CHAPTER 33: THE BALL (PART 2)
“The connection between blood and magic is well documented. But the nature of this relationship is still contested. Personally, I believe it’s because nothing is a more potent symbol of life and its power than blood. The shedding or sacrifice of blood invokes that connection and effects the Aether as a Magi’s will might. Interestingly but not surprisingly, the source of the blood also plays a role in this. Animal blood is weaker than human, and Dragon blood is fantastically potent“- From the Grimoire of Anasiar Sparrowhawk, Battlemage of Queen-Elect Josefa II.
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Cole rolled his shoulders and stood at the dancefloor’s edge. People were clearing away, and a troupe of servants had materialized. Bringing a sack of flour and a rack of blades with them. Looking at the weapons, Cole reached into one of his pockets and felt the metal disk tucked there. He’d prefer to use that over a dueling blade but would respect the Baroness’s wishes.
Glancing at the noblewoman, Cole saw her expression was caught between annoyance and amusement as if she couldn’t decide whether having her party interrupted was worth the assured spectacle of the duel. Her eyes met Cole’s, and he offered a slight bow. The show of supplication seemed to settle the issue, and she smiled.
Sir Leoric Louon stood on the opposite side of the polished dancefloor, a cluster of his relatives grouped around him. When Cole confronted Graf Louon, he did not expect things to escalate this quickly. Admittedly he had no one to blame but himself; his plan of butting into the Graf’s business and insinuating what he knew wasn’t exactly the height of subtly. A bold act spurred less by logic and more by a desire to spite the murderer and his protectors. They’d evaded justice for too long, hiding behind decorum and noble privilege, and Cole was sick of it.
A newly familiar figure sidled up next to Cole, the old knight Horace from the vestibule. The heavy-set noble looked practically giddy at the prospect of the duel. A hog-like chortle escaped him as he clapped Cole on the back. “I should have guessed you were the Paladin! My word Sir Cole, you really know how to pick your battles.”
Surprised by the familiar gesture, Cole looked at the retired knight and his marked face. “You were a duelist, correct? Is there anything I need to know about Vindabon’s customs?”
Beaming, Horace nodded. “Aye, I was! It’s why I came over to speak with you. I was worried you wouldn’t know how to duel at all.”
Cole raised an eyebrow at the short man, and he raised a conciliatory hand. “I’ve known many an excellent soldier who was a terrible duelist. The skills of true combat don’t always translate well. So it occurred to me a slayer of Demons and Undead might suffer similar problems.”
Nodding in appreciation, Cole let a slight smile play across his lips. “I’m no novice to dueling. But my experience is a little more vicious than what I expect is normal in Vindabon.”
It was Horace’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “Oh, you’d be surprised, especially with something like the red challenge Sir Leoric gave you.”
Memories of defending Isabelle’s honor flashed behind Cole’s eyes. The Duchies preferred to settle matters with a contest of champions. Which usually meant pit fights between favored monsters. Cole knew the games of living aristocrats could get ugly, but he doubted they matched the sheer madness of their undead counterparts.
“A red challenge? That was what the spilled blood was?” Cole had assumed Leoric’s tossing a goblet of blood onto Natalie was an insult about her nature. Not some classical form of challenge like a thrown gauntlet or glove.
Horace nodded. “It’s a Guyvenne custom, signifying a desire to shed lots and lots of blood. Something to do with an old King offering a cup of blood in exchange for a barrel full.”
Pointing to the servants at work setting up a circle of flour in the dancefloor center, Horace explained.
“The flour marks the arena; stepping on or across it will mean you forfeit. As for the weapons the Countess has selected? Dueling blades aren’t pretty. Any Priest worth their prayers can heal most wounds from them, but they tend to leave scars. Not that you’d notice.”
Horace grinned and added. “I still want to know how you got all those scars. I’ve never met someone so badged by battle.”
Licking the inside of his cheek, where the skin had once been split, Cole paid for the knight’s aid. “Fighting monsters and being tortured by them.”
