Toren Daen
I stood behind both Seris and Cylrit, my mind jumping with anxiety and my palms already sweaty. I had to restrain the urge to tap my foot as I waited impatiently for the tempus warp to be fully prepared.
Today was the day of the war summit. And as I stood in the depths of Scythe Seris’ estate about to be portalled toward the High Sovereign’s personal fortress, I couldn’t help but have second thoughts.
Aurora’s retreated from our bond, I thought, clenching my hands behind my back. Our tether is as cold and dark as it was the day Agrona saw me the first time. He shouldn’t be able to sense her.
I wore my standard crimson vest, dark gray leggings and boots contrasting the bright shirt I wore underneath. The sigil of Named Blood Daen stood out proudly on my chest, the blazing symbol quiet and steady, contrasting the beat of my own heart. I’d pulled my hair into a half-up, half-down style, the strawberry blonde locks neat and groomed for the occasion.
Cylrit looked the same as ever, his matte-black armor polished and clean as his white cape streamed behind him. His eyes faced forward, not sparing anything unnecessary attention. If he were seen by anyone else, I was sure they’d think him some sort of perfect sculpture. A statue made manifest.
Seris, however, had changed her own standard attire slightly. Her long, pearlescent hair draped loosely to her mid back like raindrops sliding down a pane of glass. She wore speckled lipstick that added flecks of bright purple to her lips, and deep eyeshadow made her dark eyes seem even darker. She wore a black battledress as always, but it seemed more sleek today. It bore fewer frills and accentuating lines across her form. She wore her fur mantle like armor, the dark material clinging to her neck.
The Scythe seemed dressed for war.
“It is an endless pit, is it not?” her silken voice suddenly said, breaking the tenuous line of my thoughts. “The anxiety before facing a coming battle.”
My back straightened as I exhaled a shudder. “I am afraid,” I admitted, my mind flashing back to the deep darkness of the Central Cathedral. “I worry that if I step into Taegrin Caelum, I will not walk out.”
Seris’ focus remained straight ahead on the anvil-shaped tempus warp. “Your fear is good, Lord Daen,” she said succinctly. “Never forget the fear you bear for the High Sovereign. It might not keep you alive, but it will keep you aware. You also cannot dismiss the attention you shall receive upon entering this summit.”
I swallowed heavily. I was going to meet the forerunners of Alacryan society. The Scythes were the pinnacle of power in this world, second only to the asura themselves. I also couldn’t forget the Retainers that would be there, carrying the will of their Scythes.
I tried to remember Aurora’s teachings. This wouldn’t just be a war summit. It would be entrenched in politics. “Who–what–do I have to watch out for?” I asked, steeling myself. I’d caused waves in Alacrya, especially as the Doctrination slowly crumbled in the wake of the Plaguefire Incursion and Varadoth’s execution. I had no doubt the Scythes would want to poke and prod at me.
“A good question, Lord Daen,” Seris acknowledged. “You will be a new face amidst the crowd. An anomaly many will seek to entice for their own reasons.” She paused. “Be wary of Scythe Melzri and Retainer Uto above all others. You rather soundly defeated Retainer Mawar, Melzri’s protege ‘daughter.’ That will attract negative attention. And while Scythe Dragoth presents himself as affable and boisterous, his Retainer is crass and brutal. Uto is a mouthpiece for Dragoth’s darker thoughts.” Seris met my eyes from over her shoulder. “Above all else, do not rise to provocation. No matter the words uttered.”
I forcefully stilled myself, controlling my breathing and heartbeat. “Thank you for your advice.”
In the absence of Aurora’s warm touch, my mind felt a brittle coldness. Yet Seris’ words gave me something to focus on; to ground me and give me direction in this upcoming summit. She was calm, collected, and knew precisely what she was doing. It helped center me in a way I did not expect.
“We are bound together in this,” Seris said nonchalantly, turning back to the tempus warp. “I will not allow you to be wrenched about by this continent’s politics.”
I felt a wry smirk tug at the edge of my mouth. “Only you get to wrench me around with politics, right?” I joked.
Seris did not turn back to me as a purple portal fizzed into existence before us. “You learn quickly,” she said, a rare note of amusement in her voice. “You are my piece alone to move across the board.”
