Piper didn’t blink. The server girl tried not to let frustration or confusion override her happy and patient expression. Especially as the boss' son stood next to the strange red-headed girl, she really did not want to act out.

“I’d be happy to get you a plate…” the server girl offered. “Or bring you food where you and your party are sitting…”

“It’s already on a plate!” Piper argued. Her hands were pulling at the full platter of meatballs. Delicate toothpicks invited passers by to sample one or two of the little treats as the server walked by. This guest insisted on keeping the whole platter to herself.

“Better just let it be,” Wakahn advised the poor girl. “I’ll take any responsibility.”

With that promise made, the server gently relinquished her silver platter and returned to the kitchen. She gave the kids a fake smile and then turned to leave in a quiet huff. The less she had to deal with spoiled brats, the better, she figured.

Piper snickered in her victory and ate three meatballs in one gruesome bite. An old onlooker vocalized his astonishment. Piper tried to tell him he couldn’t have any through the food in her mouth, but it just came out as a muffled growling. Wakahn resolved not to let this girl attend any more family functions. Piper flung the leftover picks into curled and shampooed wigs along her path.

It didn’t take long to find Cyril at the party. He and the boss, Bu, were surrounded by a small crowd listening to some story Bu was telling. Cyril eyed them from over the small sea of people and nodded his head away from the crowd. He had the good sense not to assemble in the sight of partygoers. They reconvened in the main foyer that guests first entered. Most people had already arrived and the man announcing new guests had left his station. Small clumps of people gave the four plenty of space to talk without eavesdroppers.

“You brats clean up nice,” Cyril said. “How’s your arm?”

“I- I haven’t really had a chance to think about it,” Wakahn answered honestly. He remembered that Cyril was hurt as well. The older warden hid his injury well.

“May I?” Cyril asked and pilfered a meatball from Piper’s platter. He hummed his admiration for the taste. Piper didn’t answer the question but didn’t guard the food either. Soraya couldn’t meet Cyril’s eyes.

“Why the long faces?” Cyril asked. He was smiling and had been since he saw the three of them. “Come on, you guys wanna drink with your teacher? I’m sure the bar won’t mind serving the host’s son. Where is your dad anyways?”

“Preoccupied, unfortunately.” Cyril whipped around to meet the governor of Lyrique. He was flanked by a man and a woman, both around his age and all strangers to Cyril. Soraya and Wakahn both bowed their heads. The governor kept speaking. “I appreciate your patience. In truth, I spend most of these parties in meetings.”

“Father,” Soraya pulled at the sides of her dress as she curtsied.

“Father,” Wakahn echoed. “May I introduce you to my master, Cyril. Cyril this is Nakamo Degatawa, my father and governor of Lyrique. With him is Barnett Hadessian, president of the Hadessian bank and Soraya’s father. And this is Yvov Ekhlachev, president of the East Coast Resource Alliance.”

Cyril shook all of their hands in turn. “It’s nice to meet you all,” he said. “Though I understand this not to be a purely social call.”

“Unfortunately not,” Nakamo said. Despite being the host, or perhaps because of it, the man was dressed comfortably. His dark, imperious coat disguised the simple white shirt and trousers. Nakamo wore no expensive jewelry or accessories that betrayed his wealth. He was oblivious to an ink stain on his wrist.

Barnett was a dark-skinned, fully mustached man that could fit in with the socialites of the party with ease. Cyril couldn’t find much resemblance between him and his daughter, though he did greet her warmly. He also prodded for details on any boys that might have asked her to dance in the estate’s ballrooms.

A man in his early thirties showed no restraint in interrupting the group’s conversation. He stepped towards them and talked into the space of a very brief lull. His curly, red hair had been carefully styled for the evening. “Governor Degatawa, if I might have a word?” The man didn’t wait for an answer. “I’d love to bend your ear over that minor bit of business with the lumber stock? I’ve got crews eager to build, but my supplier seems to always put you at the head of the line. Not that I’m complaining, mind you! It’s just-”

“Savius, yes?” Nakamo interrupted the young man. Savius didn’t seem to complain, but lit up when this important man proved to know his name. “Perhaps your matter would be better served with Miss Ekhlachev? I’m afraid I must attend to this gentleman before I can join you.”

The middle-aged woman followed Nakamo’s lead and took the boy away by the arm. Cyril last heard Savius raving about Nakamo’s kindness and attention to detail.