Unlike so many others, Sir Horace didn’t recoil at the truth. His eyes just hardened, and he patted Cole’s shoulder with an almost fatherly air. “Truly honorable marks, then. Signs of your survival in the face of evil. Sir Leoric is rather skilled, but I do believe he’s bitten off more than he can chew.”
Cole almost smiled at the strange compliment. “How skilled?”
Horace scratched at his mustache and shrugged. “I’ve personally never seen him fight, but he is House Louon’s champion. As a scion of a Dragonslayer house trusted with defending its honor with steel, he’s got to be one of the best in the city, if not half the League.”
Flexing his arms and legs, Cole filed that information away. Career duelists were never anything to dismiss, but they usually had certain flaws. Possible openings Cole might exploit. Seeing Cole’s readiness to fight, Horace clapped him on the back again and stepped away. “He might be fighting for his family's honor, but you are fighting for the woman you love. Oh, I know who’d I bet on if Mason let me.”
The servants had finished creating the circle of flour, and the Baroness now stood near it. In a voice strong and clear, she addressed her guests. “Great and good people of Vindabon! We have the honor of witnessing a great duel on this Solstice Eve! Let us pray for a noble match between two knights, one blessed by Master Time, another by dragon blood!”
Raising her hands to either side of her, she called. “Who will act as Second for our combatants?”
“I will stand beside my cousin!” proclaimed Grafling Liam Louon. The young noble, twenty five at the oldest, looked nervous but determined.
Two figures stepped up on either side of Cole, the twins Jaks and Jokin. “We’ll stand with the Paladin if the Lady will let us!”
Cole let out an amused breath and looked at the Werewolf brothers. Both wore lupine grins and seemed ready to start a brawl. Nodding to them, Cole approached the rack of weapons; opposite him, Leoric did the same.
The dueling blades were long thin foils, designed to pierce and stab. Running a hand along the rack, Cole picked up an estoc and tested its balance. Nodding, he squeezed its leather grip. Leoric picked a wickedly thin rapier and gave it a few experimental slashes in the air. Both men settled on their choices and went to opposite sides of the flour circle. Their respective seconds stood nearby; the twins glared fangs at the Grafling and his family behind him.
Looking at both combatants, the Baroness let out a slight sigh. “Now is the final moment for either of you to back away from this.”
Leoric’s eyes boiled with hate, and he spat on the ground. Earning a wave of gasps from the surrounding crowd. Cole just let out a breath and said. “Thank you for your concern Baroness, but this has been long overdue.”
She looked at Cole with slight confusion, and Leoric twitched slightly. Letting out a huff, the Baroness nodded and gestured to the dueling circle. The two duelists entered the flour arena at the Baroness’s signal. Silence spread across the ballroom as the combatants paced, circling each other, watching for any opening.
Holding the estoc up in a classic guard, Cole asked. “Do you know what your family has been hiding? Are you culpable or just ignorant?”
Leoric ignored Cole’s words even as they got a confused murmur from the crowd. Only answering them with his own grievance. “My mother was a good woman. She didn’t deserve what those Monsters did to her!”
Cole nodded, “No, she didn’t. I’m sorry for what a Vampire took from you. It isn’t right, and I would gladly put the responsible Undead to rest if you wish. But your pain is no excuse to attack someone trying to go beyond their worse nature.”
Leoric lunged then, fast as a bowshot and just as deadly. Cole sidestepped the strike, avoiding the singing point of the rapier. The Louon Champion spun and slashed at Cole, who leaned just out of reach of his enemy's blade. Careful to stay in the circle, Cole danced away from Leoric.
“How long has it been going on? Whatever ailment is effecting your family must be fairly new. Within the last few generations, I suspect. Is it some taint in the blood or a curse?” Cole kept his blade up in the same guard. He knew the basics of fencing, but his opponent outclassed him in this martial art.