I couldn’t tell how much of her statement was made in jest and which wasn’t–and that nearly served to send me back into spiraling anxiety as I remembered the danger of the woman in front of me as well.
Knives on all sides, I thought darkly. Step too far in any direction, and blood will be drawn by an unseen edge.
As Seris stepped through the portal, Cylrit and I followed suit.
We emerged into a massive courtyard. Immediately, I felt a slight chill blow in from the air, the massive crags of the Basilisk Fang Mountains cutting the air around us like the inhaling maw of a great beast. I knew what the mountains looked like on a map–and here, I felt that I was a gnat resting on the teeth of some continental god.
The open-air platform we arrived on had fanciful designs and intricate artwork of dark shadows and mana beasts etched into the stones. All around us, a garden filled with eerily pale flowers–each seeming to watch me like an eye–greeted any newcomers.
But a shadow was cast long and dark over the entire area. Before me, the large, dark walls of Taegrin Caelum blotted out the sun, casting an aura that chilled me even further. The jagged crenelations and sneering faces of gargoyles added to the ever-present sensation that I was being watched.
Without another word, Seris strode forward with the grace of water itself, gliding along the tiles beneath her feet. Cylrit followed not a beat later, his armored boots clanking on the stone. And finally, I picked up the rear, my neck turning so far I felt it would snap from how I tried to see everything at once.
“Keep your gaze forward, Spellsong,” Cylrit ordered coolly. “Do not present yourself as you are. You will bring disgrace to my master.”
Seris did not deny her Retainer’s words.
I settled myself, forcing my eyes to remain locked on the massive doors ahead as my core rumbled with trepidation. A few attendants in deep, dark robes bowed as Seris approached.
“Scythe Seris,” they intoned, lowering in perfect synchronization. “You are awaited in the Grand Audience Chamber.”
“Open the doors,” Seris ordered without a hint of inflection, barely acknowledging the servants.
The robed men–I couldn’t sense their cores, though their heartfire was deep and murky–simply nodded. As if on cue, the massive blood iron gates swung open like the jaws of a looming serpent. Inside, a hallway lined with lighting artifacts greeted us, not another soul in sight.
I tried to keep track of my surroundings as Seris led us dutifully through the maze that was Taegrin Caelum, but every turn seemed to lead to another hundred passageways that delved further into the mountains. I couldn’t help but feel that every step we took led me further down a dark ravine, one I would never escape. The light dwindled behind me as I trekked further into the monster’s den.
Our walk was silent as a grave as we finally reached a set of doors. My feel for mana and heartfire had been disjointed and uncertain all throughout the fortress, the different warding devices and cloaking implements messing with my senses. Thus, I was surprised when I felt the many powerful mana signatures beyond the door, each hitting me like a bludgeon.
I instinctively tensed as the Scythe of Sehz-Clar waved a hand forward, the doors parting like a sea.
A large room opened before us, shaped like an oblong semi-circle. Lighting artifacts bore hovering orbs of luminescence that illuminated the tall ceiling. A table of some sort of dark wood stretched down the middle of the room, clearly designed for meetings and planning.
Along the edges of the room, several couches and auxiliary chairs provided places to lounge and relax. I noticed several painted maps of Alacrya, Dicathen, and what I suspected was Epheotus along the black stone walls. Windows showed the far sky beyond, putting into perspective the true majesty of the fortress we resided in. Mounted all about in various places were what I suspected were war trophies. Scales of asuran creatures, potentially draconic in nature. The sunken head of a many-eyed being that I suspected was a pantheon. And a pearl that I couldn’t recognize.
And a headdress of phoenix feathers that made my blood boil.
But while I absorbed the state of the room with my subconscious mind, what truly demanded my attention were the people inside. I knew most from description alone, and further having seen illustrations and pictures of each in my research for this meeting. Yet their power–condensed and contained–still sent shivers up my spine.
Mardeth was a fool, part of me thought as I robotically followed Seris and Cylrit into the room, To think he had a chance at godhood. Not when the Scythes stood in his way.
I focused on the two points of interest first, remembering Seris’ earlier warning. My eyes tracked of their own accord to one side of the table, following one of the large sources of mana.
