Toren Daen

My body tensed at Renea Shorn’s words. I spared Sevren a glance from the side of my eye, and from what I could see, he wasn’t reacting much better than me.

I looked at the owner of Bloodstone Elixirs, trying to measure my response. I hadn’t been prepared for this clash, and something about it felt distinctly confrontational.

I wished for the dozenth time that I had Aurora’s advice to guide me. “I’m afraid my friend and I, Sevren of Highblood Denoir,” I said, name-dropping the highblood heir to hopefully reassert my position, “Are waiting to get our accolades checked.” I paused. “Can this wait until we are finished?”

People around us shifted and stared at the mention of Highblood Denoir, but Renea seemed utterly unphased. She tilted her head slightly, observing the tense heir to my side. “Lord Denoir,” she said smoothly. “Forgive me for not introducing myself to you first, as befits your station. But I have information that I believe Lord Daen would appreciate.”

Sevren narrowed his eyes. “I’ve heard much about you, Lady Shorn,” he said. “Even in the Central Dominion, your mercantile success is acknowledged. But Toren is correct. We need to get our accolades scanned.”

Dark eyes flicked back to me. “Understandable,” she said slowly and sympathetically. “But I come with an opportunity, Lord Daen, one that I think you would be remiss to pass up.”

“And what would that be?” I asked, feeling a bit of genuine curiosity at her hinting words.

Renea Shorn smiled slightly. Those pristine white teeth of hers, framed against the midnight black of her navy-streaked hair, looked like a light amidst the moonlit sky. “Your hometown has been struggling against the Vicar of Plague for several weeks now, hasn’t it?” she said, gaining my full attention. “I believe there is something I can do to fix that.”

—

I walked with Sevren Denoir amidst Renea Shorn’s escort retinue. Their lockstep march was perfect, and I wondered how much protection they truly were. Even though each of these guards had saved my life at one time, I felt imprisoned.

We were walking toward some sort of cafe or restaurant in the Relictombs, following Renea Shorn as she directed us to a supposedly secure meeting place.

“You shouldn’t have agreed to talk so quickly,” Sevren said from my side. “She was trying to get you to drop all we were doing. It gives more precedential power in whatever negotiation she’s got cooked up.”

I muffled Sevren’s words with sound magic, creating a small link between the two of us. I ground my teeth slightly, knowing he was right. “She knew what to say to get my attention,” I said. “I told you I have enemies, Sevren. Mardeth has been coating my home with his shadow for far too long, and I don’t have a way to get him out.”

Sevren gave me a look that I couldn’t read. “I wondered what could’ve damaged your dagger so badly,” he said. “If you’ve clashed with Mardeth before…” the young mage shook his head, his brilliant white locks swaying. “Regardless, I’d rather have Mardeth as a foe than Renea Shorn.”

That got my attention. The leader of Bloodstone Elixirs didn’t ooze power like Mardeth or command your attention as his killing intent required. Instead, facing her felt like squaring off against a snake in the grass. But surely Mardeth was a worse foe. “Why do you think that?” I asked, wanting to know more. My knowledge of the woman was sparse and mottled. Sevren Denoir, being privy to highborn circles, probably knew more than me.

“When I said her exploits are famed, that wasn’t an exaggeration,” he said. “She’s got branch stores of her potion company in nearly every major city in Alacrya. And their creation all followed a pattern: most of the would-be competition collapsed in on itself weeks before her own crew set up shop. I don’t have proof, but rumors abound that she sabotages potential enemies before they can stop her, then sets up her own business as a monopoly.” Sevren ground his teeth. “I’ll try and offer any assistance I can. But the majority of Highblood Denoir’s resources won’t be given to me without a good explanation.”

I frowned, turning to inspect the woman as she glided in front of me. She seemed to ignore the ground as a concept, instead floating over the stones as we navigated the higher-end parts of the Relictombs. I narrowed my eyes, trying to discern more about her mana signature.

I couldn’t sense it. That in and of itself wasn’t so rare: there were many mages I’d met with higher core purity than my own, but even then I got a sense of their mana in the first place.

Is she an unadorned? I questioned, feeling a bit of disbelief. But that doesn’t make sense. To get so high in Alacrya power structures without mana is impossible. Every device and interaction needs a drop of that energy.

Something occurred to me belatedly as I focused on my sixth sense. All around me, the heartbeats of our guards–audible to my lifeforce senses–streamed into my head. Even Sevren Denoir had a steadily pulsing heartfire I could hear. But not Renea Shorn.

