The day passed in a blur of careful preparation and strategic planning. After meeting with the weaponsmith, Corvus and I visited various merchants to replenish our supplies.
Our meeting with Natalya at the Angels’ Mark proved particularly productive. The guild mistress had already set her plans in motion, positioning her people throughout the city for the coordinated distractions we’d discussed. She also provided us with a special powder that, when just a dash is mixed with wine, would cause severe but temporary illness—perfect for creating the diversion we needed.
The rest of the afternoon was spent reviewing maps and finalizing escape routes. We memorized every detail of the mansion’s layout, marking potential choke points and identifying alternate paths in case our primary route was compromised.
As the sun began its descent towards the horizon, Corvus and I made our final preparations at the Silver Crown. I donned my finest attire I’d bought from the tailor earlier that day—a black velvet doublet with silver threading, matching pants, and polished boots. Beneath the elegant clothing, I wore my Darkweaver’s Embrace, the enchanted light armor fitting smoothly under the formal wear without betraying its presence. The Twins of Twilight were sheathed and strapped to the sides of my leather pants, carefully concealed beneath my formal trousers.
Corvus had temporarily exchanged his bulky, blackguard half-plate for lighter padded armor beneath his evening attire, since his regular protection would have been too conspicuous for this infiltration. He also entrusted his sword to Natalya for safekeeping, since he couldn’t very well carry it around at the gathering. She would deliver it to Ramon, who would hold onto it until we met his group at the rendezvous point.
Now, as the setting sun painted Ebonheart’s sky in deep purples and crimsons, we navigated through the streets towards the magistrate’s mansion. Already, I saw other distinguished guests en route—nobles in fine silks, merchants in expensive brocade, guild leaders wearing their ceremonial medals. The city council members stood out in their distinctive crimson robes, and their chains of office glinting in the evening light. All of Ebonheart’s elite were converging in one place tonight.
“Remember,” Corvus said quietly while we walked, “once we’re inside, I’ll be hindered. Whatever power the magistrate wields, it interferes with my connection to my crows.”
I glanced at his favorite crow, who was perched on his shoulder. The bird seemed unusually subdued, as if already expecting the separation of their bond.
Above us, the rest of Corvus’s murder of crows wheeled against the darkening sky, their black shapes cutting stark silhouettes against the sunset. They moved in coordinated patterns as they scanned the streets and rooftops around us, providing aerial reconnaissance while they still could.
“They will be of no use to me inside the mansion, so they will keep watch outside,” Corvus continued. He sent forth his favorite crow to join the others. “Even now, as we draw nearer to the mansion, I can feel their distress. I may not be able to communicate with them directly while inside, but they can still alert us to any external threats when we make our escape.”
I nodded, appreciating the tactical advantage his birds provided, even if they were a little... intrusive sometimes.
“You’ll have to be my eyes in there, Caelum. I’ll be truly blind until we’re clear of the mansion’s wards.”
I watched a group of merchants pass by in their gaudy finery. “You still have four other perfectly working senses,” I reminded him. “But don’t worry. I won’t let you stumble into any potted plants or decorative statues.”
Corvus’s mouth twitched in a slight smile. “I’m more concerned about stumbling into traps or hellguards.”
As we approached the mansion, the security presence became immediately apparent. The iron gates were flanked by pairs of hellguards—imposing figures in crimson-tinted armor that seemed to absorb the dying sunlight. Their helmets were fashioned to resemble snarling, fiendish faces, and an aura of infernal power radiated from them in waves that made my dark veins pulse in response.
Beyond the gates, more guards patrolled the grounds in precise patterns. Some wore the typical livery of the city watch, but I noticed others moving with the practiced grace of professional killers—mercenaries hired to supplement the mansion’s defenses.
“Quite the welcoming party,” I muttered to Corvus.
His head tilted slightly, as though he were analyzing the sounds of movement around us. “Three different layers of security,” he observed quietly. “The hellguards at fixed positions, mercenaries patrolling the grounds, and the city watch maintaining the appearance of normalcy. The magistrate isn’t taking any chances.”