Leoric launched another dizzying array of cuts and thrusts faster than any mundane human could ever hope. But his opponent rarely fought mundane humans; Cole was used to the claws and swords of true Monsters. Evading the Louon Knight’s blade wasn’t easy, but neither did it truly test the Paladin.
Cole was confident he could win a straight fight against Leoric, but that wasn’t what this was. It was a duel to first blood, something that favored the Knight’s aggression and speed over the Paladin’s strength and endurance. Cole could only dodge for so long; eventually, he’d make a mistake, and he’d lose the initiative against House Louon. His accusations and claims would be hollowed out by his loss. That was how the nobility worked, be they living or dead. Fortune favors the fortunate.
The current game of dodging and looking for an opening that might never come was not a winning proposition. So Cole did what he always did when faced with a losing game; he changed the rules. Lunging forward with all his speed, Cole tossed his estoc towards the ceiling. An utterly mad move that forced Leoric’s eyes to follow it out of sheer confusion. So when Cole rushed in, fist clenched, Leoric didn’t have time to react.
Cole’s knuckles connected with Leoric’s nose in a cartilage-crushing blow. Leoric’s head snapped back, and he stumbled from the impact. Red blood spewed down from his broken nose in a crimson torrent. Shaking his hand, Cole danced back on the balls of his feet. Despite himself, he smiled.
“First blood,” Cole said, eyes scanning the assembled Louon clan. After a long moment of silence, applause erupted from the crowd.
Baroness Patrizia DeMello stepped into the arena and proclaimed. “As adjudicator of this duel, I proclaim Paladin Cole, the victor!” the applause turned to polite cheers, and the Baroness continued speaking, barely audible over the crowd. “Now! Let us return to the night’s fes-”
“NO!” barked Leoric, his hands wet with his own blood, a snarl on his face. Pointing his rapier at Cole, he spat. “That is no honorable strike! You besmirch the art of dueling with such idiocy!”
Gasps echoed around them, and the Baroness stepped back from the drawn blade. Cole stepped closer, ensuring the edge was pointed at him and no one else. “First blood, I broke your nose, and you bled. I won, Sir Leoric.”
The knight’s face twitched, and a hissing shriek bubbled up from his throat. His golden eyes seemed to almost glow with feral intensity. In those eyes, Cole saw madness, the type of unhinged rage only the deranged can express. Nodding to himself, Cole whispered. “There it is; there is the failing of House Louon.”
Leoric charged, exploding forward faster than even during the duel. Cole sucked in a breath and called up his power, channeling it into his right hand. Stepping forward, Cole met the thrusting rapier with his palm. Cold steel broke the skin and met frozen blood. The blade snapped as all of Leoric’s force met Cole’s magic. The Paladin was pushed back slightly; the force of the impact made his shoulder throb. Letting the broken half of the rapier clatter to the ground, Cole swept in low, letting the cold flow from his right hand to his left. Flesh and bone hardened, turned into something greater by the Cold of Entropy.
So when Cole’s fist met Leoric’s gut, it was a frozen hammer. The strike would have disemboweled a mundane and was still enough to knock Leoric to the ground. Wretching, the ‘knight’ started to spew a mixture of blood and bile onto the polished floor. The blood was unnaturally bright, apple red in coloration instead of proper crimson, but that wasn’t the strangest part of Leoric’s disgorgement. Varnish sizzled under the pool of filth, sending up plumes of foul-smelling smoke.
Frowning, Cole rolled his incapacitated opponent onto his side to ensure he didn’t choke on his vomit. Looking around at the crowd, he said. “I don’t do this out of cruelty but precaution. Sir Leoric has shown himself to be violent and untrustworthy.”
Before anyone could ask what he meant, Cole stomped down on Leoric’s leg, shattering his lower leg bones. A guttural shriek escaped Leoric, and the crowd gasped in horror. Stepping over his fallen foe, Cole looked over the assembled scions of Louon.
