“What about with one of Shrawn’s kids?” Terian asked. “Seems like it could be fun—”
“You will not duel,” Guturan said again, and this time there was no mistaking the fury with which he said it. “Your father has given explicit instruction in this matter.” He straightened and continued in his leisurely orbit around the tub while one of the serving girls probed Terian with the brush in a manner that he had once paid a girl from Reikonos good money for. This time, though, he jumped, drawing Guturan’s gaze again. “Besides, all of Shrawn’s children are either too young or too old to duel with you. His eldest son in his current family is only sixteen and still in training at the Commonwealth of Arcanists; his elder two families with previous wives are all in their third century at youngest and also out of his line of succession—and thus unworthy of your time and effort.” Guturan leaned over the edge of the tub. “You have a purpose and these people are aimless curs. You will not duel. Are we clear?”
“Yes, Mother,” Terian said under his breath. Guturan’s eyes narrowed, but he did not comment.
When Guturan started his slow circling of the tub once more, he was silent for a few moments before speaking. His voice was much gentler this time. “Perhaps Mistress Kahlee will be there.”
“That’s not exactly a selling point for me, Guturan,” Terian said as the serving girl working on his front took the bristly brush far too low for his liking. “Augh!” He sent her a daggered look, which she ignored. “She essentially told me to throw myself into the Great Sea when last I met her in the square. Which I actually planned to do tonight, before you told me I was going to be forced to enter the Realm of Death instead.” He paused for effect. “Actually, the Realm of Death is probably less frigid.”
“You prefer physical combat to social gatherings?” Guturan said, and there was a hint of curiosity in the way he said it.
“By fathoms,” Terian said. “The threats are obvious in physical combat. In social combat here in Saekaj, I find the swords and daggers much less obvious but no less deadly.”
“True enough,” Guturan said, and he’d finally stopped his slow circling of the tub. “That’s enough scrubbing, I’d say.”
“Are you sure?” Terian asked. “Because I’ve still got some skin left on my—” The servant girl ran the brush between his legs drawing a sharp cry from him. “Oh, no, wait; there it went.”
Guturan stood there with a sly smile as two serving girls approached the edge of the tub in their drab, barely-dyed green dresses. “All this is mere preparation, heir of Lepos. For you are correct in your assessment of the social arena of our city.” His smile disappeared. “And the flaying you have received here is nothing compared to the one you will receive should you fail and disgrace the family in the eyes of your father.” The smile came back, but it was a smirk. “Develop thicker skin, m’lord Terian, because for this—and every one of these events for the rest of your life—you will need it.”
Chapter 23
The vek’tag carriage pulled along the wide loop of Shrawn manor’s entry road. The ride was smooth, Terian noted as he ran a gauntleted finger over the sharp points of his helm. He held it in hand, watching tentatively as the carriage crawled up the drive toward a portico that was growing closer outside his window. It was an affectation only the wealthy had; a protection against the drips that came inside a cave.
The smell of food and perfumes wafted through his window and happy chatter greeted his ears as he traced his fingers over the points of the helm. He sighed deeply, draining his lungs and leaving himself tired. His armor felt as if it weighed tons, the dread within him magnifying its heaviness by factors. He pulled his finger back from the sharp points of the armor, unable to take his eyes off the helm he had worn for more than half his life.
Is it really worth it? He shifted his gaze out the window as the carriage shuddered to a halt. Is any of this—these sacrifices, these impositions—worth it? What does it truly buy me?
The door to his carriage swung open as a servant appeared at his door. Terian took little notice of the stiff man in the long coat who held the door for him unblinking as Terian stepped out. He carefully placed the helm back on his head. He felt the weight of it increase, too, though he knew it was all in his mind.
He stood under the portico, looking across the sea of women in black with only the occasional spot of unfashionable white to break the monotony, and the men of Saekaj in the uniforms he knew belonged to the civilian oversight or the armor of the Saekaj Militia. A few, all of them younger men, were dressed as dandies. They wore long suit coats that were cut differently than the one worn by the servant holding the carriage door. Wooden buttons adorned their coats, and fancy hats were coupled with long dueling canes in their hands.