I studied their placement. “They’re creating overlapping fields of vision. No blind spots.”
“They’re expecting trouble.”
“And the magistrate is aware that we know, right?”
Corvus smirked. “You’re catching on. This endless back-and-forth game will not stop until he’s defeated.”
I rolled my eyes. “This endless back-and-forth game is making my head hurt.”
We joined the line of guests waiting to present their invitations. The hellguards checked each one meticulously, running their gauntleted hands over the papers. A soft, blue light emanated from their palms as they scanned the documents. I tensed slightly as we approached, but kept my expression neutral.
As we waited our turn, I noticed something peculiar about the other guests. Despite the hellguards’ intimidating presence, the nobles and merchants seemed completely at ease. Even more striking was their reaction—or lack thereof—to me and Corvus. Throughout our time in Ebonheart, most citizens had given us a wide berth, instinctively sensing the darkness we carried. Yet here, amongst the city’s elite, no one seemed alarmed by our presence.
“Strange,” I muttered to Corvus. “These people should be terrified of those hellguards, and us, for that matter. Yet they’re acting normally, as if this is just another social gathering.”
Corvus tilted his head thoughtfully. “Think about it, brother. These are Ebonheart’s most privileged citizens. They’ve likely been attending the magistrate’s gatherings for weeks, months—maybe years—however long he has been in power. Regular exposure to outside forces tends to dull one’s natural fear response.”
“But surely they can sense something wrong?”
“Oh, I’m sure they do. But wealth and power have a way of making people... selective about what they choose to acknowledge. Many of them have probably convinced themselves that the hellguards are simply elaborate decorations—costumes meant to showcase the magistrate’s wealth and influence. After all, admitting the truth would force them to question their own complicity.”
I watched a finely dressed merchant laugh at some joke as he passed between two hellguards, seemingly oblivious to the waves of infernal energy radiating from their armor. “Self-deception as a survival mechanism?”
“Precisely. Many mortals, including us humans, are remarkably adept at rationalizing away anything that threatens their comfortable worldview. These people have built their lives around the magistrate’s patronage. Questioning his nature would mean questioning everything they’ve gained under his rule.”
“And what about their lack of reaction to us?”
Corvus shrugged. “In their eyes, we’re just two more dark and dangerous things that the magistrate has brought into their world. They’ve learned to accept such presences as the price of prosperity.”
I considered this as we shuffled forward. The explanation made sense in a weird way. These were people who had learned to look past many moral compromises in pursuit of wealth and status. What was a little darkness in their midst compared to the comfort and privilege they enjoyed?
Our turn came at last, and I casually handed over our invitations. The hellguard ran their hand over the papers, and soft blue light emanated from the gauntlet as the invitations were scanned. Time slowed for just a moment. The magical glow pulsed brighter as it passed over the magistrate’s wax seal, indicating the invitations were genuine—or at least genuine enough to fool the hellguard’s enchanted detection. The hellguard handed the invitations back with a curt nod, and we proceeded through the gates and ascended the mansion’s broad steps.
The front doors stood wide open, spilling warm light and the sounds of conversation onto the marble steps. More hellguards flanked the entrance, their crimson armor reflecting the last rays of sunset.
Inside, the grand foyer had been transformed for the evening’s festivities. Crystal chandeliers cast rainbow-hued light across the polished marble floors, while garlands of exotic flowers draped the sweeping staircase. Servants in matching livery circulated with trays of wine and delicate hors d’oeuvres.
In a dimly lit corner of the grand hall, a small ensemble of bards provided gentle ambiance. A violinist drew her bow across the strings with practiced grace, while a flautist wove delicate melodies through the air. A third musician plucked softly at a lute, his fingers dancing across the frets with subtle skill. Their music was deliberately subdued—background decoration rather than a focal performance. To my relief, Evangeline wasn’t among them, but my concern for her grew as I wondered where she was at this moment and what she was doing. The performing bards’ faces seemed oddly vacant as they played, their movements almost mechanical, as if they were merely going through the motions rather than truly feeling the music.
“Focus, Caelum,” Corvus muttered, as though he’d sensed my mind drifting.
