Ariya skipped along as Lusya led the way to their seats. The other theater goers watched, some bemused, others annoyed, most confused more than anything. With the money she had made, Lusya had been able to afford seats at the Vorstil. It was neither the most renowned nor most expensive theater in Zentril, but it was well-known enough that Lusya—never well-versed in the realm of theater—had heard of it and knew of its reputation. Every player on stage, every playwright whose material was played, was a master of their craft. Or so it was said. And with that came a hefty premium. Two tickets had cost three of the ten silver keltzers Lusya had taken from that house. It had also cost a couple of the residents’ lives, though she had made their demises swift.
Of course, the expense and reputation of the theater meant most of the other patrons were well off, and the difference was obvious. They dressed in elaborate outfits of fine silks as if attending a ball. Most were older too. There were a few relti who looked Lusya’s age, and a few humans who were actually around her age, but they were few and far between. The majority of the audience consisted of humans in their thirties or later. There were no tiransa. The seats were too small, and, that aside, tiransa tended to avoid theaters in mixed or human-dominated environments. They were liable to come under scorn when their large forms blocked others’ views. Children were another thing in short supply, likely because it was worried they would be disruptive. In fact, Ariya was the only child in the audience.
However, there was, oddly enough, a single high-rank demon seated toward the back. A familiar looking one at that. She had sensed him well before entering the theater, and had found him sitting calmly in his seat, even exchanging pleasantries with the man beside him. They might have met in Father’s forces, though she could not place when or where, let alone who the demon was. She remembered faces well, but names often slipped away as soon as they were no longer important. He had given Lusya a thumbs-up and a smile and mimed sheathing a sword when she had looked at him. If he wasn’t going to cause trouble, she saw little reason to bother with him, so she had nodded and let him be. High-ranks did hide among mortals at times. Most mortals, humans and tiransa especially, couldn’t tell the difference between most high-ranks and a reltus. In a city where the three mortal races mixed so freely, a high-rank could stay hidden in plain sight for decades. During the war, the Sacred Knights had treated rooting them out as a top priority.
According to historical records, past Knights had often been slow to respond during tranquil ages, as long as the demons were not too violent, due to the risk of collateral damage. Which was not to say the Sacred Knights turned a blind eye. Rather, it took them longer to formulate a plan or gather fighters with the right abilities to kill the demon with minimal risk to the city. It seemed the same held now. That said, even at the most urgent of times, the process was not instant or flawless. Even most Sacred Knights could not sense Malice or demons. They were trained to look for visual tells, but not all high-ranks had those, and some were subtler than others. Tranquil age or not, a demon who played his cards right might never be found out.
It occurred to her that he might be blamed for the two people she had killed to get the money for the tickets. Given the early hour, the corpses had likely been discovered and reported by now. Then again, a city this size saw plenty of crime. Two more murders would not make waves unless those people were somehow much more important than she had realized. Either way, it was not her problem. She would be gone by the time anything happened.
They reached their seats, and Ariya all but threw herself into hers, the lacquered wood squeaking as she landed on the thick red cushions, while Lusya sat in a more sedate manner. Tickets at the Vorstil were for specific seats, with different ones costing different amounts. Those near the front and on the balconies were the most expensive. Lusya’s seats were middling, located—fittingly—about halfway to the stage and a bit to the left of the center. There were windows for natural lighting when available, but, as it was night, they were closed at the moment, candles and lamps providing illumination instead. There were a great many of them to ensure visibility for all, lighting the entire room as well as daylight.
Ariya let out a sudden laugh. Lusya cocked her head and blinked twice.
“Is something funny?”
Ariya shook her head. “No, I’m just excited.”
“I believe it is etiquette to remain quiet during the show,” Lusya said. There were a few quiet conversations going on at the moment, but Ariya had been louder than any of them.
“It is,” a woman behind them added.
Ariya nodded. “I know, I’ll try.”
“Try harder,” the woman snapped.
Lusya glanced at her, head tilted slightly. “If you are going to speak, do so with respect.”
The woman clicked her tongue and said nothing further, settling back in her seat.
Lusya looked to Ariya. “Do your best.”