Terian watched two of the dandies clack their canes together before being scolded sharply by a man in military garb. It took little more than five words and a cross look to have them both blushing, deeply ashamed. He watched the scene with little interest as he threaded his way through the crowd to the front doors of Shrawn’s manor.
Everything was wood, opulence on full display. Shrawn has been in his position for much longer than Father has been in his, and the accumulation of wealth makes it obvious who is first in that department. Terian stepped into the room without fanfare. Some of the lesser noble houses had people to announce the entry of guests into their parties.
In the House of Dagonath Shrawn, if you needed to be announced, you were clearly too unimportant to be worthy of notice.
Terian paused in the door. He was in a foyer that stretched up a wide staircase. It was a pale imitation of the Grand Palace but made in the image of the Sovereign’s house and with his permission. Only Shrawn could possibly be so bold. The Sovereign would have denied anyone else—and by denied, I mean killed. The wood paneling alone was several fortunes, more gold and silver than most houses in Saekaj would see in ten generations. The view from the top is grand indeed, eh, Shrawn?
“Terian,” came a soothing, quiet voice from his left. He turned to see Dahveed grinning at him with a small aperitif in his hand. He made his way through the small crowd with lithe steps that kept him from so much as brushing the tightly knit conversational circles that filled the room.
“Come to save me, Dahveed?” Terian asked, taking his eyes off the healer to look around the small room. To his left there was a grand ballroom of mahogany and oak, filled to the brimming with people. No dancing was taking place, though surely that would come later.
“Perhaps I’ve come to save myself,” Dahveed said, slipping next to Terian and clasping a hand lightly on his shoulder. The faint smell of chicken wafted from the healer, whose long, dyed red hair was blazingly obvious in the midst of the sea of black and white and grey. “Apparently a lowborn healer is expected to attend these functions but fairly shunned when he actually shows up.”
“Even if that lowborn healer is the head of the Healers’ Union?” Terian asked, raising an eyebrow. “And one of the three most powerful spell casters in all Saekaj?”
Dahveed popped the appetizer into his mouth with a smile. “Few know that. It is a well-kept secret.”
“I wonder why?” Terian asked.
Dahveed shrugged lightly, clearly unconcerned. “Reasons of birth, I expect. I care not, so long as my privacy is protected. Imagine the toadying and currying of favor that would sweep my way if the truth were known. Why, I’d never be able to attend one of these functions again.”
“I have a hard time believing that would pain you overly much,” Terian said.
“Oh, but it would,” Dahveed said. “They serve the best food here.” He cracked a grin.
Terian couldn’t even manage a lackluster laugh for that one. “What am I expected to do here?”
“What is one expected to do at any party?” Dahveed asked. “Talk. Mingle. Perhaps dance if the opportunity presents itself.”
Terian froze. “Dance?”
“A strange con
cept, I know,” Dahveed said. “But you were raised in Saekaj, not Sovar, and have walked in the outside world. Surely you’re familiar with music and dancing.”
“Yes, I’m familiar with music and dancing, Dahveed,” Terian said with a frown. The healer smiled insufferably at him. “I didn’t know I was going to have to—”
“It’s a ball,” Dahveed said.
“It’s in Saekaj,” Terian said bitterly, “where music is largely outlawed because the echoing hurts the Sovereign’s ears or something.”
“This is the House of Shrawn,” Dahveed said, “where the ordinary rules do not apply because the Sovereign gives his grace leave to suspend them from time to time.”
“Well, damn,” Terian said.
“I wouldn’t worry about it, if I were you,” Dahveed said. Now he was smiling thinly. “Do you anticipate being asked to dance?”