I clenched my jaw. “I am. Stop worrying about me. I know the prime objective and I’m prepared to carry it out completely.”
“Your cloaks, gentlemen?” A well-dressed attendant approached us with an expectant, yet slightly wary smile.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
I hesitated for a fraction of a second, conscious of my concealed weapons. But refusing would draw unwanted attention. I obliged the attendant’s request, unfastened my cloak, and handed it over. The Twins of Twilight remained safely hidden, secured in their sheaths and strapped against my thighs beneath my formal pants.
Corvus did the same, though I noticed how his hands lingered briefly on his cloak before releasing it. The attendant whisked our garments away to another room nearby.
“Quite the turnout,” I observed, scanning the growing crowd. The foyer was filling with Ebonheart’s elite, their jewelry and fine clothes creating a dazzling display of wealth and status.
“Indeed.” Corvus tilted his head slightly, no doubt using his enhanced senses to track movements and conversations around us. “It sounds like there’s just over a hundred people present.”
“Seems like it. I guess the magistrate has invited every person of influence in the city.”
“He only wants the very rich and very powerful. More higher-quality souls, more fuel.”
A servant approached with a tray of wine glasses. I selected two, handed one to Corvus, and pretended to sip from my own. The wine’s bouquet was exquisite, but I couldn’t risk dulling my senses tonight.
Corvus raised his glass to his nose and inhaled deeply. “Ah, Nightvale Red. A rare vintage from the southern provinces. Notes of blackberry and... something else I can’t quite place.”
I glanced at the deep crimson liquid in my glass. “I’ll take your word for it. Wine’s not really my expertise.”
“The magistrate spares no expense, it seems.” Corvus lowered his glass without drinking. “Though I find it interesting that he chose a wine known for its subtle narcotic properties.”
I nearly choked on my pretend sip. “What?”
“Nothing dangerous,” he assured me quietly. “But just enough to make the guests more... suggestible. Perfect for someone planning to harvest their souls later.”
I set my glass on a passing servant’s tray, grateful I hadn’t actually drunk any. “Charming. Any other surprises I should know about?”
“Just stay alert.” Another servant swept by and Corvus casually discarded his untouched glass on her tray. Then after sending her on her way with a curt nod and smile, he turned back to me. “Everything here is carefully chosen for a purpose, from the wine to the decor to the music.”
We moved through the crowd, maintaining the appearance of socializing while I observed security positions and guest movements. The hellguards were stationed at regular intervals along the walls, their crimson armor a stark contrast to the elegant decor. The mercenaries were more subtle, dressed as servants or guests, but their practiced movements gave them away to my trained eye.
“I count twenty-three guards in this room alone,” I muttered to Corvus.
He nodded once. “The ritual chamber will be even more heavily protected.”
“Assuming the magistrate keeps to his schedule...”
“He’ll have to. Fiends are bound by certain cosmic laws. The ritual must begin precisely at midnight, when the barriers between realms are thinnest.”
The guests meandered about, and the din of greetings rose to general chatter, laughter, and usual stuffy conversation that marked such formal gatherings. Yet beneath it all, I sensed an undercurrent of tension—a barely perceptible anxiety that suggested others might have noticed something wasn’t quite right. But, according to Corvus, the guests were prone to remain ignorant to such feelings.
“The magistrate hasn’t made an appearance yet,” I observed while I continued studying the room.
“He won’t until the timing is perfect.” Corvus’s voice carried a hint of grim amusement. “Everything about tonight is choreographed, remember? He’s probably watching from somewhere, making sure all his pieces are in place. All his actors have taken position on his grand stage.”
As if to punctuate his words, a subtle shift rippled through the crowd. The main doors had been closed, and I noticed additional hellguards taking up positions near every exit. The trap was being set, one careful step at a time.
“Shall we mingle?” I suggested, keeping my voice light for any who might be listening. “It would look suspicious if we simply stood here all evening.”
“Lead on, brother,” Corvus replied with equal casualness. “Though I warn you, my dancing skills are somewhat limited these days.”