“I will,” Ariya said with a grin.
About ten minutes later, the heavy red curtains covering the stage parted, revealing a man with black hair and a bushy, well-groomed mustache wearing a simple modern suit standing at the center, hands folded behind his back. He looked out over the crowd imperiously as voices died down, until the room was heavy with silence.
“Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to the Vorstil, the finest theater in all of Ysuge,” he said. He managed to project his voice enough for that dubious boast to be heard throughout the room without seeming like he was shouting. “Tonight, we bring you a tale of love, adventure, and betrayal, courtesy of the Quadruple Quartet players. Penned by one Wilam Nersen, I present to you: The King’s Lament. Enjoy.”
He bowed and walked off the stage, soon replaced by another man dressed much the same. Though clean-shaven, he looked similar too. Nepotism in action, perhaps. Without preamble, the new man launched into an opening narration, describing the setting of the story as “a long time ago, in a kingdom far, far away, known as Alterius.” The king of this kingdom was searching for a worthy husband for his eldest daughter, crown princess of the land, but had had little luck. Either the suitors were of poor quality, or his daughter scorned them despite their virtues, and the king was not quite ready to sacrifice her happiness by forcing the issue.
Once the groundwork had been laid, the curtain closed for another several minutes. Though it was heavy enough to dampen the noise, one could still hear the shuffling and thuds of the set being put together. Then, the curtain opened once more and the story proper began, opening with the princess sneaking out of the castle to explore town—represented by four boards cut and painted to look like buildings—where she encountered a kind-hearted orphan who protected the downtrodden with his prodigal martial prowess.
From there, the story went much as expected. The script and acting were solid, but it was a take on a tale as old as time. The two fell in love, the king forbade it. They ignored him. The king forced a betrothal to a powerful nobleman’s son upon the princess, but she only had eyes for the street urchin. A dragon kidnapped the princess, and the king promised the orphan her hand in marriage if he could save her.
The third act contained a twist, however. The princess was nowhere to be found in the dragon’s lair. The dragon had done nothing wrong. In fact, the king had hired a band of mercenaries to kidnap his daughter to create plausible deniability, then sent the orphan on what he was sure was a suicide mission. He planned to send the noble’s son to “rescue” the princess later, in the hopes this would spark a romance between the two.
Fortunately, the orphan was strong enough to defeat the dragon, but spared it once it became clear the dragon was innocent. As thanks, the dragon lent the orphan its power to locate “treasure,” which, for the orphan, meant the princess. The dragon also turned into a beautiful, scantily-clad woman for no good narrative reason at this point. Lusya surmised it was because having the orphan exchange dialogue with the dragon costume—a two-person costume with colored paper sticking out of the mouth at all times to represent fire and absurd, bulging eyes with tiny pupils—would have looked sillier than the fight already had. She had no good explanation for the outfit, little more than three strips of fabric covering what most considered the most taboo parts of the body, not that she cared. Perhaps it was simply the writer or costume designer’s preference, which was fair enough. The actress did a fine job infusing the role with wisdom and gravitas, which the costume had little bearing on.
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In any case, with the dragon’s aid, the orphan was able to save the princess from the mercenaries—who had broken their contract with the king and were imprisoning her in earnest—and return to the capital. There, they discovered the scheme. The king attempted to kill the orphan himself in a rage. The orphan was reluctant to kill his love’s father, but the noble’s son stepped in and did so, himself disgusted with the extent of the king’s schemes. The noble’s son then graciously stepped aside in the name of true love, the orphan and princess married and took the throne, and they all lived happily ever after. The performers all came on stage and took a bow together, and the show was over as the curtain closed for the last time.
“Wow,” Ariya breathed. “That was so cool! Wasn’t it great, Lusya? It was like being in a book.”
“It was adequate,” Lusya replied.
Ariya smirked. “You liked it. Your eyes are open wider.”
“I did not say I didn’t,” Lusya said. “Let us go.”
She stood, took Ariya’s hand, and led the way out of the theater. Other patrons walked around them, discussing the show.
“They put a nice spin on it, at least,” one man remarked.
“It’s this Nersen’s guy’s first play, right?” another said. “Not bad for a first try.”
