Bard to the Bone

by Cid Banks

“Did he?” She didn’t let go of my hand. “His gear isn’t that impressive.”

  Be charming. “You should see what I have underneath.”

  “Whoa.” Amy released me, giggling. “Feisty. I like it!”

  “I’ve got more where that came from, babe.”

  “Babe?” Her voice jumped an octave, but she was laughing. “Does that mean I should call you stud?”

  “Don’t mind him,” Faris said, rolling her eyes. “Making a fool out of himself is James’ specialty.”

  I glared at Faris. Cock-blocker.

  “Perhaps we should discuss tomorrow’s event.”

  Amy tore her gaze from me. “Well, Florian’s sparing no expense for his gala. He’s packing the place with steel. We’re scouting as much information as possible, but it’s difficult. Whole place is swimming with guards.”

  “Good thing I found this.” Cedric withdrew a decorative envelope. “The Mayor may have misplaced his invitation.”

  “Oh, this is awesome!” Amy gripped the invitation, wide-eyed with delight. “Great work, Cedric.”

  Warmth blazed between the pair. Jealousy stirred in my guts for their camaraderie. The heroic rebel leader deserved a sexy NPC girlfriend, but damn it, I wanted a hot girl dangling by my side.

  Cedric turned to me. “The Count of Duskholt, Florian, is hosting a lavish party. He has hundreds of soldiers garrisoned at the fort. Our mission is to break into the fort and steal the treasury. Security will be stretched thin during the party. This might be our last opportunity for a while. One might call it a golden opportunity.”

  “Nice.” Amy rolled her eyes as Cedric sniggered. She continued where he’d left off. “This will break the Storm King’s grip on the Golden Highlands. With the treasury depleted, Florian won’t be able to afford his mercenaries. They’ll abandon their posts. Florian’s gold keeps the southern lands controlled by the Storm King,” she said, excited. “God, this might liberate the south!”

  “I wish we had more volunteers, but we can’t delay,” Cedric said.

  Amy bit her lip. “How many?”

  “Two dozen.” Cedric seemed unconcerned. “Ready to go at a moment’s notice.”

  The odds seemed terrible, but Amy nodded with grim resignation. She uncorked a flask from her hip and poured them a drink. “Let’s drink to the heist.”

  “Your heist.” Cedric raised the glass to his lips, smiling. “I added a few details, but you’re the one who deserves the credit.”

  “I’ll demand credit when we gut the motherfucker.” She slammed back the drink, suddenly ferocious. “He’ll be dead!”

  A thrill ran down my spine. “What’s my role in this, exactly?”

  Cedric stroked his beard. “We need someone with a silver tongue.”

  “He means a liar,” Amy interjected. “Someone who can charm the pants off the hoity-toity guests and help us break into the safe. Three people have keys to the safe. We need to convince one of them to hand it over.”

  “How? I only know a handful of songs, and most of them are useless.”

  “We need someone who can ooze charm.” Cedric patted my shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Don’t worry. Amy, could you show him to his bedroll?”

  “Sure thing.” Amy beamed. “Later.”

  “But, I can’t—”

  Amy took my arm and yanked me from the tent. My protests fizzed as she slid her body against mine.

  “I’m counting on you, James.” Her emerald gaze danced as she squeezed my side. “Believe in yourself, and you’ll do great.”

  “How am I supposed to do that?” My cheeks flushed. “You haven’t told me what the plan is.”

  Her saucy grin carved dimples into her cheeks. “All you have to do is be a smooth talker. You can do that.”

  “I’m—I’m not that good at it.”

  “You were doing fine a moment ago.” Amy’s fingers tiptoed down my chest, blazing a path to my waist. “Just be yourself.”

  I couldn’t think. It was hard to string together a coherent sentence with Amy’s hands at my waist. She grinned, dragging me to a large campfire where crafters worked. Firelight danced across Amy’s pale skin as she retrieved a bedroll from the cart. She handed it to me as I opened her character menu.

  Amy

  Level 9 Warrior

  HP: 56/56

  Strength: 14 Reflex: 8 Willpower: 3 Charisma: 7

  Traits: Gregarious, [unknown]

  Relationship: Cordial

  I accepted the roll. “Thanks.”