“Ann Eder, Josef Aigner, Lana Klammer, Jonathan Winkler, Elza Farman, Magith Stall, Vittora Malvo, Klaus Kress, Antonio Kukala, Verna Hockmen,” he said, eyes glowing with holy power.
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“They had names and families; they had time yet to spend. A petty Monster stole their lives.” Letting his gaze sweep across the Louons, Cole saw their emotions in the Aether. Shock, confusion, worry, and in a handful, guilt were the dominant effusions. But there were two outliers, the Graf and the Grafling. Isac Louon burned with outrage, a black flame that danced around him in an orbit of aristocratic disdain. At the same time, his grandson Liam stunk of hate and lust. A foul mixture Cole recognized from the street altar murder.
Eyes widening, Cole let his gaze settle on the young aristocrat and his hazel eyes. Liam was breathing heavily, tapping his fingers against the air, never looking away from Cole. Jerking his head back in understanding, Cole let out a breath. Liam was a cousin to Leoric; he was young enough to have had Michelle Stine as a nanny. His parents had died young, probably due to the family curse. He’d been in Weinstadt shortly after one of the killings and had stirred up anger against the Werefolk.
Cole had foolishly discounted him as a suspect because of his age. Liam couldn’t be much older than Natalie, and the killings started ten years ago. It was hard to imagine a child killing someone. Still, it wasn’t impossible, especially if the child was cursed and belonged to a family that would protect him from consequences.
Letting out a breath, Cole stepped towards the Heart-stealer and asked. “Why are you doing this? Why are you stealing these lives?”
Liam’s mouth twitched, and he thrust his hand forward. A white-hot cord of power wrapped around Cole’s throat, and he stumbled backward. Gagging, Cole clawed at his neck, trying to remove the searing noose killing him. Nothing physical was there, just magic shaped into a burning garrot. Struggling against the murderous power, Cole started to call up his blessings to counteract the noose.
Before he could, a pair of growls came from either side of him. Jaks and Jokin shot forward and tackled Liam to the ground. The twins were strong even in their human forms, and the Heart-stealer didn’t stand a chance in direct combat. Gasps, mutters, and shrieks escaped from the crowd, and Cole recovered enough to see things had descended into a standoff. Some of the Louons had called up power; hands crackled with flames, skin shone like scales, and a few even sported reptilian claws large as daggers.
A sharp whistle cut through the tumult, and a crack of displaced air rang in Cole’s ears. Four heavily armed centaur warriors materialized, each holding a spear or battle axe. The centaurs flanked the Baroness, who held a silver horse-whistle between two fingers. A positively stormy expression covered the noblewoman’s face.
With a gesture, she commanded the centaurs to approach Cole, the twins, and Liam. “What is the meaning of all this, Paladin?” she hissed, eyes ablaze with affronted fury.
Sucking in breaths, Cole glanced behind her to see Natalie watching with a worried expression. Her face had hair had been cleaned, but her dress was stained by blood. Giving her a smile, Cole looked towards the Baroness. “I’m sorry, Lady Patrizia, but I can’t set aside my mantle even during such an august celebration.”
Eyes darting to the pinned Liam and the werewolf twins, the Baroness asked. “Are you saying…?”
Cole nodded, “I’m hunting a Monster, Baroness. Just one that happens to be alive.”
The listening crowd looked at Liam, who struggled beneath the werewolves. The implications settled like fresh snow, only to be disturbed by a pulse of force.
Jaks and Jokin were tossed off Liam by an invisible strike. Graf Isac stood over his grandson, golden eyes glowing with power.
Gesturing at the Paladin, he spat, “You accuse my grandson of being a monster? You who cavort with the Undead and serve the God of Grief?”
Actual sparks of power danced around Isac’s hands and eyes as he spoke. “I knew you were not to be trusted, Paladin! Holy oath or not, you are clearly corrupted; look at you, sleeping with a walking corpse and attacking my grandson!”