Lusya noted that as further evidence of nepotism. Even if it was not the troupe’s first performance, a playwright’s first work being performed did not mesh with the Vorstil’s reputation for allowing only proven masters to grace its stage. It didn’t matter much to Lusya, but it was mildly interesting to see such machinations unfold. She was a bit curious, but, seeing as there was little way for her to pursue the matter, she would live without knowing more.
“Why did the dragon have to be sexy though?” a woman asked.
“You just don’t understand art,” a man beside her replied.
It had not been a bad show. Lusya did not attend such performances often. She preferred books, but that was not to say she had any dislike for theater. Her neglect for it was more due to it being more time consuming and inconvenient than reading when she had a moment.
The twist had been interesting, but it had not been well foreshadowed, and she was not sure it had been worth everything up to then being so typical, almost banal. The ending had been the most fascinating part. Sacrificing one’s desires for the happiness of another. It was not the first time Lusya had encountered the convention, but it always got her thinking. She could not fathom doing it, but she had encountered it in real life. Ariya’s mother, for instance.
Also, the title did not seem to fit. The king did have a monologue before dying, but it was more of a hateful, spite-filled rant than a “lament.” A holdover from an earlier draft of the story, maybe?
“Are you sure we can’t see another one?” Ariya asked.
“I am sure,” Lusya said. “Perhaps we will have another chance before our journey’s end.”
Ariya smiled. “I hope so.”
Lusya stopped in the middle of the square outside the theater, beside a large round planter surrounded by benches. She turned to face the theater, ready to fight, though she kept her posture as visibly casual as she could to avoid suspicion or provocation.
“What’s wrong?” Ariya asked. “Is there a bad person?”
“There may be,” Lusya replied. “Stay close, Ariya.”
Ariya stepped closer, half-hiding behind Lusya. “I will.”
The smiling demon pushed through the crowd and jogged up to Lusya, one arm raised in a lazy wave. “Hey, Lusya. Long time no see, princess.”
“I suppose,” Lusya said. She was sure she had seen him somewhere before, but she did not know where or when. He sure seemed familiar with her, in any case. She supposed it had been almost a year, at least, at this point, so the greeting fit.
“Nice show, huh?” he said with a grin. Though he seemed to be a full demon, he passed for a reltus about as well as Lusya, with deep violet hair and golden eyes.
“Indeed,” she said, relaxing. He did not seem to be hostile. She could not let her guard down completely, but trying to start a conversation did not seem like a prelude to an attack.
“Is he a bad guy?” Ariya asked. “He seems nice.”
“Well, thanks,” the demon said with a chuckle.
“I do not believe he is a threat,” Lusya said.
The demon chuckled. “Well, of course I’m not.” He paused, frowning, looking at Lusya as if examining her. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
“I am aware we have met,” she said. “I have no recollection of you beyond that.”
He sighed. “That figures. We met last Termon? As in, Termon of twelve-ninety-nine?”
She cocked her head and blinked.
“The Battle of Vara Ridge?” She remembered that, of course, but she had met many people then. She could not be expected to remember every irrelevant passerby. “We hung out for like two months?” She blinked again. “We had sex?”
“I see,” she said. “I recall that.”
She remembered him in general now, though his name still eluded her. He had taken it upon himself to serve as her companion in the weeks leading up to the battle, as well as the battle itself. After some time, she had chosen to engage in sexual intercourse with him out of curiosity. Her understanding was that most human woman would place more sentimental value on their first time and remember him, but, pleasant as the experience had been, who he was mattered little to her. Up to then, she had largely ignored him, so it was not strange that she had forgotten about him.
He sighed again, but then smiled and puffed out his chest. “I’ll take that jogging your memory as a compliment.” She was not sure he should have. Considering the circumstances, she had likely been easily impressed. A moment later, he deflated again. “You still don’t remember my name, do you?”
“I do not.”
“It’s Funfein. Not that you’ll remember.”
“It is unlikely.” She did not often make a habit of remembering unimportant names.
He shook his head with a bitter laugh and looked down at Ariya. “And who’s this adorable little thing?”
