If there was one thing Alden could say of Aelfric Bradfirth the Younger, it was that he could hold his temper.
The young lord said nothing at all to Alden after the dance. Nor did he speak out or raise his voice when he asked his fiance to dance, only to be publicly rejected. A part of Aelfwynn’s scheme that had gone unspoken, he assumed, and problematic for many reasons. Prime among them was how it inflamed the young ladies of the ball.
After his dance with Aelfwynn, when he cared for little more than to relax and partake in the delicious varieties of strong cheese on offer, there was a sudden interest in him from the party at large. It was a sudden magnetism that brought to him people of every age and status. The true lords first, those barons and viscounts in their decorated suits and their wives in fine, colorful dresses that cost more than his manor, each of them offering praise for his skill in dancing that came from, infuriatingly, pure surprise.
After were the sons, who came up to him with pleasant interest, offering praise and jeers that disguised an undercurrent of envy. Alden grinned from ear to ear as the sea of faces passed him by, barely tasting the oil fried potato cubes on his plate. Then there were the daughters who, on the other hand, provided him with an equally pleasant though altogether different kind of attention. Attention that extended beyond envy and delved neatly into the realm of want. Not all of them, of course, but enough.
The most surprising exchange just came after Aelfric himself, who, with narrowed eyes and a strained smile, offered a courteous comment and left in quick fashion. A young lord of the house Gildynaepple, black of hair and wearing a suit of white, red, and yellow, approached him as he supped on a morsel of roasted turnips, red faced and fuming.
“That was unbecoming of a baron,” the young lord said.
“Pardon?” Alden asked. Pretending not to hear, but hearing all too well.
“I said that what you’ve done is unbecoming of a baron. To dance with not just one man’s fiance, but three, including mine own… it’s damn despicable. Ungodly. You should be ashamed.”
If Alden had a smile, it was gone now. “Who are you again?”
“I am Mervin, son and heir of Baron Gebmund Gildynaepple. And though some men might shy away from a brutish man such as yourself, you’ll get no such reaction from me.”
You might shy away, Alden thought, if I cared to make you. “Who is it I danced with to enrage you so?”
Mervin’s mouth hung agape, and his cheeks reddened two more shades. “I beg pardon?”
“You can beg for many things, I think, but my pardon won’t be one of them,” Alden said. The heat was in him now. “I can see that you're angry. I might have apologized, had you asked for one, or had one been warranted. But there was no wrongdoing on my part, and I’ll not suffer the whining of some boy.”
“Boy?” Mervin asked. “I am the son of a baron!”
“And I AM a baron,” Alden said, too loudly. Heads turned. “ I am a lord, appointed by the Emperor himself! Who are you to demean me?”
Murmurs intensified. Alden saw, at the far side of the room, Mervin’s father, a man of gray hair and the straight upright posture and cold gaze that came from years of command.
“There are some people you just can’t dance with,” Mervin said.
“How is it,” Alden said, straightening himself further so that he towered an extra inch over the young lord, “that you can take such an issue with me when your lord father presented me with nothing but courtesy? After dancing with your fiance, I might add.”
Mervin’s face shifted, and the wind left him as if he’d been struck. “P-perhaps he did not see.”
“He saw, as I’m sure everyone did. If there is one thing I know, it is that, at my size, I am hard to miss.”
Lord Gildynaepple was upon them then. He gave a half-bow to Alden, which Alden returned, then leaned into his son’s ear.
“Enough,” he whispered. Whatever fight was in Mervin was left him. He sauntered off, gaze fixated on his own two feet. “I do apologize, my lord.”
“It is nothing, Lord Gildynaepple,” Alden said, bowing again. “I cannot rightly blame a man for allowing jealousy to impede his mind. Not without hypocrisy, at least.”
Lord Gildynaepple’s lips stretched into an awkward smile. “I thank you, my lord. Still, jealousy or not, my son has gone too far. He’ll see that, in time, and it is my hope that the shame stings enough to put him on the right path. But believe me, my lord, if shame does not do it then my personal instruction will. You have my word.”
“Then the matter is settled.”
When Lord Gildynaepple was gone Alden requested another glass of wine from a nearby servant. A sweet red, he sipped at it until, feeling the warmth of the alcohol in his stomach, he began to partake of it more and more. Anger, in his case, was quenched by alcohol, and the more he drank the more soothed he felt. By the third or fourth glass he could feel the earth sway slightly beneath his feet.
