The party comes too soon. The lessons in the preceding week, for which bath time has been diminished in favour of added etiquette lessons, feel awkward in light of Alan’s overt refusal. I suppose it’s good to know where he stands on my Anar sacrifices, but it makes me wonder why he is putting so much effort into me if he disapproves of my actions.

Alan is too busy preparing to do today’s lessons though, which I take as a reprieve from the awkwardness. Temporary servants flood the house setting up decorations and high-powered magic lights (but not my mirror level ‘high powered’) in the ballroom from storage, and hired musicians bring in elaborate instruments–some magical. Odd that someone would bother enchanting an instrument, but I suppose they make unusual sounds that might not be possible with mundane ones.

Another good side of Alan being so distracted organizing everything is that I get to spend more time studying in the bath today, though that is rudely interrupted by the servants who tell me I have to get dressed several hours before the party even starts.

“Your party clothes are more elaborate, and we need time to do your hair,” they say.

They are disappointed when I just go with the first hairstyle they try out on me instead of going through the full range they had prepared. One of them tattles to Alan about me ‘not taking it seriously’, and so he comes in and does the hair himself. I’d swear revenge on the informant, but I know I’ll never remember them later, so I forego my wrath.

The hair styling is an awkward experience given our recent tensions, but I must admit the result is better… The process also helps with the tension despite myself.

Guests start arriving a few hours before dark and are ushered into the ballroom. I come down about an hour later so I don’t have to just be standing by Alan the entire time as he greets the sporadic first comers. He starts introducing me to various groups who all exchange names and pleasantries politely.

“So, you’re from Caethlon? Did you see any fighting?”

“Near Caethlon, on the border.” I correct a pudgy middle-aged man inhaling on a foul smoke billowing tube. “And no, not really. The rebels rarely crossed the border, and our territory is isolated. There were a few raiding parties, but nothing serious. We took care of them without much trouble. After all, the Monhals have been guarding the border for a hundred years. We know how to take care of things, when we must.” A prepared line that Alan says has the right level of martial bluster without making it seem like I’m too militant.

“Quite.” A thin man with a monocle says with clear sarcasm.

“Even if you didn’t see much fighting, surely you’ve heard things that we haven’t.” A woman with green hair says. “We hear rumours, but with it so far away we hardly know what to trust. Is it true the rebels performed cannibalism?”

“Oh, come on, you don’t believe those rumours.” The thin man says.

“No, it’s true.” I say, my mind going back to the particularly brutal second winter and the famine that followed. “The one consistent report was food scarcity. It wasn’t just the rebels, but civilians too. There were even reports of imperial soldiers eating civilians a few times.”

That last part was a brilliant move by Gebal. We burned down an isolated garrison town’s grain silo in a night raid, and then laid a siege to the town, intercepting all movement to and from. The soldiers, feeling desperate, started eating the civilians they were supposed to be protecting. It went on for nearly a week before we suddenly announced we were leaving.

The survivors fled and spread their story to whomever would listen, and resentment towards the empire grew. There were even a few small uprisings from it. The empire stemmed the damage by executing every soldier involved, which meant as many imperials died as if we had killed them all ourselves, but the story remains. In a hundred years when the next rebellion happens the story will still be there, spurring them on.

“Imperial soldiers eating civilians. What ghoulish jest. Shame on you young man for spreading such lies.” The thin man chides me.

“You speak to defend imperial honour, so I will ignore the slight to mine.” I say, proud that I remembered the exact phrasing Alan taught me. “The story is true. I know because an imperial missive spoke of the soldiers’ executions. The ‘Tambrook affair’ is what it called it. You should be able to find the case file by looking for that name. It happened around a year ago.”

“… Then I suppose I apologize for the slight. I meant no offence.” The thin man says.

“None taken, it was a grizzly event. I accept the apology.”

After that, conversation groups are much more tranquil. A young woman a few years older than me asks me to dance, which I do while trying not to show my nervousness. My enhanced coordination from the cat god and others helps somewhat, so I manage not to injure anyone. However, Alan only managed a few dance lessons, so I’m not a very graceful figure. There’s a slight fluster on the woman’s face as she constantly has to make up for my mistakes. I apologize, citing my provincial background, but no one else asks me to dance after that.

Pity, I think I enjoyed it, at least when I was getting it right.

Feeling a bit dejected, and very slightly embarrassed I begin wandering around, flitting through conversations and meandering through halls. I find a door open to a dimly lit room with several figures sitting around a table playing cards. Feeling it’ll be more relaxing than failing at dancing, I move to watch from the side.