  “Yep.” Amy sat against the cart, folding her arms. “So what made you join the rebellion?”

  “I wanted to live.”

  Amy studied me, lips sagging into a frown. “That’s it?”

  Lying to her wouldn’t make her like me. “I sympathize with the cause, but I have problems of my own.” I bit my lip, wondering how to phrase my dilemma. “I’m trying to reach the Ancient Isle. It’s crucial I get there.”

  “I see.” She sounded disappointed.

  “What about you? Why are you involved?”

  Amy stared at me blankly, as though she didn’t know to respond. It was probably a very personal question. Maybe it required too much existential thought for an NPC’s brain.

  “Sorry.” I changed the subject. “Never mind.”

  “What did you do to piss off the Cutthroat?”

  “Nothing major.” Patches of heat burned my cheeks. “I kind of…accidentally seduced his daughter.”

  “You are a bad boy, aren’t you?”

  “I didn’t mean to do it.” I groaned, wondering if every woman would be familiar with that story from now on. “My task was to steal something from the Cutthroat. They didn’t specify what, so…I stole her heart.”

  “Aah,” she said, comprehension dawning on her face. “That’s genius.”

  “You’re giving me too much credit,” I said, blushing. “Like I said, it was an accident.”

  “A couple of accidents like that tomorrow, and we’ll have this in the bag. Not every problem can be solved with violence.”

  “I tried fighting early on.” I grimaced, remembering the boglins. “It didn’t end well.”

  “You’re a lover, not a fighter. The world’s got to have both.” She slid off the cart and walked away, blowing me a kiss. “Goodnight, James.”

  Ten

  The plan was to gate-crash a party and steal a key. All I needed to do was find one of the three people and dazzle them with my charm.

  For that, I needed something special.

  “I’m not sure about this.”

  “No?” Amy chuckled at the object in my hand. “I can’t imagine why.”

  Adjusting my crotch during the character customization process was one thing. Adding an additional bulge between my legs pushed believable boundaries into absurdity, but Cedric insisted it was necessary.

  Fashionable Codpiece

  Level 1 Accessory

  This stylish accessory is worn to accentuate and support a man’s most private area. Charisma +1. Chance to successfully Seduce +25%. Reduces relationship with Humble, Chaste, and Shy characters.

  “I guess the bonuses are worth it.” I watched Amy slide a tantalizing finger over the bulge. “Wearing it seems incredibly…weird.”

  “Don’t be ashamed.” Amy chuckled. “Wear it proudly.”

  Turning away from her, I slipped the codpiece into my breeches. I winced as the fabric stretched over the softball-sized lump. “I look ridiculous.”

  “No way.”

  Her stifled giggles told me everything I needed to know. “It’s hard to act confident when it feels like there’s a baseball bat in my pants.”

  “You look hot,” Amy insisted. “And the bonuses might come in handy.”

  With the frock coat draped over my shoulders and the skin-tight breeches leaving little to the imagination, I felt the opposite of hot. My frilly collar was itchy, and the puffed sleeves were ridiculous. I looked like an extra on a poorly designed Renaissance show. Amy, on
the other hand, was gorgeous.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Not quite,” Amy said, finishing her makeup. “Perfect.”

  Smoky eyeshadow framed her piercing gaze. A light pink glossed her lips, which complemented her bold red dress. The open back exposed her smooth, pale skin all the way down to her back dimples. White flowers crept up the hem, all the way to her semi-sheer corset. A golden pendant hid in her cleavage, dragging my gaze no matter how many times Amy scolded me.

  She took my hand. I ached behind the codpiece. If only we didn’t have this damned side-quest.

  As we walked across the field of pink tulips, Amy repeated the plan. “Cedric and the others are in position. They should be able to meet us in the courtyard in a few hours. We have to get the key before then.”

  “Right.”

  My gut said it wouldn’t be easy. Game designers wouldn’t let the characters hand over the keys as a reward. The targets were all loyal subjects. I’d have to lower their defenses somehow. Picking a fight in a castle swarming with guards would be stupid. Like Amy said before, not every situation could be handled with violence.