Scythe Melzri’s long white hair was lighter than I expected, and her skin was somehow even paler than that. Her twin sets of horns stood out starkly against her light attire, her less-than-conservative dress accented with dark stylized spikes. The Scythe was toying with her bone-white braid, wrapping it around her finger over and over. Mawar–the Retainer I’d both fought and traveled with–stood mutely behind her Scythe, wreathed in a darkness that almost seemed solid.
The Scythe of Etril was chatting animatedly about something with Scythe Viessa Vritra, who gave what could only be a fake smile as she nodded along, her deep purple locks swaying. I could just make out the stick-like figure of who I assumed to be Retainer Jagrette behind her, but a booming, boisterous voice cut through my observations.
“Ah, Seris has arrived!” a burly, barrel-chested behemoth of a man announced from where he lounged on a couch, practically taking up the entire thing with his size. His booming voice resonated in my very bones. “Welcome back to the home of the Sovereigns,” he said with a grin splitting his face in two, presenting a welcoming air.
From the ox-like horns protruding from the top of his bald head and his scruffy mane of a black beard, I knew the man to be Scythe Dragoth. But amidst all of the swirling hurricanes of power, I was able to deduce one thing from the intent.
Dragoth’s words had drawn both Viessa and Melzri’s attention to the door, focusing their gazes on Seris as she strode through. Yet while I could sense a surprising measure of Melzri’s surface-level emotions as she projected them into the mana–curiosity, annoyance, and a hint of something more–the brute of a Scythe didn’t show a hint of his thoughts as he lounged on the couch, the entire thing nearly buckling from his weight.
Not a brute, I thought, forcing my eyes away from Dragoth as I thought of The Beginning After the End. That’s a ruse. He’s far, far more dangerous than he lets others believe. He plays the affable, dull-witted act well. But he’s as much a thing of politics as the others, if not more.
“She’s finally here,” a grating voice echoed near Dragoth. A tall, hooded form radiated contained strength as they called out with a hint of a sneer. Their gray features leered at Seris with something twisted in their eyes, making something burn in my chest. “And she brought a special guest, too. Another pretty man,” Uto, Retainer of Vechor, said with a grating chuckle. “I wonder why she has two now!”
I tensed as the attention of half a dozen of the most powerful mages on the continent settled on me, but I’d decided to take my cues from Cylrit. He seemed entirely unphased by the attention we’d drawn as we slowly walked toward the table, his gait steady and even despite the pressure.
“Cylrit,” Seris said coolly, loud enough for most to hear. “Engage with Uto. You both are to lead the advance forces soon, and it would be wise for you two to be more acquainted.” She gave him a meaningful glance.
Cylrit bowed stiffly. “As you command, Scythe Seris.”
He turned, marching off toward where Dragoth and Uto were lounging. I noted Uto’s expression fall into irritation just as Cylrit blocked us from his view–likely on purpose. But when I met Dragoth’s glinting eyes, a terribly knowing smile still on his muscled features, I had to turn myself away.
And, predictably, Melzri began to saunter toward us, her hips swaying in a way that had to be intentional. Mawar followed mutely in tow. Melzri’s attention was on Seris as she approached, though I caught Mawar’s nervous glance in my direction.
“Sister,” Melzri said, her eyes narrowing into happy slits as she smiled. She carelessly tossed her long braid back over her shoulder, letting it stretch to the ground like a hangman’s noose. “I was wondering when you’d get here. You so rarely leave your little Dominion.”
Seris’ expression didn’t change, though she oriented slightly on the other Scythe. “Melzri,” she said in curt greeting. “I have had much to occupy my time as of late, though none of us can refuse a call from the High Sovereign.”
Melzri’s lips turned into something that was nearly a pout. “You should get out more, sister. All that lurking and scheming will make you age another century in no time.” She raised a hand, about to say something else, and then her eyes flicked to me. “Speaking of the things that have been occupying your time…”
I was momentarily caught in her aura, feeling like a rat stuck in a barrel of water as it bore down on me. But with a flex of my strength as I edged closer to my Acquire Phase, I was able to shrug off the worst of it. I felt my eyes flash as I rebuffed the intent.
