Harald couldn’t sit there and watch the crowd bid on his soul.

For that’s what it felt like.

Each time a House representative offered another absurd amount for a commonplace household item he squirmed, and that discomfort gave rise to anger.

“Do they think they can just buy me?” he hissed to Vic, who was busy noodling about in the depths of the liquor cabinet.

“Um, yes?” Vic held up a tiny, dusty bottle, and wiped the label. “Ooh, this is dwarven whisky! I might just steal it.”

Harald scowled at the activity below. “Can we trust Master Ling to give me an accurate commission? Do I need to be here to watch and make sure he doesn’t rob me?”

“Hmm?” Vic glanced over his shoulder at him. “Oh, Master Ling will be scrupulously honest. The reputation of the Platinum Rose depends on his reliability.”

Harald stood. “Then let’s go.”

“Go?” Vic’s dismay was almost comic. “We haven’t even availed ourselves of the—”

Harald left the balcony chamber. The tightly spiraled staircase descended to two doors: one let out into the bidding hall, the opposite into a private corridor. This he pushed open, peered up and down, and then set off with long strides.

“Harald! Darling!” Vic chased after him. “What are you doing? You’re the star of this entire show!”

“Forget that.” Harald’s mood was darkening by the moment. The hallway ended at a narrow lacquered doorway which led out into the main entrance hall. A sparse crowd remained, intent on their own business, but Harald ignored them as he strode down the length of the wall toward the main doors.

The rain had increased from a mist to a mild downpour; Harald strode right through the guests clustered beneath the portico and out into the bad weather, down the steps, ignoring the carriages, and began making his way out of the grand square.

Vic looked as pleased as a cat fished out of a pool. “Harald! By the Fallen Angel’s bellicose tits, what the hell? Are you too good for carriages now?”

Harald resisted the urge to break into a run. He strode along, jaw clenched, until Vic caught hold of his elbow and with surprising strength spun him around.

“This is unconscionable!” Vic glared at him, rain running down his face. “I only managed to steal the bare minimum, and now we’re going for a walk in the bloody rain?”

Harald couldn’t put his inchoate rage into words. It just kept building. Rising like the flames of a funeral pyre, leaping ever upward into a dark sky.

Vic studied him, perplexed. “You don’t like scales? You hate leveraging your advantages? Or is it that Thornvale nonsense?”

“It’s all of it, Vic.” Harald forced the words out. “It’s the whole damn lot of them. Pawing at me, evaluating me, trying to coerce me onto their chess boards as their latest pawn. That Lord Jin, smirking at me as he paid a fortune for my father’s books. Lady Hammerfell asking me to come for tea. All of them evaluating me, measuring me, trying to find a way to own me.”

“Oh Harry.” Vic shook his head. “That’s life. That’s Flutic, and it always has been. What, did you think they’d ask your opinion on the matter? Politely inquire as to your life ambitions, and then explore how they could further your goals?”

“I want them to leave me alone!” Harald’s snarl was accompanied by his chopping at the air with a swing of his arm. “I want to gain power, I want to fight Vorakhar, I want to train, I want to acquire scales, I want to take care of my friends, and that’s all! I don’t want to be anybody’s possession, to have my moves and loyalties dictated, to be toyed with by a crowd of jaded assholes who think they can own my soul with a handful of scales!”

“A noble albeit naive sentiment,” said Vic. “Look, darling, I’m a compassionate soul, but wake the fuck up. We don’t get what we want in this world. As my dear grandmother used to say, we aim for the stars and we land in the treetops. This is life. You drew attention to yourself, and now you must dance to the tune of the mighty.”

Harald pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t want to.”

“Well boo the fucking hoo.” Vic’s tone was still kind. “You’ve lived a life of privilege, Harry, but mostly because you never drew any attention. Well, you have it now. And running away into the rain won’t change a thing.”

“No?” Harald considered. “They all want a piece of me for now, right? Until the next exciting thing comes along?”

“Well,” allowed Vic, considering, “the odds of someone hitting a 1,000% gain in the next few months are slim.”

“Maybe I can play them against each other. Maybe I can delay until I’m powerful enough to stand on my own feet. Maybe I can disappear.”

“Disappear?”

“Lady Yseult spoke of Questing Hermits. Raiders who just stay in the dungeon. It sounded mad before, but now I can understand the impulse.”

“High ranking raiders, Harald. Who can fend for themselves for weeks on end. Who know how to survive in the dungeon, where to sleep, how to acquire food, water, and not go mad after losing all track of time. Not to mention that they’re able to survive in the deeper levels that have actual ecosystems, not barren mazes of hallways like the 4th.”

