This was debacle. In fact all the servants who normally wove expertly through the crowd now pulled back to the edge of the room. Daniel spotted the old Lordling of the Ash Court gripping a little plate of sausages very tightly. Of course, the Ash Court must be under the Summer Season. In fact, more than a quarter of the guests present would be. And yet, some seemed to revel in the growing tension.

To one side was a lordling complaining about the drink selection, gathering a crowd. To the other side of was the crumbling Youthful Lady of Summer, without attendants or allies. If the Lady of Summer had more experience, she might have handled the situation more directly, or laughed and ignored it. But the child was a child in every way. The Summer Season was long eroded, with both Spring and Fall whittling away its influence. Winter remained neutral in this matter, thankfully. The stories told of a fifth season that used to exist but had been wiped away. This was just a rumor, an old wives tail, but who could really know for sure?

There were more and more guests arriving, so the audience to watch this grew. And each Lord, Senator, and Seritor arrived, watching the conflict only supported the Lordling.

But there was no one to protect the guest of honor.

Therefore, it was the duty of a servant to dissipate the anger.

Daniel had seen this done several times throughout his own career of attending parties and scheming against other factions and powers that be. It was strange that he was now the one to do so.

"Milordling, milordling. May this humble servant offer some assistance?" he said, moving his tray against his body, as was polite when dealing directly with a Fae. He would have offered the Lordling a glass of wine, but he had run out and had been collecting empty wineglasses, as more and more of the party goers had finished their first round of drinks and given him their cups (with their thanks, which he had gratefully accepted).

The Lordling was someone connected to Pacicern, Daniel realized. One of the groups against the establishment of the Game. Despite the Lordling's squawking, she was robust and firm. She was not spoilt and having a tantrum. The snobbery was clearly on purpose. Pacicern was connected to the Fall Season through various marriage alliances and merchandizing trade deals. It was a given that Pacicern would do whatever to undermine Summer, especially after the King was not there. This encounter seemed unplanned, the Lordling had seen an opportunity and seized it. Very competent for a Lordling operating alone. Then again, the Lord of Pacicern may have suggested it, then made himself scare so that those who disliked the exchange could be pacified because the Lordling was young.

The Lordling slowly turned and looked at him. Daniel had a moment were he feared discovery, but he realized he needn't have bothered. She was not looking at Branch.

She was looking at something she considered a bug in Seelie form. Something that could be squashed without much effort. Elswith had known many Lordlings like that, when he was a Lordling. He and Lordling Fredar had had several encounters where they had disagreed on the proper treatment of the help.

But as a Lowling Servant, being on the other end of her gaze of contempt was harsh. "Did you just speak to me?" She asked, her voice sweet.

While she didn't seem to know him, he slowly remembered the identity of the individual. His time training in memorization of all the Lordlings he could had proven useful. As he recalled this person, his dislike for increased. Elswith and this lady had never met, but that wasn't surprising. They would have run in completely different circles. Even entirely different campaigns. Unlike some groups like Bronze Circle, which had had many overlapping areas and pledges, this Lordling had been sent else where entirely.

While Lordling Elswith had been sent most often to halt the advancing dread hordes of humankinds twisted dreams, to the north and east most often, Lordling Marisbane had been subjugating what was left of the Ocean Kingdom.

The Ocean Kingdom had lost the war. They had lost over a hundred years ago. They had fully surrendered decades ago.

But still the Realm of Pacicern kept advancing. Not everyone in Pacicern had approved of the action. But this Lordling's Circle had routinely engaged in those battles.

"Good Lordling," he said, invoking the language of old tales, where Lordlings were modeled after Knight protectors. "This humble Servant felt inadequate to understand the great complexities of your mind, so humbly and with all humility, asks for clarification. At this Summer Ball, held by the Fairy King and blessed by the Youthful Lady of the Summer Season, did the kind and gentle Lordling desire some...off season drink?"

It was a risky statement, but it was fair at least. He did not call her out for her bad behavior. He reminded the crowd of the event.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

And best of all, as a proper servant, he drew all the criticism to himself. The Youthful Lady of Summer was no longer the target.

Lordling Marisbane of the realm of Pacicern was older than Daniel, but still not old enough to be considered an Old Lordling. She had a very solid base of power, clearly spending the time establishing and building firm connections. She had long, thin, pointed ears, and severe gray hair pulled back into an elaborate updo, with little, precious gems dangling between the gaps. "I desire Gooseberry wine, servant boy," she said. "These are troubling times for many of us. It hardly feels like summer at all. So, go fetch me something."

