Toren Daen

I adjusted my mask slightly, letting the dense metal settle across my face. The dark, dusky steel had a deep handprint over the forehead where Mawar had grabbed it, but besides that, it was nearly unrecognizable from what it had been before.

When I’d learned the Denoir ball was a masquerade, I’d considered what I would like to wear in attendance. And considering the long history I’d had with vicar’s masks, it was only appropriate I’d modify one to suit my needs.

The metal along the faceplate had been sculpted to a sharpened beak instead of a normal nose. After the damage Mawar had done to it, it only covered the highest part of my cheeks and nose, but that was okay. And best of all, it didn’t need face straps anymore. It stayed suctioned to my face by a light application of mana.

It wasn’t the most graceful of masks, but it had a quiet, menacing beauty that matched the rest of my outfit as well. I was wearing my maroon and orange vest again and was clothed in darker colors.

The banquet building was one of the largest I’d been in. Tall vertical windows gave a bare glimpse of the sunset outside, the colored glass casting the inside in a dark ambiance. The ceiling must have been five or six stories above my head, giving the entire area a lofty feel that displayed the grand elegance of the stone that held it aloft.

As the eminent musician for the event, I was situated slightly to the side of the large rectangular room. I stood on an area slightly above the rest of the floor as I played a soothing tune on my violin, amplifying the sound outward with my magic.

“Introducing Renton of Highblood Morthelm,” a voice said from a mana speaker. The doors at the front of the hall opened, revealing a familiar slightly pudgy man entering. His mask looked like the cutaway of an old Hellenic helmet in a deep black. The highbloods milling around gave the man cursory introductions and moved to speak to him in their small cliques.

The Denoir ball wasn’t just a ball. It was a social get-together for the highest in Alacryan culture. In fact, the ball part would only start later, once the sun was fully down. High in the stones above, Aurora’s songbird artifact observed each group critically.

Morthelm is giving most attendees neutral responses, my bond conveyed. He’s paying special attention to the Denoir faction, of course, but it seems to be out of respect for their hosting of the ball rather than political preference. Though Highlord Zachian Exeter seems to hold his attention more than the rest.

The political factions were quick to form as highbloods filtered in one by one. Corbett and Lenora were surrounded by staunch advocates and allies. Opposing them was a group centered around a few other highbloods, namely Patamoor, Seaworth, and Plainsrunner. And the other group of note milled near Highlord Exeter, clearly of a more neutral cast.

Though there were half a dozen more highblood groups milling about, it was Aurora’s keen eyes and ears that helped me dissect the political landscape shifting in real-time. Over the past half hour or so, the rich and wealthy of Alacrya had gradually filed in. I’d spotted several familiar faces, including Caera, Lenora, Corbett, and more. Surprisingly, I hadn’t gotten the opportunity to speak much, but that was clearly about to change.

I drew out one last note on my violin, exhaling as I left the semi-fugue state. A man with a blonde beard–nearly silver–stroked his chin. His mask had a bluish cast and seemed distinctly crystalline.

“Much has been said about your ability, Lord Daen,” the man said, an undercurrent of something in his tone. “If that is all you can display, I’m disappointed.”

As I did whenever I finished a song, I allowed my violin and bow to hover near my head under telekinetic control. “Highlord Uriel Frost,” I said, barely bowing to the head of Highblood Frost. “I’m afraid the main event hasn’t yet begun. I hope you understand if I’m reserving my skills for that time.”

“I can forgive some,” Uriel Frost said, looking at me with slight dismissiveness. “But it is custom for a Named Blood to bow in respect to his betters,” he said, clearly annoyed.

I tilted my head. “Pardon my words, Highlord Frost,” I said calmly, “but the last person to force me to bow was Mardeth of the Doctrination. And the second time we met, he failed at forcing it again.” My enhanced ears heard a spike of muttering around me as spies subtly monitoring me burst into conversation.

Uriel Frost’s nostrils flared. “My sons told me you were proud, but there is a thin line between pride and arrogance, Lord Daen. The Relictombs have given you a heightened sense of importance.”

I felt myself smile, thinking of the very, very obvious arrogance the Frost Twins had displayed. Maybe I was a bit arrogant, but here was a man throwing stones within a glass house. “I agree,” I said simply. “But arrogance with substance is ultimately well-earned pride.”

Another voice cut off Uriel before he could speak. “You’re arrogant,” Highlord Justul Patamoor said with an amusing twist of his lips, his posse of highblood lackeys trailing behind him. The center of attention in the ballroom was finally shifting. “You’re a rising star in Alacrya. You came from a no-name Named Blood in the backwater of Fiachra, and now you’ve managed a contract with Bloodstone Elixirs and are on the coattails of the Denoirs. But one must be careful, lest they make a mistake and fall to the bottom again. It’s happened to so many great talents over the centuries that it is practically clockwork.”