I had compared her earlier to the reaper in my head, but I found myself wondering as I realized I couldn’t sense her heartfire. She gave my senses as much information as a dead body would.

She must be wearing some sort of cloaking artifact, I realized. Something that hides her mana expertly and cloaks her heartbeat.

Renea Shorn peered over her shoulder at me, meeting my narrowed eyes with her dark ones. “I can feel your eyes boring holes into my back, Lord Daen,” she said lightly. “If you wish to ask me something, the worst I could do is refuse to respond.”

I paused for a moment, then forged ahead. “The cloaking artifact you wear is powerful,” I said after a moment. “I was wondering why you feel the need to hide yourself so thoroughly.”

The leader of Bloodstone Elixirs focused her attention back in front of us. “You have keen senses, Lord Daen,” she acknowledged. “Too many assume I am unadorned upon first meeting me. It is a useful strategy to shatter those expectations.”

I avoided a loose stone in our path as I contemplated Renea Shorn’s words. So she used it to garner false assumptions to destabilize negotiations? But from how the woman carried herself, that seemed patently false. She walked like someone with power. Even if I couldn’t sense her mana signature, I knew from her grace alone she was someone worthy of attention.

“I’m afraid I don’t believe that,” I said after a moment, “Considering how you present yourself, even without being able to sense your mana.”

“You are free to your opinions, Lord Daen,” the dark-haired woman responded smoothly.

Even if they are wrong, her lingering statement was left unsaid.

The cafe Renea led us to wasn’t as ostentatious as I was expecting. It was almost quaint, but the inside was polished and furnished with quality art with tall windows that let in the light in sweeping panoramas. It felt too casual for what the woman in front of me was leading toward.

Renea Shorn’s guards were instructed to patrol around the area, keeping watch for any who might try and spy on our conversation. Yet I could tell immediately that Renea Shorn simply wanted privacy.

Part of me felt disjointed sitting in this cafe. My body, though still mostly human, had accelerated healing from my djinni-phoenix roots and assimilated physique. Most of the bruises Darrin had given me had healed in the past few hours, but the deep cut over my brow was still obviously bandaged. And though I’d changed my clothes since descending, they were of a notably lesser quality than what either Sevren or Renea Shorn wore.

A waiting receptionist, clothed in high-quality garments that were tailored to appear casual, quickly and neatly led us to an open table. She sat us down, handing us menus to order from. I scrutinized mine with a raised brow, tapping my finger on the table in a nervous rhythm. At my side, Sevren kept his gaze sternly on our negotiating partner.

They do have pancakes in Alacrya, I noted with mild amusement as I looked over the menu. Though they call them ‘flatbread bakes.’ I think pancakes are more accurate.

Renea made a show of looking over the menu, letting Sevren’s intense stare wash over her like water off a duck’s back. She even sat with poise, her flowing dark dress not hampering her ability to maneuver in the slightest.

As I scrutinized the menu, I used the time it gave me to try and consolidate all I knew about the woman across from me. She was the owner of a megacorporation that distributed elixirs and magical enhancements all across Alacrya. She’d given Karsien the knowledge he lacked to actually start tracking down Dornar Joan as the target of his vengeance. Afterward, the woman gifted me Oath and Promise, though they had tracking spells imbued inside.

And once I’d shattered those, I had to constantly ward off the mages she’d sent to follow me around and keep an eye on me. The last I’d seen of them was in the aftermath of my fight with Mardeth.

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She probably knows about that loss of mine against the Vicar of Plague, I thought, restraining a note of bitterness. I should expect her to bring it up.

“I enjoy this cafe,” Renea said, not taking her eyes from the menu, “For its unique atmosphere. Every other place in the Relictombs tries to appeal to every base ascender, or conversely, to the rich and powerful alone.” She slowly closed her menu, setting it down in front of her with hands that looked almost delicate. “But this quaint cafe doesn’t attempt to do any of these things. It recognizes that there is a niche to be filled: that of calming, warm relaxation. It does not follow the examples of others like sheep.”

“And yet you led us here like a shepherd with their sheep,” Sevren said slowly. “And I suspect you’ll try and do the same with your words for my friend Toren.”

Sevren’s words were measured, but there was an undercurrent of bluntness to each spoken. Renea raised a dark brow at his statement. “Friend?” she said, testing the word as if it were unfamiliar. “Forgive me, Lord Denoir, but from your reputation, I was led to believe you did not allow many close to you.”