Gesturing to the crowd, the Graf continued his speech. “My nephew dishonored himself true, but this brute desecrated the dueling arena and crippled him!” pointing at Cole, he leveled his accusation. “How long have you been fighting evil, Paladin? How many battles have you lost to be so scarred? What broke you so terribly you could ignore the Monster in your bed but see one in my grandson?”
Natalie slipped closer to Cole, sniffing the air, eyes never leaving Liam as she did. The Grafling had gotten to his feet and was rubbing his cut lip. A tiny trickle of red flowed down his face, and Natalie could smell it. Fresh and this close, there was no mistaking it; it was the same blood as on the tracking spell. But that wasn’t all she learned. When Leoric spilled his guts, the sick scent of his blood had only increased, an almost rotten spice that some instinct told Natalie never to taste. A sickness her ever-adapting nose could smell faintly on the Graf, but not his Grandson…
Reaching Cole, she found his hand; it was painfully cold, even to her undead skin. “It’s him; Liam is the source of the blood, I’m certain now.”
The Graf made a disgusted noise and gestured with a glowing hand at Natalie. “See! The monstrous bitch whispers poison in his ear! House Louon has stood against this city's enemies for centuries, and now the Duchies sends a leech to discredit us. She’s wormed her way into the Temple and now seeks to slither among us patricians!”
Another noble stepped forward, a tall, barrel-chested man with striking green eyes; his clothes were ornate, and he carried a serpent headed-cane. On second glance, Natalie realized it wasn’t a serpent but a dragon.
Pointing the cane at Isac, he said. “Normally, I’d agree with you, cousin, but this is the Tenth Temple we speak of. If anyone could detect or resist a Vampire’s whispers, it's them. Even if the Paladin was bewitched, his fellows would not be.”
The Baroness nodded, “Lord Kronor, you speak reason.”
The Dragonblood noble returned the nod but then gestured at Natalie. “Still, I wouldn’t trust a Vampire’s testimony. Either way, this is not a matter to be resolved on such a fair night. Let us end this fuss and go back to our party.”
Isac’s eyes narrowed, but his power faded. “I agree; my family came here to celebrate with our equals, not fight.”
All eyes fell upon Cole, and he sighed; he wanted to argue but realized it would be pointless. “I apologize for bringing this mess to the Baroness’s party, and I will refrain from pursuing it for now.” pointing at Liam, he growled. “But, if you flee the city, I will take it as an admission of guilt.”
The Baroness clapped her hands and said, “Good, it’s settled then. I will have someone clean up the dance floor, and we’ll serve dinner!”
Rolling his shoulders, Cole looked up at the ice city above them and winced. His estoc stuck out of sculpture, the dueling blade protruding from the city-palace like some steel spire. Natalie followed his glance and let out a snort of laughter. Almost on cue, the estoc slipped from its hole and fell onto the empty dance floor with a loud clank. A hundred sets of eyes went to it, and Cole rubbed his face in embarrassment.
Taking Cole’s arm, Natalie guided him back to the table, the annoyed werewolf twins flanking them. They settled back at the tenth temple table, and Ametza said what was on everyone but Natalie’s mind. “What the fuck was that?”
Kistine smacked her daughter’s hand, “Language, we’re trying to convince these folk we aren’t savages.”
Ametza narrowed her eyes and jabbed a finger back at the dance floor. “They had a duel and nearly a brawl not five minutes ago.”
Ignoring her daughter's words, Kistine folded her hands in her lap. “Curses aside, Ametza’s words are valid. What have you dragged everyone into Paladin?”
Cole looked at a very nervous Jaerd, who sat with them. “What do you know about Liam Louon?”
Jaerd scratched at his first whispy hints of facial hair. “He’s a little older than me, so not much. Just that he’s the heir of his House, his parents died when he was young, and he’s kinda weird.”
Frowning, Natalie said, “Weird? Elaborate on that, please.”