“Sister,” Melzri said, “This pet of yours is Spellsong, isn’t he?” She narrowed her eyes hostilely at me, her mana redoubling. “This is a family meeting. Only our Father’s children should be here. Why is a nobody like him allowed in?”
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Seris’ gaze sharpened as I ground my teeth, holding mutely against the intent. I felt my lungs creak against my ribcage, the air itself oppressive. Behind the Scythe of Etril, Mawar shifted uncomfortably.
Don’t rise to provocation, I thought. Do not give them the opportunity to strike you.
But the next words Seris uttered seemed to take the light from the room. “Lord Agrona ordered me personally to bring Lord Toren Daen. He might not be a Retainer or Scythe, but he will nonetheless be present both for the war and this summit. Do well to remember such.” Her face twisted slightly. “And he is no pet.”
I felt the attention of the other Scythes as they peered at me, their curiosity clearly peaked by Seris’ words. Melzri’s intent simmered away as she looked at me, a tilt to her head that made her look almost childlike. “Well, if Father says so,” the pale-haired Scythe said, her earlier fury evaporating as if it were never there. I sensed as her discontent was swiftly replaced with piercing curiosity, like the flip of a light switch. So fast.
I restrained my surprise at how easy it was for me to pick apart Scythe Melzri’s emotions. Seris kept herself contained and concealed. Viessa’s intent was murky and indistinct, like swamp water or a dark night. Dragoth simmered silently himself.
But Melzri? I could read her emotions like a book.
Melzri tapped a long, delicate finger against her chin. “Though there is something I do want to know, Spellsong.”
I nodded my head, finally allowed the chance to speak. “What would you like to know, Scythe Melzri?” I said, the first words I’d uttered since entering this room. If I could manage it, I’d rather not say more than I had to.
“So you do speak!” Melzri said, clasping her hands together as she leaned forward slightly. “And such good manners for a pet, too.”
I narrowed my eyes, feeling a rising twofold anger as both my Phoenix Will and emotions threatened to break loose at the Vritra-blooded woman’s mocking words. Seris, too, looked more than irritated at the other Scythe’s address. Melzri, however, didn’t seem to care.
“I wanted to kill that Vicar of Plague for a long, long time,” she said slowly, annunciating each word. I felt chills run down my spine as her playful attitude dropped, something deeply cruel taking its place. A blackness spread through her intent that made me think of Mardeth’s darkness. “He insulted me publicly, you see. And then he hurt my daughter after that. But you killed him first. The Plaguefire Incursion ended when you battled Mardeth, slaying him in single combat.”
Melzri’s eyes widened, showing pinprick black pupils that sharpened as they bored into mine. I nearly stepped back at the intensity of the look, something hungry churning beneath the surface of her deceptively attractive features. Seris seemed ready to intervene, a crease to her brow that I recognized as a slash of worry.
“How did you kill him?” Melzri finally asked, restraining a grin from splitting her face as her pinpoint attention focused on me. One could almost hear a pin drop inside the room. “How did Mardeth of the Doctrination die? Tell me,” she demanded.
I fell into my memory, recalling Mardeth’s broken terror as I nailed him to the effigies of his gods as I’d promised so long ago. His raw fear as I slowly, slowly drained him of his lifeforce, and the utter despair as he gazed into Aurora’s eyes.
I felt my lips twitch into something approaching a sneer. I already did not like Melzri. Something about her childish attitude and flagrant mania set me on edge, like I was waiting for a bomb to go off. Her emotions darted about like a fly, uncertain and following no distinct rhythm. But I hated Mardeth infinitely more, even in death. “I drove a stake through his heart and watched the life drain from his wretched body,” I said shortly, disdain in my tone. “He begged for his gods in the end. They did not come to save him.”
Melzri’s eyes fluttered closed as she sighed contentedly, straightening. “I imagined what it would have been like,” she said, biting her lower lip slightly. “Watching him grovel for what he did. I wish I was there to see it happen.”
Then the Scythe paused, her eyes blowing wide as her mouth opened slightly. “Wait, that music of yours!” she said, clapping her hands together excitedly. “You could show me, right? You could put on a show, right? One that lets me feel what it was like for Mardeth to die? That would be wonderful!”