“Then maybe I don’t stay there permanently. I just spend a lot of time in the dungeon, come up for air, as it were, then go back down. They can’t coerce me if I’m not around.”

“And you’ll find a quaint little garret in the Shambles to hide in, so that even when you go home they’ll not know where you are?”

Harald raised his chin. “Sure. I need to find a new home once the Manor is taken from me.”

“Nice try. You think nobody’s attempted it before? How hard do you think it is for them to place lookouts at the Dungeon Portal and stop you as you come and go?”

Harald scowled.

“Harald. Darling. Look at me. This isn’t nearly as bad as you’re making it out to be. House patronage comes with definite perks. You gain access to resources, wealth, and powerful allies who can tell people like Ustim Flowervault to go to hell. Yes, you have to take orders, but none of us are truly free. The art of living involves finding beauty within constraints. And you? You’re spoiled for choice. Unlike almost anyone I know, you get to pick your patron and decide what manner of life you’ll live.”

“And Thornvale?”

Vic winced. “Yes, a thorn in this pretty bouquet of flowers. I’ve not yet decided how we can deal with them. But I do have an idea.”

Harald’s anger quieted. “You do?”

“Honestly, do you think I was solely focused on ferreting out the most expensive bottles of booze from that remarkably deep cabinet and nothing more? Oh no, Uncle Vic was thinking.”

“Don’t call yourself Uncle Vic.”

“Look, Thracos gave himself away when he said he recognized your demonic corruption.”

“Don’t call it demonic corruption.”

Vic threw up his hands in exasperation. “Your… demonic… patronage, then. It means he’s similarly afflicted, right? And was sent by Lord Thorn because he in turn suspected your meteoric rise to be attributed to demonic influence. Which means all of House Thornvale is probably in bed with the demons, which would explain the whole House’s rapid rise to power.”

“Yes, so?”

“So? We have access to someone with both a vested interest in your success as well as insider knowledge on all these matters. Vorakhar.”

Harald was incredulous. “You’re saying we go to the demon prince with this?”

“Darling, of course. The Demon Seed indicates his vested interest, an interest, I’m sure, he won’t want squandered by your being usurped by a rival demon. After all, what are the odds that Vorakhar is behind House Thornvale? I’ll do the math for you: one in six. So. We ring his bell, explain your predicament, and then see what he suggests.”

Harald frowned at the puddles around them, their surfaces continuously pocked by the falling rain.

“If you don’t like it, then suggest an alternative.” Vic shrugged. “But it can’t be as plebian a course of action as killing Thracos. Thracos is offensive to the senses, yes, but the problem now lies with Lord Thorn. And darling, we can’t assassinate him.”

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

Harald signed. “Right. Right.”

“So! We have ourselves a cozy chat with Vorakhar, and when I say ‘we’ I obviously mean ‘you’, and then hopefully he’ll take matters in hand and go tell House Thornvale’s demon to leave you well alone.”

Harald nodded reluctantly.

“Cheer up! By the angels, you act as if you’re not even at this very second making scales hand over fist.” Vic slung a sodden arm over Harald’s shoulders and began leading him along the sidewalk. “You’ve a dinner date with Lady Celestis tomorrow night, tea with Lady Hammerfell, an invitation to tour the Emberfell Craft Hall, and I’m sure you’ll be hearing from House Silvershield soon enough. Lord Jin will quite possibly allow the shadow of a frown to appear on his peerless visage when he learns you quit the auction house before he could politely inform you of his interest. Thornvale’s going to give you a few days to squirm, and that leaves House Veridian as the only major house to not have made a move yet. I’m sure you’ll hear from them soon enough.”

“Not if I’m in the dungeon,” muttered Harald.

“Yes, darling, not if you’re deep in the dungeon having a good pout.” Vic gave him a good-natured shake and released him. “Listen, you have to take this seriously. Everybody’s being nice to you because they’re trying to make an enticing impression. But the moment they feel scorned, insulted, or rebuffed, the gloves will come off. Act like a lout, refuse to show at promised assignations, and you’ll be asking for a world of trouble.”

“All of this makes Yeoric seem trivial.”

“Well, he’s not. Though joining a major house will completely change the calculus on that duel. It will be a laughably easy matter to nullify once you have someone like Lady Yseult Khan acting as your second.”

“I don’t want to avoid it. I want to crush him.”

“Aren’t you in a spiteful mood? Yes, well, you need to be alive six weeks’ from now in order to do so. And also leveled up and comfortable with your Abilities. So. Tomorrow you dine with Lady Celestis—”

“We,” corrected Harald morosely. “I asked to bring a companion.”

“Ooh, exciting.” Vic rubbed his hands together, then clawed his wet hair out of his face. “Though I’m not sure that’s the right play.”