I smiled despite the tension, appreciating his attempt at humor. We moved through the crowd, exchanging polite nods with other guests, occasionally stopping for brief conversations that revealed nothing of importance.
A servant approached, balancing a silver tray laden with elegant hors d’oeuvres. Delicate pastry shells filled with what appeared to be caviar and cream, tiny smoked quail eggs nestled in lettuce leaves, and paper-thin slices of cured meat rolled around spiced cheese.
I hesitated, remembering the drugged wine, but Corvus discreetly sniffed the air and gave a subtle nod.
“Ah, Kelmere Speckled Sturgeon caviar,” Corvus commented, his voice carrying just the right note of impressed surprise. “And is that Elligrim cheese? The magistrate certainly knows his delicacies.”
The servant beamed at his knowledge. “Indeed, sir. The cheese is aged in the deepest caves of the Elligrim Valley, where it develops its unique smoky flavor.”
I took two of the caviar-filled pastries and handed one to Corvus. The servant moved on, offering his tray to other guests.
“These are safe,” Corvus muttered once we were alone. “Probably the only things here that are.”
I took a bite. The pastry practically melted on my tongue. The caviar provided a perfect burst of salt and brine that complemented the rich cream. “Why would he serve safe food but tainted wine?”
“Think about it. A fiend’s nature demands certain... courtesies. Poisoning both food and drink would be too obvious, too crude. But more importantly, hunger and thirst operate differently in a mortal’s psyche. People are naturally more cautious about what they eat.
“But drink?” He gestured subtly towards the crowd. “Especially fine wine at a grand celebration? People’s guards are lower. They expect to feel somewhat altered by alcohol anyway, so they’re less likely to question any unusual effects. It’s the perfect cover for more sinister influences.”
“Clever.” I finished my pastry. “Though I still don’t understand why he’d serve anything safe at all.”
“Because that’s part of the game. Some guests will be suspicious and avoid the wine. Finding the food harmless will make them lower their guard, perhaps even reconsider their initial caution about the drinks. It’s a subtle manipulation—rewarding paranoia with safety, then using that very safety to encourage risk-taking.”
I was once again impressed by Corvus’s wisdom and deep understanding of fiendish psychology. The magistrate’s every action was a careful calculation, a move in an intricate game of influence and control.
A bell chimed softly, marking the twenty-first hour. The massive doors to the main ballroom swung open. Servants gestured for the guests to move through, and the crowd began to drift in that direction.
“We are being ushered into the ballroom,” I informed Corvus. Then I offered my arm to guide him.
“The actors have taken their places. Now the show begins.” He gripped my elbow lightly, and we joined the flow of people entering the ballroom.
The space was even more impressive than during our tour. Hundreds of candles in crystal holders cast a warm glow over the proceedings. The ceiling stretched high overhead, its frescoes seeming to move in the flickering light. Another troupe of bards was positioned on a raised platform at one end, their music growing slightly louder but still maintaining that strange, mechanical quality. Again, to my relief and slight concern, Evangeline wasn’t among them.
The gathering was officially underway, and somewhere in this magnificent trap, a fiend was preparing to transform an entire city into his dark domain.
“Three hours till midnight,” I whispered to Corvus. “We should start positioning ourselves for—” A movement above caught my attention, and I halted my thoughts.
A hush fell over the crowd. The magistrate, resplendent in robes of deep purple and gold, had appeared on the ornate balcony overlooking the grand ballroom. The marble railing before him was draped with cascading vines of white jasmine and blood-red roses, their petals seeming to glow in the crystalline light of the chandeliers. His commanding presence filled the entire chamber as he gazed down at his assembled guests, those striking violet eyes sweeping across the crowd with satisfaction. The sweet fragrance of the flowers drifted down to mingle with the perfumes and wines below, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that seemed to heighten the magistrate’s otherworldly allure.
“My honored guests,” his voice carried effortlessly through the space. “Welcome to what promises to be a truly memorable evening. Please, enjoy the refreshments, the music, and most importantly, each other’s company. Tonight is a celebration of Ebonheart’s finest citizens—those who have strengthened and elevated our city.”