"Milordling," Daniel said to her, bowing slightly in the Lren Style of Deep Apology, however, since he preformed the hand gestures with only a slight bow, it was transmigrating it into a mild apology of I did nothing wrong but I see you are upset. "I will inquire whether there is a little cache of Goose berry left over from the Winter Ball. It will undoubtedly be musty, but this Servant will do his best."

She laughed, "Your best? Hardly a trustworthy statement."

The fae around them seemed to grow larger and more overshadowing, joining into the tension. But the tension was against the servant now. Not the summer Lady, her soft golden eyes almost brimming with tears. Daniel disliked this position for the child, as even himself as the Lordling Elswith had been given until fourteen years old before he started attending important functions alone. Eleven was too young.

Lordling Marisbone leaned closer, until she towered over him. She did nothing to reign in her authority; the presence of her power was staggering, and his newly created harbor name could do little to help him.

"How dare you." she said, softly.

Then she flicked him in the forehead, a light rebuke that sent him to the floor in a crumpled mess, his tray and several empty glasses falling around him. A moment of fear as he realized that all of his acquired powers had not mattered. And as it was a rebuke, and thoughtless, the Law of Fae had done precious little to soften it. The Servant Branch had not died. But he found himself scattered away.

He felt the Game cackle.

This was what it wanted? The Game wanted the third assassination attempt to be...over the wrong drink?

She started moving away from him, taking most of the crowd with her. "Your best." she chuckled again. "Do my best, little Servant. That I will admire. Put some effort into it. Or else why even bother coming to this...disappointing party. So many important people have already left anyway."

Those who had left clearly were trying to see the Game. Which meant that this insult against the Summer Season had been, in some ways, Daniel's fault.

The tension in the room was broken, as least. The servant had acted as a lightning rod for all the unspoken things many wished to say but could not.

Daniel righted himself, forehead stinging and back cramping as the unexpected push had caused all of his injuries and strains from the day came rushing back into his body. Each ache was trying to reclaim their places and remind him of everywhere that had hurt throughout this longest day of his life.

No time for that. Time to get moving.

His tray had only had only held empty glasses. Had he arrive with a new tray, he would have had a bath of wine. He carefully found all the wine glasses, clutching them between his fingers, and came to his feet.

None helped him. Not even the other servants.

The Law of Fae settled around Daniel, a small connection was draw between himself and the Lordling Marisbane. She had overstepped, and in some small way now owed a debt to him. It was a very small and nebulous connection. It would be hard to stake a claim against her.

Daniel felt a tremble go through his body. He had been afraid before, of course. He had been afraid of his Lordly Father and his brutal efficiency. He had been afraid of the cold and uncaring Unseelie Fae whom appeared at random intervals, whom he had called Mother with the same tone one used to describe a terrible monster. He had been afraid of failing his Steward, the one who pushed him to achieve success even through difficult times. He had been afraid of his own Circle, at times, especially the beginning when the other eight had been unknown dangers.

But he had never been afraid of the audience before.

Was it because he was no one, now? His disguise had been so thorough that to them he really was nothing more than a servant.

When he was Lordling Elswith, stepping in to save Witness, they had mocked him, hated him, decried him as a vainglory seeking opportunist.

But this?

They treated him like he was invisible. Untouchable.

They treated him like an object.

How many servants were treated thusly? Who did the servants have to turn to? They were faceless creatures, used to grandstand and belittle.

He carefully placed the cups on the tray, feeling the eyes of the fae around him now looking away from him. Like he was invisible. Like he was untouchable.

Which he had wanted. Servants were supposed to be invisible.

But he never realized the hardest aspect of this hour would be holding himself in check. If he was the Heirling of the Red Sword still...

No. This anger was not a part of himself he could keep.

Time to get moving. He transferred the tray to his other hand to show that he had nothing to serve the guests, and made his way to the kitchen. He found himself grinding his teeth and forced himself to relax. He was grateful that the wineglasses had not broken; doubtless they were forged from some material more precious and hardy than glass. Hopefully not diamond, because those could break if struck in the correct place.

Gooseberry wine.

Goose berry.

He was grinding his teeth again

Could he resolve the last assassination attempt over the Winter drink? Would the Game allow that? Would his enemies accept that him procuring the off season beverage was victory? Or was the Game just wanting him to solve the problem in such a way that while the undoubtedly numerous assassins gathered around, hunting him?

Regardless, he circled around the room, trying to plan his next move. He spied that annoyed servant from across the room, clearly upset. He didn't know what the annoyed servant knew, but since Daniel wanted to spend most of this hour hiding as a servant, it would be best not to have a direct confrontation.

So he slipped into the kitchen.