Terian ran through the thought in his mind. The crowd moved in a flow, seeming to swell as conversational circles grew larger with the steady trickle of new arrivals. Perfumes hung as thick as the air of food, and Terian caught glimpses of a steady run of servants bringing more trays out to a long buffet table that took up a full wall of the ballroom. “No,” Terian said finally. “There are only five or six houses that would even be of a station to tender such an invitation to me, and only one I wouldn’t be able to refuse bluntly without insulting them.”
“The House of Shrawn, of course,” Dahveed said.
“Of course.”
“I believe his eldest daughter in his line of inheritance is only fifteen,” Dahveed said, “so you’re probably safe.”
“She’s sixteen, actually,” came a voice from behind them, “but I’ve already warned her away from you, so you need not worry.”
Terian turned at the deep voice, already knowing what he would find there. The speaker was a man who had been long familiar to him—indeed, his face was familiar to everyone in Saekaj and Sovar. He wore a suit unlike those sported by the dandies, and cut from an entirely different cloth than those worn by the civilian overseers of the city. He carried with him a cane that Terian knew for a fact was not used for anything so crude as striking another in a duel. His coat hung loose, and his belly fell over his belt.
“Dagonath Shrawn,” Terian said, bowing his head slightly. I should bow lower; this is probably an insult. But he couldn’t seem to make himself do it. “How lovely to see you again.”
Chapter 24
“Now, now, Terian,” Dagonath Shrawn said, his jowls hanging loose in an amused look, “I’ll forgive your rudeness because I’m certain you’ve been gone from Saekaj long enough to forget the little politenesses we expect here.”
“Yes, of course,” Terian said, almost atonally, “forgive me my rudeness. It’s been a while since I’ve been in company so polite as this; I’m much more used to fighting my way through dens of snakes rather than smiling my way through them.” Terian heard a sharp intake of breath from Dahveed and stifled a smile. This could be fun, I suppose.
Shrawn smiled. “Den of snakes? Why, and here I thought I was hosting a veredajh.” Shrawn’s smile grew broad as Terian felt his fade. “Although, if you are looking for an actual one of those, my boy, I would suggest talking to Lady Grensmyth. I’m told she has a circle of servants willing to debase themselves in quite spectacular ways to afford her, her husband, and whatever manservant they have an interest in that week a filling for their more perverse appetites.”
Terian felt the chill. “You’re awfully bold essentially admitting to the Heir of the House Lepos that you have spies right under his nose.”
“Lad,” Shrawn said, “I have spies everywhere, not just under your nose. I find it helpful to remind everyone from time to time that you cannot whisper a word in this city without it finding its way back to my ears. You’d do well to remember that in the future.”
“Or I could just dismiss all my servants,” Terian said, jaw tight. He’s so damned smug.
“And that would trouble me for the five minutes it would take to slip fifteen more in the next group you hired,” Shrawn said. He clapped Terian on the shoulder. “Come now, let’s talk about more pleasant things. I could scarcely believe it when I heard you’d returned to us. Leaving as you did, the rift with your father. Not many men have the mettle to come back after shrugging their responsibilities the way you did.” His face grew more satisfied. “It’s hard to step back on the path laid out for you after you’ve veered so badly off it.”
“Not as hard as you might think,” Terian said, trying to keep his jaw in place as though it were iron.
“Indeed,” Shrawn said, and Terian could feel his grip tighten on his shoulder as he leaned in. “Excellent work convincing Sert Engoch to give up everything he knew. And so quickly! The Sovereign is quite pleased, you know.”
“Well, you know,” Terian said, applying only the thinnest layer of sarcasm, “I work in the name of the Sovereign.”
“Truly,” Shrawn said, leaning back out. He was more mysterious now, though still self-satisfied. “Then perhaps you should go … pay your respects.”
Terian stopped short of rolling his eyes. “I wouldn’t trouble him by knocking on the door to his palace just to present my lowly self.”
“Nor should you,” Shrawn said, “under normal circumstances. Fortunately … tonight’s circumstances are not normal.”