  Florian’s mansion was a glowing candle in the darkness. Guests fluttered in and out the door like moths. Magical blue torches affixed to the white stone illuminated a fairy-tale castle. Four immense bastion towers stood at the four corners, topped with periwinkle-blue roofs. It was so massive that it looked like the skyline of a small town.

  Conjured balls of flame flickered at the mansion’s front gate, where a guard peered at each guest’s invitation before waving them through.

  Amy tightened her grip on my bicep as the guard, dressed in a frilly red-and-gold outfit, peered at a white envelope.

  I slipped the invitation from my breast pocket. This had to work, or we were all screwed.

  “Next.”

  The couple ahead walked through the gates. It was our turn.

  “If you please, Sir and Madam.” She took my invitation, gazing at its contents. “Mayor Wilson?”

  Inwardly, I cringed. Why hadn’t Cedric stolen from a less conspicuous person?

  “At your service.”

  Doubt filled the guard’s gaze as she looked me up and down, eyes widening at the codpiece.

  Just my fucking luck. I knew wearing it was a bad idea. Suddenly, a UI prompt floated in front of me.

  Persuasion Successful!

  “Apologies, Mr. Mayor.” Looking nervous, she waved us through with a deep bow. “The count will be so honored. Please, come in.”

  I walked, releasing a tight breath. “Did she change her mind after looking at my crotch?”

  Amy laughed into my neck when we cleared the gate. “I told you it was worth it.”

  We strolled amidst a sea of eccentric guests. Outlandish, gravity-defying hats perched on the women, who wore sweeping ball gowns that combined fashions from different eras. We entered the keep’s massive archway and were confronted with a double-spiral staircase. I climbed slowly, Amy hanging on my arm.

  We entered a circular room with white, eggshell walls and gold trim. A giant crystal chandelier bewitched with blue and pink lights acted as a medieval disco-ball over a dance floor. A cask poured an endless stream of red wine that spilled into wine glasses arranged in a towering pyramid. Blocks of sweating cheese, wedges of fruit, and charcuterie sat on shimmering silver plates. Petit fours surrounded a three-tiered dessert platter. Roast pork filled porcelain dishes. Tureens of rich gravy stood next to a bowl of mashed potatoes. Guests stabbed at the delicacies with silver forks. Steam rose from warm, brown buns. There were tarts. Cake.

  I wasn’t sure which I wanted more, Amy in her backless dress or the glistening chocolate cake.

  I tore my gaze from the treats. “What do you think the steward looks like?”

  “No idea.” She bit her lip, scanning the crowd. “He runs the castle, so he’s probably where all the action is.”

  We circled the keep, finding the dance floor that spiraled with multicolored lights. A string orchestra played music. “Maybe he’s here.”

  “The steward?” Amy grinned, beckoning me closer. “Only one way to find out.”

  Dancing was not my forte. Generally, I was too clumsy to avoid tripping on my date’s feet. I had zero rhythm, but my excellent reflex score might allow me to do things I couldn’t in real life.

  Amy’s smile emboldened me. I grabbed her waist and brought her into the multitude of revolving couples. We waltzed to the swelling violins. The music wasn’t a rock ballad, but it was nice. Any opportunity to dance with a girl like Amy was worth it.

  She beamed. My heart did backflips.

  “Nice moves, James.”

  “I never knew I had it in me.” Which was true, because I’d never waltzed before. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

  My eyes kept following the delicate chain wrapping around her neck that led to her cleavage.

  “Eyes up here, bard boy.” Amy was blushing. It was adorable. “We should be scoping the crowd.”

  “Don’t blame me. I’m just staying in character.” I pulled her against me.

  Amy gasped. “Are you excited?”

  “That’s just the codpiece.”

  I spun Amy down my arm. She twirled, her dress fanning like a rose. Amy’s reflex was 8. She’d probably smoke me in a dancing competition, but we made do. Faster and faster, we spun, ducked, and dipped. We even attempted that Patrick Swayze move from Dirty Dancing to vigorous applause.

  With a squeal of violins, the song faded. I pulled Amy upright as she laid a palm on my chest, her face flushed. “Look!”

