Chapter 170 - Welcome (Patreon)

His father was bothered by something. 

Riorke could tell even though the man wasn’t giving off any of the obvious signs. He wasn’t fidgeting or blinking around. On the contrary, he was almost abnormally still. His eyes had been glued to the scrolls he was reading for the entire carriage ride, and he hadn’t responded to Riorke's temperament checks–things he used to annoy his father for proof of life, like tapping on the window or giving loud, exaggerated yawns every half hour.

Lord Camhanach didn't give his son the usual look he would; neither did he ask if something was wrong.

He just kept reading the scroll.

“You know we’re going to a party, right?” Riorke finally spoke up.

“What?” his father responded.

“I said, ‘we’re going to a party’.”

“And?”

“Well, you could try to look happier about it. And try not to act like you're carrying your entire workload with you."

Lord Camhanach finally looked up from the scrolls, eyeing his son skeptically.

“Just saying.” Riorke adjusted in his seat. “What is that anyway? You’ve been staring at it since we left.”

“Nothing important. Just some documents I need to review.”

“What kind of documents?”

“Since when do you care about what I do?”

“Well, I’m going to be Lord, aren’t I? Eventually, unless you outlive me. I should care.”

His father narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously, though a hint of a smile tugged at his lips. “What’s this really about?”

Riorke shrugged. “It’s just that it feels like your work has seemingly grown substantially since you spoke to the Commander two weeks ago..”

His father didn’t respond for some time, but he did temporarily let the page he was holding rest back on his thigh as he regarded Riorke. 

“Speaking of the Commander,” Lord Camhanach said. “Have you given any thought to what she told you? About learning magic?”

Riorke stiffened.

This was not the direction he wanted this conversation to go in. Unfortunately, this was also a topic his father was passionate about, and he immediately launched into his diatribe. 

“Riorke, I know that learning spell work isn’t your favorite thing, and I appreciate that you’re in a difficult position with Artis, but perhaps if you could just try–”

“You think I haven’t been trying?” Riorke snapped, suddenly annoyed. “You think I'm just choosing not to learn spells?”

“Aren’t you?”

Riorke ran his hands through his hair. “We’re not a spell-casting family. You, Father, only know a few spells despite having had decades to learn, and you don’t even cast with any great accuracy. And you married a woman who has no magical ability whatsoever, so exactly where is my spell-casting prowess supposed to come from?”

“There’s nothing wrong with your cores,” Lord Camhanach said. "We had you tested."

“Okay? Then how come it’s so hard? How come Riordan, genius as he was, couldn’t cast spells either? Do you think that was just a coincidence? You think that if I try my hardest, I could be better than him, when he was better at just about everything else? You think I want to waste all that time just learning a couple of spells badly, when I could be getting better at something we're actually good at." Riorke knew he should have shut up by this point, but frustration put him in a ranting mood. He took a deep breath, switching gears. “You know I overheard Paeder in your office the other day, talking about magical swords. Flame blades?”

His father’s eyes sharpened. “You mean you were eavesdropping?”

“If that’s what you want to call it. Is it true? Do we have powerful magic-infused blades?”

If so, that would take care of Riorke’s problem.

If they had magically-infused blades, then Riorke could use them to fight and perhaps add on magically-infused shields as well. And with magic-infused weapons, well, then he didn’t need spells as much. He was already excellent at combat, was quick on his feet, strong, and had mastered about four different fighting specialties. He was a damn good warrior, just like Riordan had taught him to be.

The only thing he didn't have was spells. 

“We do not.” Lord Camhanach interrupted Riorke's musings.

"What?"

"You misunderstood. The issue with the flame blades is complicated, and we do not have access to them. And even if we did have those, you cannot rely on such weapons, not in this era where magic is only getting more robust.”

“I thought we were running out of it.”

“Who told you that?”

Riorke raised an eyebrow. “I’m not deaf or dull. I’ve heard the rumors. If that’s true, there will eventually come a point where we have even stricter quotas on magic, and all these powerful spell-casters will be unable to cast most of their spells, or they will be reduced to occasional use only. People will need something else to rely on for protection, and a combination of physical skill and magical tools feels like the right idea. I mean, think about it. That way we don't use up as much essence and no one needs to learn large, elaborate spells, except for maybe a couple of people."

