossing me a golden one. "They are also notoriously fickle in general. Sometimes they randomly stop working. As a result, the crown has directed the mage guild's top mages to keep an eye on the spells and return immediately to recast or strengthen any that fail."

“Is that what the robe is for?” I ask as I put on the amulet.

He nods. “The robe is traditionally worn by high-ranking mages. We can walk right in. The mages use special rings to open the prison door, and hopefully the key ring your boyfriend gave us will be compatible. Nobody will blink an eye.

I scratch my neck. “He is not my boyfriend.”

He ignores my remark. “The prison itself has no cells. Prisoners are seated on magical pillars, also known as benches. If someone sits down, they become completely frozen, unable to move or cast magic. It makes escaping from the inside impossible, but for an outsider, breaking the spell is easy. We simply grab both targets and drag them from the pillars. "That will free them.”

He feels in his pocket and pulls out a giant white rag. “This is a portable hole. When placed on the floor, it connects to a pocket dimension, large enough to accommodate two people if we squeeze a little. There is roughly enough air for an hour. We put both of them in, walk out, to the city gates, and then release them both. Then we part ways, you with your target and me with mine. Any questions?”

I take a deep breath. "What if the ring doesn't...?" I start.

He interrupts me. “No need for questions. All you have to do is walk with me, press the ring against the door, assist me in inserting the target into the portable hole, and then walk out. Easy. If things go south, just stay close to me and do whatever I say."

I swallow. “Okay.”

“Now,” he continues. “There is one more thing. Only frost elves can join the mage guild, so I must disguise myself as one.” His skin begins to bubble and shift again, and a few moments later, he resembles the mirror image of a frost elf. Very light blue skin and long, wavy white hair.

"I do not think we have to disguise you." He says. "In the dark, you can pass for a frost elf."

Eztli crosses his arms and tosses me the robe. “Please change. You can keep your boots. The guild mages frequently wear fancy boots like that; you will blend right in."

An awkward silence hangs in the air as he continues to stare at me. After about a minute, he breaks the silence. "Well!" he exclaims, his voice tinged with impatience. "Will you change your dress or not?"

I sigh. "Could you please leave the room? Give me some privacy.”

He shakes his head. "Do you really believe I will let you out of my sight for a moment? After I told you my entire plan? Think again.”

I swallow. “I am not going to double-cross you or anything. I just want some privacy.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and mutters under his breath, “Frigging smoothskins and their weird hangups, I don’t have time for this.”

He reaches into his pocket and keeps whatever he just removed, palmed in his hand, out of my sight. He casually crumbles it between his fingertips. A strong smell of honey, similar to before, enters my nostrils, along with the sound of hissing snakes.

"I suggest you do not act like a prude and just change your clothes," he snaps at me.

I sigh and do as he asks, tossing my blue dress on the floor. I then grab the silver dress and slip into it. It is extremely tight, restricting my breathing, and the fabric feels harsh and coarse against my skin.

As I straighten the dress, I notice a large tear around my stomach, big enough to fit three fingers inside. I look down. There is a large, deep red stain surrounding the tear.

"Is that blood?” I ask.

He nods. “It is.”

"Did you stab the former owner of this dress?"

"Yes," he says, his expression devoid of emotion.

"Are they all right?" I ask.

“No they are dead.” He taps his foot. "Can we get going? We have to finish before dawn. Time is running out."

I. 7. The plan

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