“I’m Ariya,” she replied with a wave, beaming under his praise, any fear apparently forgotten. “Nice to meet you.”
“Nice to meet you too,” he said before turning back to Lusya. “So, why are you traveling with a human kid?”
“We have a mission,” Ariya said.
Lusya glanced at her. “Silence, child.”
Ariya pouted but said nothing as Lusya turned her attention back on Funfein.
“I cannot explain at the moment,” Lusya said. Ariya still did not know most of the specifics of their purpose, and Lusya preferred to keep it that away. Even if Ariya had known, they were in much too public a space to be discussing reviving the Demon King. “However, I advise you continue to keep your urges in check.”
He nodded. “No worries, I’ve figured out a good way to work them out. Did you know there are places they pay you to beat up other mortals?”
“I did,” Lusya said.
There were many such establishments, legal and otherwise. There were many different types, for that matter, from informal fighting rings based in seedy taverns to coliseums where millions gathered to watch bouts.
“Well, there you have it,” he said, sounding quite proud of himself. He drove his fist into his palm as if his meaning were not clear. She supposed it was a clever way of managing his inclination toward violence. “Plus, I always win, so I’m rolling in cash. Literally, sometimes. It’s kind of fun.”
The first part was not surprising. Even without motomancy, no mortal would be able to match him in a contest of strength, and it was doubtful the types of organizations he was involved with—probably leaning more toward seedy taverns than coliseums—had many fighters prepared to make up the difference in skill. Rolling around in coins sounded more uncomfortable than anything, though. But if he was enjoying himself, that was fine.
“Even so, you should be cautious,” she said. “The Sacred Knights will not ignore you forever. I have already encountered a captain who will likely recognize your nature if you cross paths. They may already know about you.”
He nodded. “Yeah, don’t worry, I’ve got an escape plan.” He grinned again and leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Anyway, since we’re both here, why don’t you say we…” He winked at her. “…relive the good old days.” He pulled back and clicked his tongue. “Right, flirting doesn’t work. Do you want to have sex again?”
She had known what he had meant. It was true flirting tended to go over her head, but there had not been much else he could have been referring to. She did not think he wanted to wage a war with her right after they had discussed lying low, nor that he wanted to follow her around like a lost puppy when it was clear they were going their separate ways in short order.
“No, thank you,” she said. “I cannot afford to deal with the potential consequences at the moment.”
“Shame,” he said. “You were a demon in the sheets.”
“I am a demon everywhere.”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s a figure of—Did you just tell a joke?”
She nodded.
He stared at her, slack-jawed for a moment. “I have so many questions. But I’m not getting many answers, if I had to guess.”
“You will not,” Lusya said. Ariya gave her a strange look, eyebrows knit in concern. Lusya still did not know the cause of her baseless worry.
Funfein smiled and nodded. “Well, nice seeing you. I’ll leave you to it.”
He walked off into the crowd. Lusya watched him go, then led Ariya in the opposite direction to head toward the inn.
“Was he a demon too?” Ariya whispered. Lusya was sure others could have heard, but no one seemed to be paying them much mind. The nature of such a large crowd, she supposed, as long as they didn’t say anything too attention-grabbing.
She nodded. “He was.”
“Who knew there were so many good demons?” Ariya said. “I wonder why all the stories say they’re all bad.”
“Many reasons,” Lusya replied. “Chief among them is that most are.”
From a mortal’s perspective, at least. Even from Lusya’s point of view, many were more trouble than they were worth. For that matter, even Father had only ever seemed to like a scant few. The rest were useful at best.
Ariya hummed thoughtfully before breaking out into a grin. “I guess I’m just lucky, then, since I’ve met more good ones.”
Lusya nodded. Ariya gave her a concerned look again, but it passed in an instant, so Lusya did not comment on it.
“Will you read to me when we get back?” Ariya asked.
Lusya considered for a moment. “One chapter.”
Ariya groaned. “Come on! I know you want to know what happens next in My Knight Academy too!”
“I do,” Lusya said with a nod. “But it is already late due to the show. Proper rest is important. This is not up for discussion, Ariya.”
Ariya hung her head. “Yes, Lusya.”