Harald squinted at him through the rain. “Why not?”

A carriage rolled by, its huge iron-shod wheels sending up a spray and causing enough noise for them to be forced to walk in silence till it was gone.

“Because I’m obviously too sophisticated, sharp, and witty to pretend to be anything but your guardian, which will diminish you in Lady Celestis’ eyes. For my money, you should coerce Nessa into going.”

“Nessa?”

“Oh yes, she can be absolutely devastating at these kinds of gatherings. You know of course that she’s minor nobility herself? She loathes it, but she can dance the dance when needed.”

“I’d picked up an idea, yes, but she’s won’t speak of her past, and I’ve never heard of a House Ermarine. Do you know which family?”

“Not my place to say, darling, but she’ll provide just the right balance to your earnest manner. Lady Celestis is endlessly cunning; you won’t outwit her. But if you present instead your own bright steel and Nessa’s dark glamor, I think you have a better chance of both making a good impression and getting out alive than my overt fencing.”

“If you say so.” Though it did appeal. Him and Nessa, dressing up and presenting themselves as a couple at the Celestara estate. Once that was literally the stuff of his dreams; him alighting from a carriage to extend his hand to Nessa, them a couple, together, unified in purpose and… well.

“The trick will be to convince her to join you. No easy thing, given her aversion to all things nobility.”

“And if she refuses?”

“Then I’ll be your fabulous companion tomorrow night, and we’ll simply do our best.” Vic grinned. “Now, are you feeling better? Can we get a carriage?”

*

Harald excused himself upon arriving at the manor. He left Vic to explain to Nessa what had taken place, and after toweling off and donning exercise clothes, descended to the gym where he lit the lanterns and stepped out into the center of the training mat.

Extending his hand, he summoned the Dawnblade. It manifested smoothly, its green, soapstone length gleaming in the light, perfectly balanced and wickedly sharp.

It couldn’t remain his primary weapon for long. It was Common in rank, and only boosted his stats at dawn. Its unique ability was of limited utility. In fact, its primary benefit was the massively enhanced durability that all Artifacts possessed. It would resist the flames that had so warped his previous blade, wouldn’t snap or dull.

Harald took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to work the Dungeon Square. He moved slowly as he allowed his thoughts, his roiling emotions to settle.

It took time.

Back and forth he stepped, moving obliquely in time with his swings, not trying for strength or speed but simply moving his feet and arms in concert, trying to find that elusive sense of intuitive lethality.

Posture. Footwork. The flow of the blade, the return. Over and over he drilled, and slowly his thoughts, his rage, quieted.

Kill your masters, his father had urged. Better yet was to accept none in the first place. Vorakhar no doubt fancied himself one such, but it would be madness to accept a powerful figure such as Lady Celestis or Lord Draken as his liege.

The more powerful his potential patron, the greater the loss of his autonomy.

No.

He would exert himself to the utmost to retain his freedom.

He would be nobody’s tool.

But how?

He swung and slashed, recovered and stepped. His shoulders began to feel warm and loose, his breathing deepened.

Once just this exercise would have winded him.

Once he’d already have been drenched in sweat.

Now?

Now he felt as if he were just warming up.

But he resisted the urge to speed up, to strike harder. Forced himself to maintain the same steady tempo.

To lose himself in this meditative drill.

No masters.

But how could he rebuff these powerful lords and ladies without imperiling himself and his friends?

Vorakhar might help him deal with Thornvale, but he’d be of no utility against the other major houses.

And Vic was right. It was childish to believe he could simply sidestep the entire issue, could turn into a Questing Hermit, simply wish it all away.

Because this wasn’t just about him. Even if he managed to disappear, his crew would draw the ire of the scorned nobility. Nessa, Vic, and Sam would make tempting targets.

Harald grimaced.

His solution had to protect his crew, too.

But what?

How did one throw off the most powerful men and women in Flutic without painting a target on his back?

The more powerful the patron, the less control he’d have.

Vic has said they’d not believe he wasn’t secretly working for a rival even if he made a big show of turning everyone down.

Harald thought of Lady Sonora and stopped swinging his blade.

She led a small, endangered house. Had struck him as honest, direct, and as exasperated by this whole game as he was. A small fish compared to the sharks.

Vic and Nessa already worked for her. That would resolve the strange conflict they’d already written into the charter.

She’d offer him nothing in terms of wealth, favors, or Artifacts. Instead, he’d shoulder her woes and rivals, and become attached to a House on the verge of collapse.

But he’d have the same freedom Vic and Nessa enjoyed now.

“Huh,” he said.

And he couldn’t deny his heart had gone out to her once Vic had explained her plight.

Could that work?

Only if he managed to deal with Thornvale first.