Blanching a little bit at the Vampire’s attention, Jaerd shrugged. “Just weird, like we rarely see him at events, even though he’s the Grafling. Heirs are usually trotted out at every event and opportunity to show off and learn. Not Liam; he’s seen maybe once or twice a year. Then when he does come, he’s never very social; I don’t know anyone who calls him a friend.”
Letting out a considering hum, Cole said. “I betrayed my stance tonight, so there is no point in continued secrecy.” Looking over his small coterie, he explained, “The killings in Weinstadt, Liam Louon is the lead suspect.”
There was silence until Jak broke it. “You’re telling me that inbred little whelp is why the riot happening? Because of him, we lost family!”
Jak started to get up from his seat, a vein pulsing in his forehead. As his mouth split open in a snarl, Natalie swore his teeth were growing. Ametza grabbed her cousin and forcibly shoved him back into his chair. “Idiot! We can’t go over and take his hide, no matter how much we want to. We’re not in our territory; we can’t settle this with blood price.”
Steepling her fingers, Kistine looked to Cole. “My daughter is again right, so your actions confuse me, Cole. You gave up the element of surprise for what?”
Shrugging, Cole straightened his clothes and watched as his estoc was collected by an annoyed-looking servant. “We knew the killer was probably a Louon; I didn’t know it was Liam until after Leoric attacked me. Then well… I could have handled it better, but honestly, I’m sick of letting him hide behind his family’s petticoats. He’s killed at the very least thirty people and has never been suspected till now. Better to smash the whole thing open and let the sunlight in than keep chasing him in the shadows.”
Natalie wrinkled her nose and asked. “You knew before I told you about the blood? How did you?”
Cole explained his reasoning and how the twisted emotions in the Aether had been the final link. The sense of queasy nervousness settled over the group, and Kistine nodded her head in weary understanding. “He started killing people when he was a boy?”
“Yes, must have been ten or eleven when the murders started a decade ago,” was Cole’s response.
Jaerd corrected, “Nine, he’s nineteen. Liam just looks older than he should.”
Natalie fidgeted and found her glass on the table. Dipping a napkin in the water, she worked to clean more of the blood out of her dress. The smell reminded her of the sickly spice she’d sensed earlier. “Leoric’s sick; something is wrong with him. His blood tastes bad, and whatever rot is in him got worse when he lost control.”
Setting the pink-stained napkin down and grimacing, Natalie added. “It’s hard to describe, but something spoiled in his blood. Not literally, just the magic of it.” scrunching up her face in concentration, Natalie tried to find words for the alien sensation her undead body had felt. “Blood is innately magical, right? Well, whatever magic is in Leoric’s blood is foul. It’s powerful, and that should be appetizing, but instead, it’s disgusting.”
Glancing in the direction of Louon's table, she added. “Liam’s blood, though? It’s definitely powerful but not rotten.”
Absorbing this information, Cole frowned. “If the rot is the curse activating, does that mean Liam’s not yet tainted by it? But that doesn’t make any sense! Why would a normal child start murdering people?”
Kistine cleared her throat. “I don’t know what curse you speak of, Paladin, but a murderous child is not… unheard of.”
Cole looked at her in confusion, and Kistine sighed. “Maybe thirty years ago, when I was young, I heard a story. Another Werefolk Clan ran into trouble with one of their pups. The boy’s father was dead, and his mother was…unstable. I think the boy was six when the first incidents started. Cruelty to his fellow pups, something about a burned wagon, and a few ugly hunts.”
Trying to pull up the sordid old story, Kistine stared off into the middle distance. “By the time he was thirteen, two of his generation had gone missing. Believed snatched by some predator while on practice hunts. When they found the third body, they knew the truth. The boy was raping and murdering his kin.”
Shock rippled around the table, and Kistine played with one of her bangles. “They executed the boy when he was fifteen. Alongside his mother, the scars they found on the boy warranted that. Last I heard, that pack dissolved out of shame and infighting. A horrible mother and her broken son’s legacy.”
Kistine finished her story just in time for the first dinner course to arrive. No one particularly felt like eating.