I have difficulty making out the rules. It involves bluffing and incremental bets that are decided by the value of hands I have difficulty deciphering the rationale behind.

“Well, that’s me breaking even. I think I’ll quit now since my luck seems about to turn.” A woman in her early twenty speaks, getting up from the table.

“Aw, don’t be like that Mae, sit back down and let us win some real money off you.”

“Such an appealing argument,” she says ironically to the plump early thirties man who sat next to her.

“Aw well, I suppose that means we have another seat.” A short haired middle build woman in black with tinted lenses on her eyes says, looking up to the onlookers with little visible emotion. “Oh, I recognize you. You’re Alan’s cousin that he was introducing to everyone. Do you know how to play prim?”

I shake my head. “Never heard of it.”

“An excellent qualification!” The plump man says. “Have any coin?”

“Some… Three medium gold.” I say, referring to the coin I made selling spell grown medical herbs a few days ago.

“Well, what are you waiting for, sit down!” He says.

“Greg, don’t be a bully.” The leaving woman says.

“No, that’s alright. I’m more than happy to bet some, if you teach me the rules.”

She glances at me and then to the tinted glass woman. “You don’t mind if I help him with a few hands?” She asks.

“Not at all,” she says with unnerving indifference.

“I’ll run upstairs to grab my coin then.” I say, feeling a rush of excitement.

“No need.” The plump man says. “I’ll lend you some of mine. You’ll need to break them anyways if you don’t want to bet it all at once. Minimum bet is a large silver.” He says, taking coins from a valise and placing them in front of me until I have received 28 large silver and 5 small gold to equal the stated value of my wealth. “Just pay me back before you leave.”

I glance at the pile in front of me and notice it’s the smallest sum on the table. Not deterred, I take the cards dealt to me and calmly examine them.

“All right,” says Mae, “so this is a simple bluffing game. Everyone starts the round putting in the ante, which is a large silver. If someone has a winning hand then they can call, otherwise you go around betting more, passing or folding, until the final pass when everyone still in reveals and the highest valued hand wins. You can also discard any number of cards face up from your hand and draw that many each time it comes to you, though that obviously gives information to the others.”

“Yeah, I gathered all that. I’m just confused about the hand hierarchy.”

“It’s a little complex, but the general rule is harder to get hands beat easier ones.” She says before going over about a dozen hands and their descriptions.

“Enough talking, let’s play.” The plump man says, and we all ante into the pot.

I lose the first several rounds but play it safe with the bets per Mae’s advice. I don’t really feel anything at the losses since I know it’s just part of the process. There are six players including myself, so rationally I’m unlikely to win much more than one in six rounds, and overall victory comes from stemming losses. Though I get the sense my main competitors are the two that invited me (plump man and tinted woman) who seem to be winning more often than the others.

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The other three comprise of a man, and two whose gender I can’t make out, though I think only one is deliberate.

On the seventh round I win, giving me an immense sense of satisfaction, though I still haven’t made up for my losses. It’s hard to tell but it seems my emotional reaction to victory is different than the others. They seem to view victory as a thrill, but that response doesn’t come to me until the round after when I lose again.

It’s almost disturbing that my response to defeat is the same as theirs is to victory. If I was more cynical I’d draw a connection between this and my efforts in the insurgency, though that’s not really fair. It obviously has more to do with my new predilection for consuming coin. The bet isn’t the gamble for me. The gamble is life after I’ve thrown away my money and if I can survive. That’s the thrill.

But even with that realization it’s not that I try to lose. Victory might not be a thrill to me, but it is satisfying to prove myself. The act of winning is its own measure of my capacity to impact– more even than the coin won. Besides, the thrill of loss is muted by the knowledge that Alan seems to feel obligated to take care of me for some reason.

On reflection though this gives me an advantage over the others, since while I want to win, I don’t care if I lose. I don’t have the fear I sense in the others when I get a bad hand. Well, the others save for the woman in tinted glass. Like her, I feel calm, but focused.

My other advantage is my enhanced perception and coordination. I school my face with supernatural grace and examine their every quiver. The room’s dimness aids me too, since it’s no obstacle for the boon from the cat god stacked on top of what I’ve received from Anar, while they clearly lack the same ability. Thus, I’m able to observe at my leisure while they are reduced to a vague impression of their competitors.

I manage to win two rounds in a row, putting me ahead, when the fat man targets me. He has more money in his pile, so begins betting more than I can afford to lose. There are a few times I’m certain I have a better hand than him, but I haven’t got a full read on everyone else yet and so must eat the losses by folding out. Still, I manage to gain information on his mannerisms.