I oriented on Justul Patamoor. Before this ball, Renea Shorn had given me a preliminary rundown of who would be attending. And I had heard of Highblood Patamoor before. “I’ve made mistakes before,” I admitted to the man. “And I fully expect to make them again.” I traced a finger over the eyebrow of my mask. “Underneath this mask is a scar given to me by Darrin Ordin of the Unblooded Party. He would be more than happy to see me die a grisly death.”

Shock rippled through the Patamoor contingent, no doubt at the mention of the unblooded man who had bloodied them in a legal battle. Justul’s smile became more genuine at the opening I’d provided. “That man has a tendency to stick his nose where it doesn’t belong,” Lord Patamoor said, taking the bait. “And nipping at the feet of those higher than he. I sympathize with how he wronged you.”

My own smile took a predatory cast. “In the process of earning this scar,” I said, “I realized that every scar Darrin Ordin left in his wake was deserved,” I said, vouching for the man’s actions.

After all, Darrin Ordin was one of the best men I had ever known, even if he wished for me to burn at a pyre.

Justul’s smile fell in a slow, menacing droop, his eyes flashing darkly at my insinuation. “You are arrogant, Lord Daen,” he said. “A taste of fame and glory has numbed you to the realities of this world.”

Highlord Patamoor turned around with a swish, his long robes trailing behind him. Uriel Frost cradled a drink, watching the entire thing with narrowed eyes.

Corbett Denoir was the next to approach. Unlike the massively styled coverings everyone else wore, he had adorned a simple silver half-mask that highlighted his teal eyes. “Lord Toren Daen,” he greeted, bowing slightly in greeting. In response, I dipped a bit deeper than I had to Highlord Frost. The covert attention of half a hundred highbloods threaded around me, detectable in their intent.

“Highlord Denoir,” I said with a hint of genuine respect. I straightened. “I thank you for the opportunity to play to this crowd.”

Corbett, clearly expecting my lack of perceived respect, clasped me familiarly on the shoulder with a plastered smile. “There is no need for such formalities between us,” he said, making sure his voice could be heard. “Your partnership with Bloodstone Elixirs and the depth of your abilities has long assured me of where you stand,” he said, giving a jovial chuckle. “I’ve found myself lacking when Lady Renea Shorn snatched you up first. Tell me, how are you faring with my son on your ascents?”

He knows you will not give outright deference to him, Aurora said, So, to avoid appearing weak, he must outwardly display a different kind of relationship, my bond continued, able to sift through the political implications with far more speed than I. But I believe his question about the Artificer is genuine. He’s trying to play your mystery up to the Highbloods around. No longer will it be a question of, “Why does Highlord Denoir allow this disrespect?” Instead, it will become, “What makes the disrespect worth taking?”

I patted Highlord Denoir on the shoulder with similar familiarity. “Sevren is a powerful mage,” I said, playing the bit. “He’s saved my life many times on our ascents. His character is as strong as his magic.” I released my hand from Corbett’s shoulder.

Loosen your shoulders, Aurora said. And decrease the rigidity in your back. They will sense it.

Thanks, I thought, forcefully relaxing my posture.

Renton Morthelm took a position by my side, something that mildly surprised me. “You’ve caused waves in Fiachra, Lord Daen,” he said as he watched my hand leave Corbett’s shoulder. “How are you planning to rock the boat here?” He chanced a knowing look at Highlord Denoir. “I’m sure you’re aware of what you’ve brought to this ball, but Lord Daen’s… talents will surprise even you.”

Lord Morthelm locked eyes with me. His political strategy seemed passive at first glance: watching things play out and waiting to take a side, but after my last interaction with him after the concert, he’d appeared far more cautious.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Rock the boat?” Corbett said, smiling slightly, “Well, perhaps that’s what will happen tonight. Speaking of,” he said, giving me a nod before extricating himself from the small group.

I watched him grab a glass of some sort of wine from a nearby table. All eyes in the ballroom turned to him as he tapped a metal spoon against the edge of his glass. High, resonant notes spread throughout the entire room, cutting through any and all conversations. I felt the flash of mana in the air as it carried the note with supernatural precision.

Lenora swept in to stand by Corbett’s side like a natural, settling there like an extension of his arm. Her eyes burned into my own for an instant, but then it washed away as she assumed her role as Highlady Denoir.

Corbett waited until the conversation simmered down. “We’ve gathered here today to converse, drink, and discuss the times, as usual,” he said, his voice echoing out powerfully. “Many a time have we repeated this over and over. And it is always a joy to bring you all together. But today, Highblood Denoir would like to introduce you to something truly special.” He gauged the reaction of the slightly confused crowd. “Many of you have heard strange reports of a rising mage from the midden of Sehz Clar and his unique style of music. Highblood Denoir has gone to the lengths of inviting this master of the violin to entertain and awe us all as the opening act for our regular ball.”