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The table did manage to find their appetite by the second course. Helped by the array of delicacies arranged by House DeMello. Cole, Jaerd, and Kistine had the unenviable task of teaching the young Shohgards table manners. At the same time, Natalie simply envied their ability to eat.
As Ametza ate the dessert pie with mocking sluggishness, she asked, “Slow enough, Mother?”
Kistine rolled her eyes and sipped some of the red wine they’d been given. Natalie smiled at the eternal conflict between mother and daughter, remembering some of her own clashes. Surprisingly the memories didn’t come with the usual twinge of pain. Something that shocked her at first. Looking at her empty plate, Natalie pursed her lips. Maybe time did heal all wounds, or at least provide enough new ones to bury the old.
Cole saw her absent expression and squeezed her hand. “You okay?”
Natalie nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine, actually.” She smiled when she looked up at the ice city and across the beautiful ballroom. “I could have done without the insane knight throwing blood on me, but other than that, this has been wonderful.”
“I’m glad,” Cole responded, simple words complimented by a genuine smile.
Rubbing his hand, Natalie returned his smile. “But as I think about it… having my honor defended in a duel is part of the gallant story, isn’t it? So I guess even that worked out.”
A few ugly memories flickered across Cole’s mind, but he forced them down in place of the beautiful present. Feeling her hand in his, Cole let out a long calming breath. Things hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but they could have gone much worse.
The temple bells started ringing then, signaling it was nine at night. Once they stopped, a great heavy knock sounded on the ballroom doors. Jaerd set down his fork and sighed. He and everyone else in the room got to their feet. The few outsiders, like those at the Temple table, mimicked the action a few seconds later.
Leaning over, Cole asked Jaerd, “What’s happening?”
Eyes never leaving the ballroom door, the noble whispered. “The second group of guests is arriving.” on seeing the confused expressions around him, he muttered, “Plebians…” and then explained. “Accepting food from another house is a sign of peace and tacit submission. It’s some old custom from Iskandar’s Empire. Under those rules, you can arrive after the meal to illustrate your superiority.”
An annoyed sigh escaped everyone at the table who wasn’t Jaerd. The reaction of any outsider to a foreign land’s convoluted politics. The great doors opened then, and the herald announced the first newcomer.
“ Esteemed Maestro of the Council, gilded adept of the high office, word-smith archaic, patron of the arts, and lesser Magi. Niece to Elector-Prince Yoseph Franz and heir to his titles, Lady Isibeth Franz.”
An imperious woman with high cheekbones and an aquiline nose entered the chamber. Clad in a gown of black and gold, she was an icon of noble grace. Stepping down the polished stairs, dress trailing behind her; Lady Isibeth was flanked by knights in heavy plate. Their thick steel contrasted with her gossamer dress.
Soon others were announced. Members of the Elector-House, foreign dignitaries, political rivals, and even Jaerd’s older sister. Whose presence was, according to him, “some statement about his family’s power.”
As the latecomers settled in, the rest of the party-goers started to sit down. Just to be interrupted by another knock at the door. Everyone looked at the doors in confusion. After a long moment, they swung open, and a very nervous-looking herald stepped to the top of the staircase. He held a sheet of paper in shaking hands. As his mouth opened, Natalie felt a familiar tug on her soul. Eyes wide, she hissed. “No…”
Despite his obvious fear, the herald announced the new arrivals in a high clear voice. “Now presenting…. Sir Francesco Scapin, ambassador from the Blood Duchies. Alongside Sir Dietrich Freymond of the…Knights of the Scarlet Song.”
Two figures strowed out onto the landing. The first was clad in fine red cloth and a floppy beret accented with a gray feather. He had a small goatee and a smile that never waivered, a smile that showed his fangs. Just behind him was a wall of red steel and barely restrained contempt. Scarlet eyes quested across the crowd until they found Cole. The two Knights locked eyes, and Dietrich smiled.