He's better at disguising his emotions than the others save than the tinted woman, though their approach differs. Rather than going for a still face he produces a flood of conflicting reactions for us to sift through. Still, I notice a twitch in the jowls when he’s bluffing.

I get a good hand and decide it’s time to counterattack before I start losing money. The tinted woman retracts strangely and folds early. I start raising and the others, having their piles somewhat depleted by the two, fold until it’s only me and the fat man… Greg, I think Mae said his name was.

“You’ve bet half your pile. You don’t think you can intimidate me do you?” He bluffs, clearly trying to get me to think he has something. The last pass of draws has finished and it’s time for the final bets. His jowls twitch, almost in a suspicious way, as if he’s doing it deliberately as some sort of multi-layered bluff. But it’s no use, I smell his fear.

“I don’t have an opinion on your intimidability.” I say, twitching an eye deliberately, but subtly, relying on my enhanced coordination to convince him I am trying for intimidation and am in over my head.

“Then I’ll raise to your ignorance of my inability to feel fear,” he says, bluffing twice.

“Raise and call,” I say, immediately placing my last bet and revealing my hand. His face goes slightly pale, and he reveals an inferior hand. The feeling I get as I scoop up my winnings this time isn’t just satisfaction, but almost that I’ve put the world into a better order. Or more crudely that I’ve put him in his place, with me on top.

The tinted woman simply smiles at my victory: It’s her turn.

Greg still has a bigger pile than mine, but it’s no longer so much bigger that he can afford to bully me. So, he stays back and watches my duel with the tinted woman, being satisfied with snatching small victories as we go along.

It’s much harder to read my new opponent, while it seems she has some ability to see past my coordinated expressions. I strain my every sense against her and realize she has similar enhancements to mine.

Strange that I only now realized that, since it was so easy to tell that the others lack enhancement. Or at least Greg has only a small boon aiding him while the others seem to have nothing. Part of me wants to chide them for coming into this competition unprepared, but they probably don’t view it as a way to make real money. Rather it’s just entertainment, the stakes too small for them to bother a god about it. Easy prey for Greg and the tinted woman, and maybe myself.

I don’t think she’s as enhanced as me, but she’s much more experienced, and my winnings begin to slowly drain into her pile. Still, I learn much against her, not much about her tendencies– she’s far too controlled for that–but about the game in general. Tactics and strategies.

I strain my senses for any clue. Building up hints again and again only to end in failure. Then I win a few hands. I think I’m beginning to hone in. Just a little longer and I’ll…

“Oh, there you are Malch.” Alan says walking into the room, just as I’m on the cusp of a breakthrough. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but do you mind if I talk to my nephew a bit?”

“Oh, come on Alan, give us a chance to earn our money back!” Greg says, jowls twitching with forced mirth.

Alan ignores him and looks directly to the tinted woman. “Viscount?”

The tinted ‘viscount’ smiles ominously. “By all means Alan, far be it from us to get in the way of family matters. We can play a few rounds without him.”

“Very gracious,” he says and takes me to the side to whisper harshly. “What are you doing?”

“…I’m gambling.”

“With what money?”

“The coin I earned from the herbs.”

“That’s nothing. First the shop and now this? It’s like being reckless with money is a goal for you. What would you do if they took everything you have and more?”

“I’d stop before then, but even then I would manage.”

“…Listen, I’m going to tell you a rule that I went through a great deal of trouble learning. Never gamble anything unless you have at least a large gold as a buffer.”

“Oh, come on Alan, you know you never kept to that rule!” Greg interrupts, as we are apparently talking louder than Alan thought. “I remember quite a few times in your youth that you got in a whole lot of trouble with your debts, and you managed. Let the kid live a little, it’s more fun when you’re betting it all.”

“Having my nephew avoid my failings is my duty as his uncle.” Alan retorts. “I would ask you to please not deliberately corrupt him.”

“Why? You want to do it yourself?” Greg laughs vulgarly.

It’s odd that Alan placed so much emphasis on me being his relative. I know he said he’d treat me like a real one, but I didn’t expect that he’d do it so energetically.

“… It hasn’t been that long since my duel with Lionel. Many people would rejoice at my return to the arenas.” Alan menaces over Greg, whose face goes instantly pale.

“Alan, it’s okay. I’ll stop.” I place my hand on his arm, feeling a sense of dread without understanding the implications of what’s happening. It’s odd for him to be so protective of me– to the point of him hinting at offering a dishonourable duel against one who is presumably not knighted. I feel confused, but also warm at him being so angry on my behalf, no one has ever been so for me.