Feeling my cue, I stepped forward, feeling the intent of the room settle over me like a blanket. I felt a sudden urge to cringe under the attention, but Aurora’s measuring brush against my mind allowed me to settle. My enhanced ears picked out many of the mutterings of the highbloods. Their skepticism. Irritation. And sometimes outright disgust for my position as ‘merely a Named Blood.’

Corbett nodded to me, giving me the stage. I took a deep breath.

“I would like to thank Highblood Denoir for this chance,” I said, allowing my voice to carry through the mana around us. “I have been a musician for a long, long time, but what I hope to show you is something that is utterly new. And even better, any mage among you can master this skill, regardless of your spellforms.” I turned my head, scanning through the crowd. Clearly, many were uncertain of what I was about to do. “Afterward, I’d be more than happy to answer questions about this skill.”

“Lord Daen,” a voice cut through the silence, “Many of us have heard of this music. In fact, some of us expected this outcome,” Justul Patamoor said with faux amazement. “But while I don’t doubt Lord Denoir’s hospitality,” he said, clearly doubting Lord Denoir’s hospitality, “I’ve heard that this technique of yours alters the minds of those who listen to it. And for a host to allow his guest’s minds to be intruded upon would be the greatest of sins.”

All around the ballroom, men and women muttered uncertainly, some looking at Corbett and Lenora uncertainly. I narrowed my eyes at Justul as he held aloft a small artifact. “This is a mind shield developed by Aensgar War Industries. It detects effects upon the mind and blocks them, and if it is truly harmful, reflects the effects back onto the attacker. It would be acceptable to use this, would it not?”

I knew about those devices. They detected formed spells, sensed their effects, then would amply and return the attack. If I were going to try and influence these people in any way, that artifact would theoretically mirror the effect back at me.

But the sensitivity was adjustable. It could be altered to reflect both the most dangerous of attacks or the barest of soothings, but there would be no way to prove that difference. Justul’s eyes flashed in silent victory. If that device went off because of my magic, Corbett’s reputation might never recover.

All eyes turned to Corbett, who suddenly seemed apprehensive. Was this some sort of subtle plot by Highlord Denoir to toy with their heads? But I was the one who spoke up next. “Of course it would,” I said, smiling more genuinely. I’d learned my lesson since my first concert in Fiachra. People would try and push back against what I showed. Try to discredit it. And that device would not protect them from reality. The Highlord Denoir looked at me with a flash of genuine fear, though he smoothed it over quickly.

Justul smiled maliciously. “Thank you,” he said, slipping the medallion under his shirt. He handed out a few more to his nearby compatriots, and as he did so, the mood in the ballroom suddenly became nervous. Many glanced at the door, and Corbett’s eyes had a pinch to them that told him he was more than worried. Justul was protected from a perceived threat, yet they were not.

Before anyone else could try and interrupt, I thrust my hands to the side, grabbing my violin and bow. I moved to the center display and then settled my instrument against my collar.

I looked over the gathered crowd, silently wondering what tied them all together. What was something that every single mage here would understand?

I drew out a slow note along my strings, settling into a peaceful, lavish tone. The ambient mana warped as I thought of my days with Norgan. The peace and security that I’d felt drove my arms onward. And these nobles certainly knew that peace in a sense as well. After all, wealth offered security. It granted opportunity and comfort.

The entirety of the ballroom immediately fell into uncertain shock as my music spread through the room, the brilliant notes reverberating in the acoustic halls. The stones themselves drank in my music, the long banquet hall vibrating with life. The dusklight streaming through the stained glass windows seemed somehow warmer. I felt the mana of nearly everyone present slowly move toward synchronization.

Each person here knew the lavish life. Theirs was luxury and wealth; power and persona. Maybe I couldn’t emulate the source of that surety perfectly, but I could project the emotion itself. It took time for some of these people to truly immerse themselves in the effects, their initial wariness blocking out the possibilities. But as more and more eyes became transfixed and Justul’s artifact failed to go off, more and more loosened their restraint.

But underneath it all, something more sinister trailed. The certainty that it could all be taken away. One’s wealth, family, their legacy–that ominous undertone slowly grew in the background as the dominant notes professed relaxation and warmth. Dramatic stings of near-misses and close counters excited the heartbeats of my audience, each quick rise in tempo a potential end. Maybe a lost business deal. A failed Relictombs ascent. Or maybe the erasure of one’s house entirely.