  The crowd was applauding Amy and me, not the musicians.

  “I guess our dancing drew a crowd.”

  “Let’s be real.” I smiled at the spectators, searching for the steward. “Your dancing stole the show.”

  “Yes, indeed.” A young noble wearing an ornate vest over a white, puffy shirt approached us. “We were enchanted by your performance.”

  “Thank you,” Amy said.

  A catlike smile glided across his smooth face. “Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Ramsay, steward to this castle.”

  It was him.

  Ramsay the Steward

  Level 7 Nobleman

  HP: 21/21

  Traits: Proud, Lustful

  Relationship: Cordial

  “This is Angelique, the Lady of Canterbury.” I seized on the word, grasping wildly. “And I’m the Count of Gray Poupon.”

  Amy choked, but the steward merely frowned. “I have never heard of Gray Poupon.”

  Oh God. “Yes, well, it’s a rather new country—er—county in the southeast.”

  Persuasion Successful!

  “Oh, it must one of the townships brought to heel under His Majesty’s regime.” His smile thinned as he grasped my elbow in a surprisingly firm grip. “How exciting. How did you get in His Majesty’s good favor?”

  “This is a fabulous party!” Amy changed tack with lightning speed. “How did you manage to throw such a spectacular event?”

  “Thank you.” Ramsay beamed. “I come from a long line of stewards, so event-planning is practically in my lifeblood.”

  While the steward was distracted, he patted his breast pocket. The outline of a key flattened against the fabric. I had nowhere near the skill to pickpocket that.

  Damn.

  My attention snapped back to the conversation. I’d have to figure something else out. There were probably many ways to take the key. We could cause a distraction or lure him somewhere secluded. Amy and I could kick his ass.

  “Will you excuse us for a second?” I didn’t wait for the steward’s reply, dragging Amy well out of earshot.

  She looked scandalized. “What are you doing?”

  “We need a strategy,” I hissed. “Picking his pocket is completely out of the question.”

  “Well, we’re never going to get it by asking.” Amy pulled away, swearing. “Count of Gray Poupon? Are you mental?”

  “So
rry, it was the first thing that came to mind.”

  “Damn it! Now he’s talking to someone else.” She dragged me back toward him. “We’re not leaving until we get that key!”

  Ramsay the steward lifted a flute of bubbling, pink liquid to his lips as a baron eyed Amy, whispering something. The steward smiled and nodded.

  “Ah, lovely of you to rejoin us.” The steward brightened as Amy and I approached. “This is the Baron of Eastside. Baron, the Lady of Canterbury and the Count of Gray Poupon.”

  The baron, a portly man with grease stains on his shirt, shook our hands. “Oh? I’ve never heard of either.”

  “Gray Poupon was awarded a castle by His Majesty.” The steward watched the baron, unable to contain a shiver of disgust.

  “Sounds like codswallop to me.” The baron belched loudly, replacing his mug on a wooden table that looked expensive. “‘Scuse me, milday—I mean—milady.”

  “Are you going to use a napkin?”

  “What?” The baron blinked stupidly. “What’re you on about?”

  “Napkin,” Ramsay snapped. “That end table is a century-old antique.”

  “That ugly thing?” The baron sighed. “Fine.”

  Ramsay shook with barely contained fury as the baron slid a napkin under the glass. Ramsay struck me as a proud guy with a penchant for decorum. He was a stickler for the rules. We’d be unlikely to convince him to relinquish his key. The drunken baron had given me an idea.

  “How about a toast?” I grabbed several glasses from the table overflowing with drinks.

  “Give me that.” The baron ripped a flute from my hands, downing it in one gulp. Suddenly, he made a face. He spat it out, spraying the ground. “What is this rubbish?”

  “Never mind him,” I said, consoling Ramsay. “Let’s drink.”

  Negative status affects floated in my vision as I drank. The alcohol heated my blood. I grabbed two more glasses.

  “What about Miss Angelique?” Ramsay watched her with a great deal more interest. “Oh, you’re still on your first.”

  She was. As our glasses refilled, Amy’s stayed full.

  “Do you feel like your talents are appreciated in this castle?”