The Scythe looked at me with eyes a bit too wide and a grin a bit too feral. I worked my jaw, fishing for the right thing to say. At my side, Seris had been pulled into conversation with Viessa, but the slightest eye contact told me she was ready to intervene if necessary.
“That’s not quite how my music works,” I said slowly. “You wouldn’t be able to feel what it was like for Mardeth himself to die. But you might get an inkling of what I felt, watching him wither away.”
I narrowed my eyes slightly, scrutinizing the Scythe in front of me as she started fidgeting with her braid again. She had a slight frown on her face as she absorbed my words, shifting to look at Mawar behind her.
“That would be good, wouldn’t it?” Melzri said, looking at her Retainer. I could feel the strangely tinted compassion and worry radiating over her intent as she looked at the nervous Retainer, who averted her red eyes from the attention. The Etrillian Scythe turned back to me. “Don’t you think it would be good for my daughter?”
I actually considered that for a moment, remembering the bitter defeat Mawar had experienced at Mardeth’s hands. Maybe if she got some form of closure…
I opened my mouth to respond, but then I sensed something foreign and alien as it brushed near my mind. I felt the presence of a dark, caustic power as it sought to invade my thoughts, scratching against the insides of my skull.
I snarled, forgetting Seris’ warnings in that split instant. I heard a voice begin to scrape across my thoughts, putrid and vile.
“Oh, what an adorable little–”
My Phoenix Will surged faster than I could, enveloping itself around the invading presence. The fury it unleashed upon that bare touch was tenfold what it would have otherwise been, pent-up fury and anger radiating from its humiliation under Agrona’s vast hands. The presence was in my mind for only a split second, but in that time it ripped and tore and burned and sundered.
A horrible, wretched scream echoed out like nails on a chalkboard. The cry split the air, a palpable flux of mana radiating from a ways away.
I spun on my heels as my fists clenched, plasma sputtering along the edges of my knuckles as I struggled to contain my fury. I tracked the source of the presence as I fell into my Acquire Phase, flashing back to when Agrona’s tendrils had chafed against my innermost thoughts. To the violation of it all, where every secret was nearly rent from my deepest sanctum.
A spindly woman in a doll-like mask keeled over near the table, screaming in agony. Bright orange fires guttered from the eye-slits in her mask, the scent of smoke reaching my nose as she writhed on the ground. I felt my Phoenix Will screech in triumph as Jagrette, Retainer of Truacia, crumpled like a worm.
Melzri watched the jigsaw of a woman collapse with a surprised expression, something curious stretching across her features. Mawar backed away uncertainly, while Seris shot me a look I couldn’t decipher. Far away, I heard Dragoth chuckle at something Cylrit said, ignoring the event entirely.
“It burns! It burns!” Jagrette whined, her mana flaring as she struggled to pull herself up on limbs that were too thin to be healthy. I could hear the sizzling of her burning eyeballs as I glared at her, my blood hot in my veins. “I’ll cut out your heart and feed it to you slowly! How…. How… Aaaagh!”
“Spellsong would crush you like a fly, dear Jagrette,” a voice as smooth as silk said. “You should know not to dig your sticky fingers where they don’t belong. His strength is not as pathetic as yours, Retainer.”
The way Viessa Vritra said the word Retainer made it sound like an insult rather than one of the most prestigious positions in Alacrya. The Scythe strode forward, her teal and white robes contrasting the utter darkness in her eyes. Her deep purple hair held shadows all on its own as her masked intent radiated out. Jade earrings flashed as she moved rhythmically, each step like the flow of a serpent’s tail. The Scythe smiled softly as our eyes met, her intricate makeup accentuating the smooth features of her face. Several shrunken vertebrae hung from her belt, each in a different shade of color.
Seris placed herself in front of me, seeming to have put together what happened. “Explain yourself, Viessa,” she said sharply, her eyes piercing as her hurricane of mana flared. “An attack on those under my protection is tantamount to an attack on myself.” Melzri’s eyes widened almost comically as they darted between the two other Scythes, her mouth forming into a little ‘o’ of dismay.