The crowd applauded politely. I noticed how the magistrate’s gaze lingered on certain individuals, including a brief moment when his eyes met mine. A knowing smile played at the corners of his mouth before he continued his address.
“As the evening progresses, you will be treated to performances by some of our city’s most talented musicians. And at midnight...” He paused dramatically, “we have prepared something truly special. A performance that will transform how you see our beloved Ebonheart.”
His choice of words sent a chill down my spine. The double meaning was clear to those who knew his true intentions.
“Until then,” he concluded with an elegant gesture, “let the festivities begin.”
As the crowd resumed their socializing and the music swelled slightly, I leaned closer to Corvus. “He’s playing with us,” I muttered. “That speech was deliberately provocative.”
“Of course it was. He wants us to know that he is aware of our knowing. It’s all part of the game.”
“What manner of fiend is he? Do you know?”
“I’m not certain. But based on his mannerisms and methods, I suspect he’s a creature of considerable rank in the Infernal Realm. Maybe a binderfiend, or a masphroth. Both types enjoy these elaborate deceptions, these games within games.”
The magistrate disappeared behind a heavy velvet curtain in the balcony. Moments later, the ornate double doors of the grand ballroom swung open silently, and he made his entrance. His movements were graceful and deliberate as he glided through the sea of guests.
A servant approached us holding a silver tray laden with delicate glasses of white wine and artfully arranged hors d’oeuvres. I graciously took two glasses, handing one to Corvus, and helped myself to the selection of bite-sized delicacies. The food was exquisite—tiny pastries filled with seasoned meats, delicate cheese-stuffed mushrooms, and other delicacies that spoke of the magistrate’s refined tastes. As before, I left the wine untouched, and only held my glass for formality’s sake.
Corvus nibbled on his portion when he paused and turned his head slightly. “Lord Magistrate approaches,” he muttered to me.
As if on cue, I noticed the magistrate across the room, walking in our direction.
“My honored guests!” His melodious voice cut through the din of the other conversations as he approached us with open arms. His violet eyes sparkled with genuine warmth, though something darker lurked beneath the surface. “I’m so pleased you could join us this evening.” His purple and gold robes swirled elegantly as he moved, catching the light from the crystal chandeliers above.
“We wouldn’t miss such an... extraordinary gathering,” I replied carefully.
The magistrate beamed a perfect smile. “Indeed. I trust you’re finding everything to your satisfaction?”
“Quite lovely,” Corvus replied smoothly. “And the food is top-notch.”
He let out a jolly laugh. “You flatter me, my friend! But of course, one doesn’t need sight to recognize quality.”
“True quality reveals itself in many ways,” Corvus agreed, his tone carefully neutral.
The magistrate’s smile never wavered, but something sharp glinted in his violet eyes. “Indeed, it does. Speaking of quality...” He gestured towards the bards playing their mechanical melodies. “Our city’s performers have prepared something truly special for tonight.”
My jaw clenched slightly, but I maintained my composed expression. “We look forward to it. I’m sure it will be... transformative.”
“Oh, I guarantee it will be.” The magistrate’s voice carried a hint of dark amusement. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have other guests to attend to.” He added with a wink, “Enjoy the wine, gentlemen.”
As he glided away to mingle with other guests, Corvus leaned closer to me. “He’s toying with us.”
“Yeah,” I muttered, watching the magistrate’s elegant progress through the crowd. “Sometimes I wonder if he’s truly as confident as he appears, or if this is all an elaborate bluff.”
“That is what he is hoping we’d think, in order to cloud our judgement.” Corvus warned. “Assume he is bluffing. But also assume that he knows that we can see through his bluff. We can’t afford to let him goad us into a mistake.”
These endless notions and feelings of paranoia were making my head hurt again. “Either way, we need to start preparing. Midnight will come before we know it.”
Corvus nodded slightly. “Remember, once we make our move, there’s no turning back. The timing must be perfect.”
“I know.” I thought of Evangeline, wondering where in the mansion she was being kept, how she was preparing for whatever role the magistrate had planned for her.
But first, we had our own performance to deliver—and I wondered how many of these finely dressed guests would survive the night.