“Why don’t we retreat for now?” Nakamo suggested. “Or we’ll be dealing with that in perpetuity.”

“Lead the way,” Cyril said. Barnett Hadessian made his daughter promise to behave in the Degatawa house. She promised. “Don’t worry,” Cyril told the kids they were leaving. “I’ve faced tougher battles than this. Go do something you’ll only regret a little bit. We can talk about whatever’s ruining your nights later.” Cyril stole another meatball from Piper before catching up with Barnett and Nakamo. She didn’t eat from the platter again.

----------------------------------------

Cyril followed Nakamo Degatawa and Barnett Hadessian up the main flight of stairs and through the house. Few partygoers wandered these halls, but stuck to the first floor. Cyril wondered if it was some unspoken rule that attendees were expected not to wander carelessly through the home of the host. Or perhaps Nakamo commanded too much respect for strangers to even consider wandering where they may not be wanted.

When he grew up in Lyrique, Cyril met the governor at the time. He had been a nice guy, a little old. The former mayor was completely unrelated to the Degatawa family or the Hadessian family. His name had been Barnaby… or something. The man was loud and kind. Barnaby-or-something spent most of his time trying to keep the mining district from falling to ruin. The governor’s efforts drew discontent from the dockworkers and sailors that felt their work was what kept Lyrique afloat. Cyril didn’t remember the old man’s name, but he remembered the governor carrying a pick and delving into the mines shoulder to shoulder with the other workers when they were too sick or tired to keep searching for veins of metal. Cyril tried to imagine Nakamo doing something like that.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Their tour ended in a windowless lounge. Fangs from a flattened wolf bared their white points at Cyril upon entering. Artifacts decorated mantle pieces and were hung from frames on the wall. Cyril spotted a jeweled crown, a pair of beautiful, curved swords and a crystal liquor cabinet. One wall was almost entirely covered by a detailed map of the eastern half of the Western Continent that stretched as far north as the Frigid Isles. A portrait next to the door painted a younger Nakamo entangled with a beautiful woman.

Red leather chairs assembled around the wolf pelt in the center of the room. Each chair had a little table at its side with an ashtray. Cyril sat after Barnett. Nakamo poured them each a drink into handsome little glasses. The bottle from which he poured the drink was also glass. Nakamo was showing off an expensive indulgence. While Cyril watched the liquor flow, he realized what purpose the room served. It was not a simple gathering hall, but a trophy room. Every item betrayed immense value. Cyril wondered idly if he was to become a part of that collection.

Another detail stood out above all of the others in the room. Cyril pressed his fingers to his lips when Nakamo offered him the drink. Cyril silently stood from his seat and walked towards an elaborate armoire stashed in the furthest corner of the room. He flung its doors wide open and a shadow emerged from the wall, making to strike Cyril in the heart. The warden dodged and the injury in his belly protested his movements painfully.

The bundle of shadows had emerged as a woman, intent on making another stab at his heart. Cyril ducked under the attack and swept his leg under the woman. At the point of contact, her body flattened against Cyril’s leg, coiling up his body as a serpentine shadow.

“Enough!” Nakamo ordered.

The shade froze. It peeled off of Cyril’s leg and reformed into a human shape. Cyril had sensed the faint impression of somebody possessed inhabiting the room. It had prompted him to investigate a potential eavesdropper. What was most surprising was that the woman had been able to disguise that impression coming from her own body. The woman was old, older than Bu maybe. Wrinkles had set deeply into her bronze face. She wore a gray-blue robe and a knife on her belt.

“Apologies, Cyril,” Nakamo said. “My intent was not to ambush you. This is my great aunt, Catori. Catori, this is Wakahn’s sorcery instructor, Cyril.”

Catori did not respond or react to this new information. Cyril gave Nakamo a hard look, expecting more answers. Barnett seemed unimpressed by all of the theatrics, as if he’d just as soon move on from the attempted murder he’d witnessed.

“Auntie meant only to keep an eye on me. She works for the family,” Nakamo went on to explain. “Please, you have nothing to fear.” He gestured back towards the chair where Cyril had sat. “Catori, I would have you apologize as well. This man is not here to attack us.”

Catori did not apologize, but said, “You were better off having me discipline the boy. This one is slow.”