“I apologize for my Retainer’s intrusion upon your guest’s mind,” Viessa said, her tone not nearly as apologetic as it should have been. Almost mechanical. “She has a tendency to pull against her leash far too much. I’ll see to it she is properly disciplined.”
At Viessa’s boots, Jagrette whimpered as her eyes finally burned away, the sizzling diminishing as my Phoenix Will’s job was done.
“Your apology is far from enough,” I said, glaring daggers at the Scythe in front of me. “If Retainer Jagrette touches my mind again, my blade will rip out her throat and I will bathe in her lifeforce as I tear it from her wretched corpse,” I snarled, fire flickering between my fingers. Seris’ mana flared darkly at my words in silent support.
Viessa’s eyes–almost entrancing in an eerie, disturbing way–focused on me with just as much intensity as Melzri’s had a moment before. But where Melzri’s attention had been manic and chaotically centered, Viessa had the gaze of a waiting predator.
“Intriguing you should mention a touch on the mind, Toren Daen,” Viessa said, her lips curling coyly, “Considering your paltry musical effects.”
My fury tipped sideways into uncertainty at the Scythe’s words.
“Your Retainer breached the deepest rules within this fortress,” Seris countered, crossing her hands over her stomach as she cut across Viessa’s pretty smile. “An attack on the mind before a sanctioned meeting is grounds for the deepest punishment. Lord Daen would be well within his right to execute Retainer Jagrette on the spot.”
As the two women’s power flared, I felt my bones creak from the proximity. I backed away slightly, the bolstering warmth of my Acquire Phase barely keeping me on my feet.
Then Viessa’s intent dwindled and vanished. She slowly nodded her head. “You make a fine point, Seris,” she said. “Jagrette shall be punished. Liberally. If Toren Daen so wishes, he may choose the method himself. If he really wants, Jagrette would happily offer her throat up to him to slit for her transgressions.”
Viessa’s smile was soft and far too practiced to be real as her eyes bored into my soul; testing and waiting for my response.
I looked down at the Retainer, who’d been flattened under her own Scythe’s intent. She appeared to be near losing consciousness. The eyeholes of her mask bled smoke upward, the stench of burnt flesh scraping against my nose.
Part of me wanted to hurt her. I let myself travel down darker possibilities as the remembered trauma of the last time my mind had been invaded resurfaced. I wanted to demand that her mask be taken so that all would see the wretched features beneath. I wanted to slowly tear away her soultether for daring to intrude upon my sanctum. Bleed her like I had Mardeth.
But as my mind cooled, I realized something.
Jagrette was a Retainer. She acted under the orders and direction of her Scythe: nothing more; nothing less.
I exhaled, forcibly settling the fire in my blood. “Keep her locked away until the war,” I said. Arthur would kill this woman in the Battle of Slore, and while I was looking to make changes to this world, I still needed some certainties I could rely on. “As long as she’s away from people she can hurt.”
Viessa smiled. “So soft,” she said with amusement. “I would have had her fingers severed, her hair shorn, and her mana core pierced. Those would all be fitting punishments, after all. Because none understand the true value of a mind until they delve into it. And you know that, don’t you?”
I frowned, feeling off-kilter. But Viessa continued. “So many secrets and fears lurk under the surface. Some simple. Most not. I always find it most interesting to piece together the complex, arching fears. Those that stemmed from long, buried traumas. Once you do so, one realizes that minds are like putty, Toren Daen, meant to be picked apart and put back together.” Then her smile slowly fell, the new expression dripping with something approaching contempt. The Scythe of Truacia ran a hand across her belt, caressing the macabre vertebrae that she’d accumulated. “I understood each of these fallen better than you ever could, Toren Daen. No music or song could show you their hearts as my magic did.”
“You claim such,” Seris retorted, cool as ice, “But have you heard the music of Lord Daen? You might find yourself surprised. Even with your condition, it might give you something to contemplate.”
Viessa matched gazes with Seris once more at the barbed words. Distantly, I was aware that Seris had intentionally struck a nerve. “I do not need to hear such pathetic noise,” her smile–an artificially pretty expression–returning as she gathered herself. “I know the truth already.”
She turned, walking away from us and grabbing Jagrette by the collar of her dress. “You will have what you demand, Toren Daen. I hope you find enjoyment in her suffering.”