And then survived Yeoric’s duel right after.

Harald dismissed the Dawnblade and jogged back upstairs.

Nessa and Vic were seated around the kitchen table, the tiny bottle of dwarven whisky open between them. The pungent smell of spirits filled the kitchen, and both had clearly already enjoyed their first glass.

“Harald! You have to try this. It’s strong enough to make Nessa grow a beard.”

“I think I have a plan.” Harald waved away the offered bottle. “First, I have to deal with House Thornvale.”

“Outrageous,” said Nessa, not sounding outraged in the least. “To think he just blackmailed you like that in public. I’m shocked.”

“Which means heading to the dungeon and speaking with Vorakhar as quickly as possible. Then, assuming he gives us a solution, I must choose a patron, right? I can’t just let the major houses linger.”

“Correct,” said Vic, pouring a thimbleful of gold into his glass with extreme care. “Your grasp of the situation is admirable, accurate, and…”

“Astute,” offered Nessa.

“Astute,” agreed Vic.

“So, I’ve decided to explore the possibility of swearing loyalty to Countess Sonora.”

Vic almost spit his whisky as he sat upright, while Nessa stared at him with owlishly wide eyes.

“You’ll excuse me, but I thought I heard you say you’re going to spurn the major Houses for Countess Sonora?” Vic smiled fatuously and waved his hand. “My mistake. I really should check my ears.”

“I’m serious.” Harald sat. “You both enjoy a lot of freedom under her, in large part because she’s not wealthy to control you through scales and Artifacts, right?”

“True,” said Nessa carefully. “Though we made it clear from the beginning that we weren’t interested in wearing her livery.”

“If I swear to her, she’ll insulate me from the others, in large part because she enjoys House Drakenhart’s protection.”

“You can see how that’s served her thus far,” said Vic, slouching back. “House Drakenhart only protects her as much as she benefits them.”

“Which is to say very little to not at all,” added Nessa.

“We could change that for her.” Harald leaned forward, excited. “If we changed the fortunes of her House, then Drakenhart would take notice and offer more protection. It would insulate me against the other lords and ladies, and also allow me to help someone who actually deserves protection.”

Nessa turned to Vic. “It’s the freckles. I told you he’d fall for her.”

“She played him well.” Vic gazed into his tiny glass. “Wasn’t it me that taught her the principle of ‘we pursue that which retreats from us’? And retreat she did. You should have seen it, Nessa, she did a masterful job. She told Harry to his face she’d not try to recruit him, stared mournfully into the distance, then walked away, a figure of pure tragedy.”

“I’d be using her as much as she’d use me,” said Harald in annoyance.

“Doubtful,” said Vic.

“If I swear to her, I get everyone off my back, I get to help someone I wouldn’t mind assisting, it resolves that conflict in your loyalties to her and our new crew, and I get to keep as much freedom as I can hope to have under these circumstances.” Harald looked sharply from one to the other. “Am I right?”

“Well.” Vic frowned. “I hate to concede that you’ve gotten anything right on principle, but…”

“Harald.” Nessa’s tone turned serious. “You’re only correct insofar as you’re giving up rapid advancement, powerful protection, and access to incredible resources that the major Houses have. You’re effectively claiming that choosing to ride a pony against racehorses is the best play.”

“I don’t want their scales or protection. I’m going to rise to power without them. I just want nobody to get in my way or to waste my time.”

“She will ask things of you,” said Vic mildly. “She may seem a helpless maiden in need, but she’s anything but. She’ll seek to use you as much as she possibly can.”

“Which will still be a sight less than Lady Celestis or Lord Draken himself.”

“Well.” Vic considered. “True, I suppose.”

“The first step is to confer with Vorakhar. This is all futile if I can’t get Thornvale off my back. I mean to enter the dungeon tomorrow morning.”

“You have dinner with Lady Celestis tomorrow night,” said Vic mildly. “Oh, incidentally, Nessa: do you have plans tomorrow evening?”

Nessa’s gray eyes flashed. “Nothing that involves visiting Lady Celestis.”

“Perish the thought!” Vic grinned. “Let me just refill your glass. We can discuss that shortly. But first: a toast to Harald Darrowdelve, the most confounding of lads, and future knight of the redoubtable Countess Sonora.”

“To getting more benefit from Vorakhar than pain,” countered Nessa, raising her glass.

Harald accepted the tiny glass that Vic had filled for him simply so he could make the toast. “To our crew. To our rise to power. To damning everyone to hell who tries to get in our way.”

“Hear, hear,” said Vic, and the three of them clinked their glasses together and drank.

(Chapter 50! That's some kind of milestone, right? Thanks everyone for coming along for the ride. I hope you're enjoying the tale!)