Terian could feel the jaws of the trap closing, but he could not see the teeth of it. “I get the sense you’re pushing me toward a cliff’s edge, Shrawn, so why don’t you just cut the ground from beneath me and be done with it?”
Shrawn laughed lightly. “Is paying homage to the Sovereign of your land so dreadful a burden? Your protestations amuse me, true though they somewhat are. My, ah, lording over of you is entirely predicated on knowledge I have that you do not.”
“Obviously,” Terian said. Though it’s not really obvious because Shrawn is too busy being an officious prick to plainly say what he’s manipulating me towards. “If you want me to go to the palace, let me say this: I am not so far removed from Saekaj that I have forgotten all etiquette. For example, I do remember that those who knock upon those doors without invitation tend not to have a happy result laid upon them in return.”
“You misunderstand.” Shrawn gestured toward the back of the ballroom, where a shadowed alcove in the back corner was filled with an impenetrable darkness. Terian felt a slight shiver as he looked at it. “You need not go to the palace to pay homage to Master of Saekaj and Sovar.” Terian glanced back just in time to see the insufferable grin upon Shrawn’s face, magnified at what was probably his obvious discomfort, “for he is here, in this very room, watching us at this precise moment.”
Chapter 25
“Well, isn’t that a surprise,” Dahveed said, rather dryly to Terian’s ears. “Admittedly, I don’t know the Sovereign as well as others, but I had never thought parties an area of interest for him.”
“He is here at my invitation,” Shrawn said, a little too obsequiously. “Though of course his reasons are his own.”
Dahveed inclined his head. “Of course.”
Terian felt the faint dread he’d experienced earlier return in full, calamitous force. The smells of the food tables in the distance now seemed rotten to him, rancid, and the perfumes that had smelled somewhat appealing, bringing to mind the scented whores of Reikonos, were now foul and bitter. The hum of conversation was muted by the rushing sound of the blood in his ears and Terian had to steady himself.
“Lad, you look positively sick,” Shrawn said with great glee. “Go pay your respects to the Sovereign. I am certain that meeting you is one of the reasons he accepted my invitation, and wouldn’t it be a shame to disappoint him?”
“You think I’m going to embarrass myself, don’t you?” Terian said, feeling the anger replace his fear. “You’re steering me toward this sure that I’m going to cock it up somehow and make a disgrace of myself in front of the Sovereign.”
Shrawn laughed. “I think I’ve known you since you were a child. I think I’ve watched you since you were a suckling babe. I think I know you better than you know yourself, and I think your house is so desperate for an heir that if you had failed to return they’d have dressed a shrieking, rabid vek’tag in your clothing in order to fill that gaping hole. I know not what will happen in the next few minutes, not to a certainty. But I know you, and your capacity for missteps and ill-spoken words, and I find favorable the odds that, given enough time with the Sovereign, you will bury yourself in a grave deep enough to push your entire house in behind you.” The corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk. “The real you—the one that’s been off the path for nearly twenty years—he never stays hidden for long because your bizarre conception of what’s right drives everything you do, and you have never learned to contain or restrict that foolishness.” Shrawn laughed lightly. “And it will bury you, eventually.”
Terian stood there, listening to Shrawn’s lengthy pronouncement. “You think you’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?”
Shrawn’s eyes were unblinking, but now the amusement faded into something much more … sinister. “I know you, and the path you’re on, and it tells me everything I need to know about where you’ll end up.” He bowed his head, lower than Terian had when he’d greeted him. “Enjoy the party, and don’t forget to pay respects to the Sovereign. He’s waiting.”
With that, Shrawn disappeared into the crowd as if he’d wisped into smoke and vanished. Terian caught a glimpse of him halfway across the room a moment later, glad-handing another guest and talking with a smile on his face that seemed wholly insincere.
“Well, now that you’ve drunkenly stumbled halfway into the Depths,” Dahveed said, “perhaps you should go greet the Sovereign and try to avoid going the rest of the way.”
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