“Enough, isn’t it?” Amice asked of him. He downed another glass in protest. A bitter red this time, by accident, and his face shriveled in disgust despite himself. “Do not make a fool of yourself. You’ve garnered more than enough attention for the night, I think.”
Reluctantly, Alden set his glass aside. But, as it happened, attention continued to be garnered as yet another lord’s son approached him, the name Aethelstan Axemere written in a blue box above his head.
“Greetings, my lord. I am Aethelstan Axemere, third son of Baron Edward Axemere, whom you’ve already met,” the young lord’s son said, hand outstretched. Alden shook the hand as he searched Edward Axemere’s face from his memories. “Your companion here has the right of it,” Aethelstan continued. “See, over there? Our dear friend Mervin?”
On the opposite side of the ballroom, in the far corner, sat Mervin red faced and fuming. Before him were more than a half dozen empty wine glasses. In his hand was another, which he sipped at in between angry stares in Alden’s general direction.
“An embarrassment, that,” Aethelstan said. “One I might apologize for. Such behavior is unbecoming of anyone, much less nobility.”
“You have no need to apologize, my lord,” Alden said. “Your company, though short, has been better by far,” Alden replied.
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“Not hard, I imagine, though I do try,” Aethelstan said. “Perhaps no equal for the fair Aelfwynn. Few are, after all.”
As if to accentuate his point, Aethelstan glanced to the other side of the room. Beyond the glass windows on the balcony outside was Aeflwynn who, in the short time Alden had been preoccupied with his drinking and dancing, had changed into a dress of deep red. The color contrasted with her pale skin, and combined with the dim light of the full moon it made her body appear as if a statue of marble.
“Simply divine,” Aethelstan said. “A shame she is betrothed to Aelfric the Younger.”
“You do not approve?” Amice asked.
Aethelstan made a face, his mood suddenly sour. “Would that I had been the first son,” he said, “then perhaps she might have been mine. More likely I would have ended up with my brother’s betrothed. A fair lady, but also a fair bit older than I, which is not to my preference.”
“Jealousy, then?” Amice asked. Alden narrowed his eyes at her, but his expression seemed lost on her. Who is it that is attracting attention now?
“Aye, that is the case. It is one of the reasons I came to speak with you, my lord?”
His ears perked. “Is it now?” Alden asked.
“It is. I had to see up close the man who had the gall to ask Lady Aelfwynn to dance. I knew of you beforehand, of course. A former soldier as tall as a tree and near as wide. A war hero. And then there was the rumor that you had come by way of Lady Aelfwynn’s ship. I was irate to hear that, I must admit. Perhaps even more so than Aelfric. And then to hear further rumors, such scandalous rumors that I might not repeat them in good company. I was besides myself. But what was I to do, being that she is not my fiance and, embarrassing as it might seem, likely has no notion of my existence at all? I decided that I had no choice but to see this man, to better judge him.”
“And what is your judgment?” Alden asked, curious.
Aethelstan held up his hands in a defeated shrug. “I am beaten,” he said. “The third son of a baron does not compare to a baron proper, much less one such as yourself.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Alden said. He sipped at his wine, which he did not remember picking up again, the sweet flavor dancing on his tongue. It also brought to him an awareness of his senses, which now lacked the veil of drunkenness.
“I would be grateful if you did, my lord. It would be a terrible decision to anger one I intend to do business with.”
“Business?” Alden asked, ears perking up once more.
Aethelstan nodded vigorously. “Yes, business. Private, preferably. Would you care to join me on the balcony, my lord? While the party’s attention appears to be on the esteemed Count.”
Alden nodded, then followed him to the door that led to the balcony opposite the one crowded by Aelfwynn and her entourage. Amice, meanwhile, disappeared into the crowd once more, no doubt to savor the varieties of meat available without judgment. But, as Aethelstan’s hand touched the door they were interrupted.
“My lords,” a woman’s voice called out. When Alden turned he saw the bright smile of a servant woman, dressed in a sleek dress of black and white that, while still a dress, favored utility. In her hands was a glittering silver platter, atop which were two glasses of wine; one was a red as dark as the night, the other a sparkling white. “Would you care for more wine, my lords?”
Pausing, as one did when debating if too much had already been drunk, Alden smiled to himself. Taking the cold platter from the woman’s hands, he bowed slightly. “Much appreciated,” he said, then stepped out onto the balcony.