Except maybe Gebal that one time in town. There were men who tried to rob me and Gebal recklessly killed them, causing us to have to force our way out of the walled settlement. Nothing here seems to remotely merit the same response.

Alan still holds his gaze, so I continue. “It’s past when I intended to stay up anyways. I’ll just take my earnings and go to bed, okay?”

He stares a brief second longer then shakes himself out of it with a smile. “Apologies, please forgive my outburst. My cousin is very dear to me you see, and I promised I’d look after her son while he’s here. You understand.”

It’s an effort not to gape at the smoothness of his lie, and the audacity of it. It only heightens the absurdity of his response. If a familial promise must be invoked to explain his intensity, then what could possibly motivate it for someone who actually has no relation to him at all? I certainly fail to see how it might further the cause.

“It’s quite alright Alan, family is important,” the viscount says cooly. “Though that does leave us down a player right when things were about to get interesting. Perhaps you would like to play a few hands?”

Alan stiffens slightly at the suggestion, but smiles and sits down. The stiffening is almost imperceptible, only noticeable with my enhanced perception, and my experience watching his face while sparring. That I noticed it at all is surely significant.

Unnerved by currents I do not understand, I hasten to grab my coin, return those lent to me by Greg and leave the room telling myself that Alan’s enhanced senses will make short work of them.

Mae follows me out. “You did well,” she says, “much better than I expected.”

I shrug. “Only about a thousand.”

She smirks. “Against the viscount, leaving with your shirt is doing well, and Greg is no slouch either.”

“The viscount is known as a skilled gambler then?” She nods. “Why?”

She laughs. “One night playing and you already think you’re the best.”

“No, I mean… she’s not that enhanced.”

“You could tell? I suspected you were enhanced too but I suppose that proves it. Are you a knight following in your uncle’s footsteps?”

I shake my head. “I’m a mage. My senses are a god thing.”

“Unexpected. It must be an intermediate boon if you lasted as long as you did. Congratulations on getting it so young.”

“Thanks.” I say, not wanting to correct her that technically the only boon I have right now is at basic. “Who is the viscount anyways. What’s her name?”

“Alan didn’t introduce you?” She asks and I shake no. “Well, I guess she has a habit of sneaking in even when she’s invited. Her name is Viscount Talia Monroe.”

“Is she not an imperial noble then?” I ask, noting the lack of ‘hal’ ending the last name as is typical for nobles throughout most of the empire.

“She is, legally at least. Her territory is in a client state in the north with very close ties to us. They’re notionally autonomous, but there are few real differences between them and a fully integrated kingdom. She’s afforded all the rights and privileges of any Arkothan noble of that rank.

“To answer your question about why she is so skilled though, it’s because she gambles like it’s her job. Supposedly she reinvests all of her money from her territory into improving it, building mines, roads and whatever else, living only off the coin she wins in games of chance.”

“Why?” I ask.

She shrugs. “The thrill, I suppose. I don’t get the sense that she’s one of those who feels guilty over her position of privilege.”

Perhaps we have a similar mindset then.

“Anyways,” she says, giving me a strange look, “I wanted to tell you to be careful. Viscount Monroe doesn’t hold grudges, but Greg does. He views losing coin as a personal slight, except to a few that he has acknowledged or is afraid of, and will lure you into higher stakes games to get it back and ruin you.”

“What house is he from?” I ask, wanting to learn about a potential enemy.

“None.” She says. “He’s a wealthy merchant commoner. He’s a bit of a rival to Alan actually, and I get the sense Alan only invites him to rub his nose in how successful business has been of late. Hince him being prone to slights, real or imaginary, especially from young nobles who are relatives to his rival. You besting him seemed personal, especially when you so obviously laid a trap for him.”

“… I see, thank you…” Tanyth said something about a rival merchant. She was going to give me another letter concerning him, but didn’t have time to write it before… well before she died I guess. It might not be the same person, but it seems he might fulfil the role either way. Though Alan has been helping more willingly than Tanyth seemed to think, it’s still good to know in case our relationship suddenly sours. “…I wasn’t aiming at him in particular, but he did seem to be aiming at me. He won’t view turnabout as fair play?”

“Not against him, never.”

I nod, grateful for the advice. “Well, Mae, was it?”

“Windhal. I’m the child of a baron like you.”

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, but I really must take my leave now.”

She nods. “I should be leaving too. I’m not really interested in the rumoured latter hours of a Linhal party… One last thing. Greg isn’t a noble, but he has noble ties. In particular he counts the Talhal family as a patron, so be careful of them. Good night.” She says, then walks away leaving my mind racing at the sudden connection to a suddenly less distant goal.