Sevren spared me a glance. “That is correct,” he said in response. “But Toren is an exception. He’s proven himself to me more than once in his sincerity in the Relictombs.” The white-haired striker pushed away the menu in front of him. “Highblood Denoir will stand with him.”

I felt a flash of worry at Sevren’s promise. Though it was a bold declaration of his support, I wasn’t adept enough at negotiation to try and piece together all Renea Shorn might learn from it.

The woman in question looked mildly surprised at this. Not outright shock, but it seemed this was something she didn’t expect.

“You’ve taken noticeable measures for a while to track me,” I said, drawing the attention of both at the table. “Starting in the aftermath of my scuffle with the Joans.”

The woman smirked. “Scuffle is an understatement, don’t you think, Lord Daen? You wiped the Joans’ bloodline from the face of the continent, including nearly burning their entire estate to the ground.”

Sevren gave me a genuinely surprised look at that revelation, but I didn’t let it throw me. I may not have Aurora to guide my every sentence, but she’d given me tips and pointers on where I’d gone wrong in my past negotiations, namely my first interaction with Karsien. I could do this.

“We both know the circumstances around that were more complicated,” I said sternly. “And you say that as if you’re accusing me of something,” I started, “But the letter you sent congratulating me for the act painted a very different picture of your perspective.”

Renea Shorn’s lips parted. “Very true, Lord Daen. I am more than happy to see their ilk washed away. It was fortunate you did so.” She moved her menu away, allowing it to overlap Sevren’s. “And please, call me Lady Shorn.” The woman tapped a finger against the hardwood table. “Speaking of that letter, do you still carry my gift with you?”

I grunted. “They’ve never left my side, Lady Shorn,” I said, then reached a hand down to my waist. With a few movements, I unbuckled Oath’s sheath from my belt, then laid it on the table. The dark, rune-sketched scabbard seemed to drink in the light as it sat demurely on the wood. The silver swept hilt gleamed with the same pristine shine as the day I’d received it, and the symbol of Named Blood Daen shone from the pommel.

I’ll need to make some changes to that symbol soon, I thought as my eyes roved over the magnificent weapon. I’ve changed too much for it to match me perfectly. Sevren, seeming to understand what was happening, mirrored my actions, laying a sheathed Promise down beside it.

Lady Shorn picked up the sheathed saber, slowly drawing it from its scabbard. She held it evenly in her hand, the hilt seeming to fit her fingers perfectly despite the differences between the sizes of our hands. She inspected the edge, noting the chip in the metal where the blade had rebounded off the serpent’s core. She sheathed the blade again, allowing it to slide in without resistance. When she inspected Promise next, her brows furrowed at the marks Mardeth had left in the metal, but she made no comment.

“They are still fine weapons, even while tarnished,” she said, settling the dagger back onto the table. Sevren was quick to retrieve the blade. “Have you given them names?” Renea asked me.

“The saber is called Oath,” I said solemnly. “And the dagger Promise. I broke one of each before your gift.”

Sevren paused for a split second as he strapped Promise back to his belt, something I couldn’t read flashing over his teal eyes. Lady Shorn simply hummed. “Good names for such a pair of weapons. They have served you well, I hope? Their creation was expensive, even for one such as myself.”

I raised a brow, leaning back into my seat and crossing my arms. “Since I destroyed the tracking spells embedded into them, I’ve had no complaints with their effectiveness.”

The waitress chose that moment to return, asking us for our orders. Sevren declined anything, while I asked for a platter of ‘flatbread bakes’ to go. I kept my eyes trained on Renea Shorn as she asked for tea. When the waitress left, the leader of Bloodstone Elixirs reoriented on me.

“You broke through those spells surprisingly swiftly, Lord Daen,” she said primly. “You forced me to take more overt measures to keep an eye on you.”

I rolled my eyes. Renea clearly didn’t care that I took issue with being tracked, even after my rather blatant implications about it. “Do you know how many times I threatened the mages you sent after me?” I asked.

The woman smirked. Actually smirked. “Three times that I recall,” she said demurely. “And yet during none of those times did you actually follow through with the promised brutality.” She paused as the waitress delivered her a cup of steaming hot tea. Renea thanked the woman, then stirred the drink slowly. She lifted the cup to her lips, her eyes closing in an expression of bliss as she took measured sips.

“Though I highly doubt you could have followed through on your threats following what you experienced at the hands of the Vicar of Plague.”