The two leaned upon the balcony’s railing, casting disinterested eyes in the direction of the dark and unseeable landscape. Unseeable to Aethelstand at least, or so Alden guessed.
“If truth be told,” Aethelstand said, after a sip of his wine, “the business to which I am interested in is more in the direction of knowledge than that of material gains.”
“And what knowledge is it you seek?” Alden asked. His own wine had vanished, and as warmth filled his cheeks he realized he had drunk it all already. And that he was still somewhat drunk.
“Monsters,” Aethelstan said. “Incredible things, don’t you think?”
“Aye,” Alden replied. “Interesting beyond measure. But dangerous in equal measure.”
“I suppose that is the way of it,” Aethelstan replied. “Even still, they pose so many questions, don’t you think? Like, for instance, how did they come about? Or why do they differ so from the normal animals that exist? The Maker made all things, but there is so much that we do not understand. So, I thought, who better to go to than a Contractor?”
“I’ve not been a Contractor for a long while now,” Alden replied.
“Perhaps not,” Aethelstan said. “But I know you used to be. And I’ve heard from my father of your journey south, into the strait. He’s always been supportive of my interests, and when he heard word that you fought a flesheater, and that you would be at the ball today, he came to me immediately telling me to speak with you. So, my lord, tell me true: did you truly fight a giant flesheater?”
“I did.” There was a hint of awe in Aethelstan’s voice, and it filled Alden’s chest with an overabundance of pride. “The largest any have ever seen, by my reckoning. Taller than where we stand now.”
Aethstan leant over the balcony, looking down. He whistled to himself. “Have you studied it?”
“Some,” Alden said.
Aethelstan’s eyes widened. “Please, tell me.”
Alden licked the back of his front teeth, wondering where to start. “I am not entirely certain,” he began, “but I believe that flesheaters, or at least the one I encountered, are not one but two entities.”
“How can that be?”
“The exterior, which resembles hard white bone, encompasses a sack of pink flesh. But, if you’ve dealt with any animal or human corpses, you’ll know that it is the flesh, our muscles, that moves our bones and produces the power that we call strength. But with the flesheater it was the other way around. The skeleton of the beast, if I am right, is powered by the beast’s magic, allowing it to move and attack. That said, I have only the experience with the one. I’ll need time to confirm it.”
Aethelstan whistled again. “Truly, my lord, that is an incredible discovery.”
“If I am right. I need time to prove it, more specimens to examine. And all that, of course, only after I’ve settled my affairs as lord and grown my demesne. A costly task.”
“Hmph. It is a strong belief of mine that money should not inhibit progress, my lord. And, given that I have money, I also believe it is my place to allow progress flow wherever I can. You still have the beast’s remains?”
“I do,” Alden replied.
“I’d like to purchase them. All of them, if possible. Perhaps not all at once. Considering the beast's size it might be too costly for me, but piece by piece I could do it. And, if you are so interested, I would greatly appreciate your aid in obtaining further specimens.”
“Are you serious?” Alden asked.
Aethelstan turned to him, brows furrowed and lips tight together. He extended a hand. “I am completely serious, my lord. I have no greater interest than that of monsters, and no other purpose for the allowance afforded me by my father.”
Alden stared at the hand, perplexed. There were no strings this time, and Alden wondered if there was any truth to the young lord’s words. But I see no black threads, either, Alden thought.
He took Aethelstan’s hand in a firm grip and shook.
“You have a deal. Or might, once the details are hammered out.”
Aethelstan beamed and, as he leaned in, Alden saw that his cheeks were bright red. “Thank you, my lord. I cathot wain tho–” he said. But, just as the words came out of his mouth they began to garble and slur together.”
“Aethelstan?” Alden inquired. The young lord’s face brightened another shade of red, and then another. Then, starting from his nostrils, blood began to trickle in a steady stream. More came from his eyes, the sclera becoming dyed in red before tears of blood followed. “What the–?” Alden gasped.
Before he could think to conjure his magic the young Aethelstan fell forward into his arms. Despite Aethelstan’s size, Alden felt as if a thousand pounds had struck him. The two fell as one, Alden scrambling beneath the massive weight of the Aethelstan’s body. Turning him, more blood gushed out from his nose and eyes and mouth, staining Alden’s pants.
He checked the young lord’s pulse.
A shattering sound took his attention from the corpse for a moment. He looked up to see Amice rushing towards him in stricken panic. Slowly, he felt something trickle down from his nose, and he licked his lips. Blood.