Highlord Morthelm’s eyes flashed as the light dimmed further. Where before there was only warmth and surety in the light streaming through the windows, now only the tall lighting artifacts that cast a glow from on high remained. And that light was dark and ominous. The unknown lurked beyond it, waiting with baited claws. Lenora clutched Corbett’s arm tightly, her light knuckles becoming even paler as she gripped his sleeve with the force to tear straight through. Her face was flushed with something approaching fear.

Corbett’s jaw was clenched with a tightness that could break a diamond, his mask barely hiding his emotion. Similar reactions started to peek through the crowd as the tension built in dizzying crescendos.

After all, what was a highblood’s greatest fear? They feared a simple mistake that could bring all their work to the ground. The grand blunder was certainly scary, but the quick, unseen knife that spelled the end of a personal empire was like the bite of a spider. One might never know why their dynasty collapsed. Yet through the fear and discomfort these highbloods felt, they were compelled to see this song to conclusion.

I thought of Duena, the older woman suffering under the fists of Lawris Joan. The poor older woman was being beaten in the streets, with nobody to help her but a duo of brothers.

The Brothers Daen.

My notes came faster and faster as I replayed that fateful battle in my head. Sweat beaded on my temples as my breathing became uneven. My arms wanted to shake, but they would not. Even in the face of that remembered hell, I was always steady. A deadly martial duel played out in front of me, far too fast for the eyes of my past self to track. Blow by blow, my brother fought our old nemeses.

The flash of steel descended toward Norgan’s chest. I drew out the highest note I could manage.

And I stopped, heaving for breath as my sweaty palms nearly betrayed me. The ambient mana slowly settled down as I relinquished my hold on it, things dispersing back into their rightful place. My grip was so tight I feared I might crush the priceless instrument in my hands.

I scanned the crowd, feeling the flush in my face slowly diminish as sensation returned. Eyes filled with a strange mixture of fear and yearning stared back. They wanted more. To hear what happened after that abrupt cutoff. The final conclusion.

“That is the end,” I said tiredly. “All I can play for tonight,” I admitted, acknowledging the wrung-out towel that my emotions had become. I may have moved on in the wake of my brother’s death, but the scar would never stop aching.

I gauged the reaction of the silent room. And I knew it then. Despite every single man and woman wearing a mask, the emotions that simmered at the surface were the truest they could be. Justul Patamoor clenched his protective pendant angrily, the device having not reacted at all.

Corbett was the first to clap. His eyes still glared holes into my chest, his forearms taught with tension, but that tightness was unnaturally buried as his mask finally came back into place like a well-oiled lock.

I bowed more deeply as a smattering of applause echoed throughout. Where before I had gotten uncountable cheers, it seemed I had unnerved these nobles in a way too deep for simple clapping.

I opened my mouth to speak. To thank the Denoirs for allowing this first venue, when a rumble like rolling thunder struck my ears and made my body tremble. It started in my ears, rattled my skull, and then traveled like boiling liquid along my body and through my feet. I stood ramrod straight, my violin instantly forgotten as I flared my mana.

The mages around me shied away in shock as I pulsed with power, trying to identify the source of the sound. It came again, like the ringing of a gong. Yet I couldn’t seem to exactly pinpoint where it was coming from.

“Lord Daen,” Justul Patamoor said, recovering the fastest. “How dare you engage your mana in these–”

Another crash of thunder drowned out his words, leaving his mouth moving and me uncomprehending. Several mages began to move forward, revving their cores at the threat. Finally, some movement!

I looked at them in surprise. They weren’t preparing to face whatever was bearing down on this hall. They were treating me like I was a threat. Corbett was saying something, moving and waving his arms as he tried to settle the situation, but it felt inconsequential.

They couldn’t hear it, I realized as I ignored the outraged nobles at my blatant display of power. Fire and sound buzzed into existence around my fists as I stowed my violin in my dimension ring. Why not? Why can’t they hear it? It sounds like it’ll bring the entire fucking building down with each blow! Like this entire hall is a nail and a hammer keeps striking it!

By the skies, Aurora thought with alarm, her puppet flying down from the rafters and growing in size to the size of an eagle. It is your heartfire sense! I didn’t realize it because I do not share this sense with you, but this is the source!

My head snapped to the ballroom doors, tuning out the mages moving to surround me and drawing hidden weapons. That wasn’t thunder, I realized with horror, recognizing the truth in my bond’s words. That was a heartbeat, a monstrous heartfire thumping against my ears.

Nervous, shaky words echoed out over the loudspeaker, slicing through the growing threat of combat. As each syllable was painfully annunciated, like whoever was speaking was balancing on the barest of ledges. And as each word was spoken, the highbloods around me rippled with barely contained fear.

“Introducing the Head of the Doctrination, the Voice of the Sovereigns, The Reformer and Remaker,” a terrified voice said with terror, “High Vicar Varadoth!”