Of course she knew about that, I thought, trying to leash my irritation. I didn’t do as good a job as I expected myself to, considering I glared daggers at the woman as she savored her tea with an expression of relaxation on her face.

She set her teacup down on its little plate with a soft clink. “Which brings us to our main topic of discussion,” she said, brushing a lock of midnight hair behind her ear. Her earrings sparkled, reflecting light. “I am going to push the Doctrination from East Fiachra for their unlawful treatment of civilians over these past few weeks.”

The surety with which Lady Shorn said the words took me aback. It wasn’t simply, “I will try to push them out,” or “I will dedicate resources to try and accomplish this task.” Renea Shorn was utterly sure of her ability to oust the state-backed church of Alacrya from a position. And she didn’t use political double-speak to mask that surety as I would expect.

It took me a minute to formulate a response, everything I knew about the woman bouncing around in my head. She was a merchant, wasn’t she? And with what she’d done for Aban and Vaelum in the aftermath of the raid on the Joans, sweeping them into her retinue?

I had a feeling I knew what this woman would ask for in return, but it was wiser to ask rather than assume.

“And what do you want from me?” I said slowly, looking the leader of Bloodstone Elixirs in the eyes as I did so. There was something deep and churning in her dark eyes that I tried to track back to its source, but it was too entrenched. Too embedded into the swirls of her pupils to try and pull apart.

Lady Shorn returned my stare unabashed, her own eyes digging into my own. “I wish for you to work for me, Toren Daen,” she said at last, which was exactly what I was expecting.

I sat back in my seat, crossing my arms and looking at the table as I considered. Sevren took the opportunity to speak up next as I thought.

“It would hardly be fair employment if you use the lives of the people he cares for as blackmail,” the Denoir heir said indignantly. “If need be, the Denoirs can exert some of their influence to pull Toren from this situation instead of your meddling hands.”

Renea Shorn was unphased by Sevren’s rebuttal. “And how do you expect your family to treat Lord Daen any differently?” she said, the words freezing the man to his seat. “It is true that I am manipulating the circumstances around me,” she said honestly, “But would the Denoirs not draw your ‘friend’ into a cage of their own in return for their assistance? Do you think you could offer their resources without strings attached?”

Lady Shorn leaned forward on the table, her eyes piercing the Denoir heir. “Toren Daen is special, is he not? What do you think your parents will do once they catch a note of his uniqueness?”

Sevren slumped in his seat, thoroughly admonished by the pale-skinned woman. I felt his lifeforce flare in tune with his rising heartbeat, the man clenching his fists angrily below the table.

“I provide a better option. Those who took steps to help Lord Daen,” she said, giving me a look, “All are more than satisfied with their current positions. They earn more money than they ever have. They are treated more fairly than anybody they’ve worked with before. And their future advancement is all but guaranteed by their work efforts.”

My first instinctual response was actually to accept the shrewd businesswoman’s offer. It was a simple solution to evict Mardeth from East Fiachra and drive him away. The people he had captured could be recovered with minimal losses, and that goal would be accomplished.

But I let myself think. Despite the benefits it offered and the positive end outcome of the action, I’d been too hasty in joining the Rats. I had good reasons to do so, but they were clouded over by my impulsive need to not be alone and get more information. Aurora had told me later that it would have been wiser to think it over more thoroughly.

But joining up with Bloodstone Elixirs was different from the Rats. The latter was a thieving company bound by a common purpose for the betterment of others. Bloodstone Elixirs was a corporate monopoly spreading concoctions that strengthened mages and entrenched the power structure already present.

Plus, under the umbrella of such a powerful force, would I have the freedom I needed to be an ascender? To show Sevren the truths I had promised? Or to grow in strength enough to eventually face Nico?

I knew the answer to that, and it was no. I needed every bit of time I could spare to allow myself to grow stronger, and working a regular job and keeping myself accountable to another was not on the table.

Further, my growth in strength had been exponential so far. Before I entered the Relictombs on my last ascent, I was sure the number of mages stronger than me across the world–not counting the asura–could be counted in three digits. After my Sculpting and eventual ascension to silver core, however? I was willing to bet that number would be under one hundred.

It might take a bit of time, but I was certain I’d be able to force Mardeth from my home with my strength of magic eventually, even if it would be difficult.

But a deeper part of me simply didn’t like how neatly Renea Shorn had corralled me into this position. She was a wise opportunist, spying a weakness and latching onto it like a predator. And I did not like that.

I finally looked up, my decision made. “I thank you for the offer,” I said evenly, “But I’m afraid I can’t accept.”