I watched Viessa drag Jagrette’s limp body toward the far end of the table, a bead of sweat dripping down the side of my face. I hadn’t noticed it in the moment, but my breathing was slightly uneven. My legs trembled lightly before I forced more mana into them. Gradually, my Acquire Phase receded from the forefront of my mind.
“That was unfortunate,” Melzri sighed. “I was hoping for a grander punishment. Sister would have allowed me to watch, too.” She walked back toward Viessa with a saunter in her hips, Mawar trailing mutely behind her. It appeared our earlier talks of Mardeth and music had entirely left her mind.
Distantly, I worried for the Retainer of Etril. While I wouldn’t call us friends, she had helped me infiltrate Mardeth’s base along the Redwater. Without her, Sevren would be dead.
Seris watched them go, before turning to me and sternly looking me up and down. “It appears I have underestimated the lengths some will go to to aggravate you, Lord Daen.”
It was an interesting attempt at a veiled apology, but my shoulders simply slumped. “I expected barbed words and caustic glares. Not a Scythe to use her Retainer as a disposable pawn.”
Seris sighed. “You are quick to learn. Viessa, among all the Scythes, is adept at touching the minds of others. She has… taken an interest in you that I did not foresee.” Seris paused, her eyes darkening as a chill overtook our little spot of the room. “I suspect she sent Jagrette forward to probe you for vulnerability to such arts. Though why the Truacian took such dangerous measures, I cannot yet say.”
I thought of the Retainer’s burning eyes once more. She had made a deep mistake in trying to intrude on my mental space. My Phoenix Will had been roaring to vent its frustration on another Vritra-blood after Agrona’s humiliation, and it had found what was practically an unguarded target. Jagrette might have fared a bit better had she attempted to challenge me physically, but within the depths of my mind?
I opened my mouth to reply, but a thundering heartbeat that rattled my bones caused my head to turn. It came in periodic bursts, blocking out all other sounds as it emanated from a distance I couldn’t discern.
Like Varadoth, I thought, feeling my teeth rattle and my heart threaten to stop. Probably stronger.
Where Varadoth’s heartbeat was loud and rumbling, it had a steady quality to it even as it seemed to shake the foundations of the ballroom what felt like months ago. But this one… this one was contempt itself, crafted into pulses that made my bones tremble in resonance. The pulses felt like the snap of a taskmaster’s whip, punishing all those who listened. All those who didn’t acknowledge its grandeur.
My head turned toward the door to the meeting room. Noting my attention, Seris shifted her gaze as well, a furrow to her brow.
Not long after the heartbeat, I felt the mana change. It felt like a knife against my throat; a constricting vice simultaneously trying to pull my organs from my body. I broke out into a cold sweat as it neared the door, every hair on my arms standing on end.
Cadell Vritra, personal enforcer of Agrona Vritra, stepped into the chamber. The room seemed to collectively hold their breath as he strode in apathetically, his plate boots clanking with each step. His long, white hair stretched to his back like a curtain of bone. His red cape moved with a flow I couldn’t discern as he made his entrance.
No matter their station, no matter their individual power, all quieted as Cadell entered. His horns framed a face that should’ve looked human, even with the gray skin.
But I could only say it was inhuman. So, so very inhuman. And with every heartbeat of contempt, he seemed to pull himself above us. Beyond us. His very intent deemed us lessers.
Eyes the color of clotted blood swept across the room. I felt a measure of relief as they passed me over, dismissing me outright. For a stuttering heartbeat, I felt grateful for my relative weakness.
Barring the asura themselves, I thought with clenched teeth, This is the strongest mage in the entire world.
But while all present focused intently on Cadell and his overwhelming strength, my eyes were forcefully drawn to the smaller figure just behind the seven-foot Scythe. Despite the overwhelming heartbeat and pulse of undeniable strength, it was not enough to demand my attention.
For that barest instant, I thought my gaze must have been as focused as Seris’. It might have been just as manic as Melzri’s, or possibly as predatorily hungry as Viessa. For a moment, the world narrowed onto a sole figure.
Nico Sever loped behind the Scythe, a glare plastered on his face and a pulsing heartfire that could only come from a reincarnate.