“Wakahn made his feelings very clear on that point, Auntie,” Nakamo said.

“I expected to be measured, governor,” Cyril said, “in some capacity. But, not like this.”

Nakamo sighed and gestured to his seat again. “Please, please. We’ve gotten off to a terrible start here. Barney?”

Barnett Hadessian set down his drink and stood. “There are more important conversations to be had tonight,” he said to Nakamo. Then he turned his attention to Cyril. “You wanna take my daughter on some job? Fine. By all means. But, I saw the condition you returned his son to him. His only son.” Barnett muttered something under his breath. “If Soraya ever walks through my door with a scratch on her, I will spare no expense to see you dead and buried in an unmarked grave. I expect it will cost me a lot of money. I expect it will be worth it.”

“Two threats on my life,” Cyril spat. “Perhaps my attendance tonight was a mistake.”

Barnett left the lounge with hardly a retort. Nakamo released a deep sigh and collapsed into a chair behind him. His head was still buried in his hand when he started speaking again. “He won’t actually do that,” Nakamo assured Cyril. “He just needs you to believe he will.”

“Well, I’m convinced,” Cyril said coldly. He still hadn’t taken a seat. Behind Nakamo was the detailed map of the Western Continent. Cyril had not seen one like it elsewhere. Depressions in the earth, mountain ranges and hillsides were all illustrated clinically and without artistic flair. It was not a decorative piece, but an informational one. A map like it would require a number of skilled cartographers and surveyors working in concert over the course months. It was the kind of map military commanders employed to form battle plans.

“Wakahn is a fine sorcerer. To be honest, he’s probably already at the level where he could work as a warden. Will you let me take him on a job or not?”

“Yes,” Nakamo quickly said. “Yes, of course. I apologize for all of my cloak and dagger, but that’s not at all what I hoped to discuss.” He gestured a third time towards the chair. Cyril obliged him, but kept a watch on Catori. The old woman’s eyes were dark, like they were just the biggest wrinkles on her face. She would not stop studying Cyril closely.

“I want to know why a promising young warden with the SDO leaves the guild for his hometown,” Nakamo said.

“I was fired.”

“Yes, I know that much,” Nakamo said. “My son informed me. What I don’t know is why.”

“I made a mistake in my duties,” Cyril said. He had practiced how much truth he could include in this story before it became an outright lie. “I forgot the job. And tried to save someone I cared about.”

“Did you?”

“Did I what?” Cyril asked.

“Did you save them?”

Cyril’s expression became like stone. “No.”

Nakamo shrugged. “They’re idiots. The SDO, I mean. I believe the mistakes a man makes informs his future successes. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“I believe that…” Cyril shook his head. He didn’t have the capacity for philosophy. “If that’s true, then the lesson I learned was that work is more important than people.”

“Is that what you believe? You were a man caught between two mistakes. Letting a friend die or betraying your oath.”

“I somehow managed to do both,” Cyril couldn’t laugh about it, but he said the words like they were a joke. “You have a right to know who’s taking care of your son, so I’ll tell you. I don’t think I learned a thing. If I could go back, and I know I can’t, but if I could go back and make the decision all over again… I would do exactly what I did.”

Nakamo considered this answer. He rocked his head back and forth once as if to feel the weight of Cyril’s words rolling around in his ears. “Even knowing the outcome?” Nakamo finally asked. “Why?”

“Because I’d rather be the man who tried to help someone than be the man who gave up on them.”

Catori’s eyebrows lifted. Nakamo pursed his lips and reclined. The answer amused him a little bit. It enchanted him and his eyes left Cyril to focus on something else.

“For whatever mistakes you may have made,” Nakamo said, “I do not think attending this party was one of them. I’m very glad to have spoken with you, Cyril.”

Cyril understood the words to be a polite dismissal and rose from his seat. Nakamo did the same and tipped his glass to the warden. Cyril realized his own glass had been untouched and thought it a waste to leave a good drink alone. He swallowed the liquor in one go, slapped the glass back down on his little side table and left the governor’s trophy room.

When his footfalls fell out of earshot, Nakamo spoke again, this time to Catori in a whisper. “Change of plans. I rather like him.”

“You want me to make contact?”

“No reason to change horses in the middle of a race,” Nakamo said. He left the room to return to the party himself. "I just mean that we should keep our options open.”