“Is that what you want to happen?” Lord Camhanach asked his son.

“Not necessarily, but it’s the inevitable conclusion, isn't it?"

His father regarded him, and then his lip turned up into a smile bordering on patronizing. 

“It’s good that you’ve given this a lot of thought, but that will never happen,” he said. “Even if there was widespread access to the weapons you talk about, you have no clue how they are even made and how much essence they would require. Even then, what will happen when we’re attacked by powerful forces who cast wide-scale, long-range attacks? You think such weapons will save us then? If the elves choose to wage a war on humankind, what hope would we have then?"

Riorke thought about it, and quickly reordered his thinking. “So then how about we let the archmages keep the really high-level magic and cut it down for everyone else.”

“And what about when those archmages die? How will you find people with the necessary training to ascend?”

"They can have understudies, chosen from those who show early skill. People like Arielle Blacksoil, for example. I heard someone propose something like that before, and it's not a bad idea."

Lord Camhanach shook his head. “All this because you don’t want to have to learn spells.”

“It’s not just about that.”

“No. It’s about Riordan, isn’t it? You think that if you succeed where he failed, it will validate his death and everything those idiots have said about him.” 

Riorke didn’t respond but father’s eyes softened regardless.

“Oh Riorke. Riordan’s death wasn’t his fault. He sacrificed his life to save his men, and that will never be in vain, whether or not you manage to do better than him in spell-casting. Don't hold yourself back on his account.”

“I’m not holding myself back,” Riorke grumbled, staring out the window as the trees and mountains began to give way to a view of a sprawling estate in the distance. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

His father stared at him for even longer before returning to reading his scrolls. 

After about thirty more minutes, their carriage approached a magical barrier, passing through easily thanks to their invitation in their hand which it scanned.

Some minutes later, the carriage came to a stop on the sprawling lawns of the manor, where there were several other designer magic-drawn carriages, equipped with footmen helping the guests out of them.

The air was filled with voices calling out to each other, greetings and laughter, and Riorke saw quite a few familiar faces as he stepped out.

He spotted Lacey on the far edge of the lawn, standing alone, people-watching as he liked to do. He also spotted Lyra, Arielle’s friend, in a pretty dark red dress, standing with a man who looked like her and twisting her hands in apparent anxiety.

Riorke drifted towards his best friend first, who held up his hand to prevent a server from approaching him. 

Lacey was dressed in a sky-blue ankle-length flared tailcoat, with an inner frilly poet shirt and ruffled neckpiece. He'd paired it with black knee-high boots and loose knee-length pants that looked like a checkered skirt. His shoulder-length hair was braided, showing off a new piercing at the tip of his ear.

“Did your mother dress you?" Riorke smirked as he approached his friend, who responded without a hint of embarrassment.

“No. If you must know, I wore it because I like it. ”

"Even the skirt?"

"Yes. Makes my legs look good." 

Riorke's eyes lingered on the gaping neckline right underneath the neckpiece. “You look like a courtesan about to cause a scandal."

"Ah. Then I achieved the intended effect."

Riorke glanced around. "Is it just me, or are there more people here this year?”

“Lord Wesley extended more invites.”

“Why?”

“Either because he felt sorry for the people who kept hounding him, or he really, really wants to show off his guest of honor.”

“Probably that one.” Riorke looked towards the building that was glowing, not just from the moonlight but from the abundance of spirit lanterns that surrounded it, making it appear to exude supernatural light. The building was golden in the blue backdrop of the night, and other lanterns suspended in the air around them added color by also illuminating the grass, the glittering attire, the opulent carriages.

Lavender and lilies were in the trimmed shrubbery, the scent of which hung in the air.

They also decorated a raised stage, on which a quartet played soft welcoming music, as servers went around welcoming the guests and taking their coats.  

“Your cousin’s here." Lacey nudged Riorke in the shoulder.

He looked behind him and saw Selena arriving in a pumpkin-shaped, scarlet, magic-drawn carriage of her own, that had shuttered windows and a folding top. 

Unlike most other people, she wasn’t wearing a straightforward outfit.

It wasn't a dress as one might expect, nor was it in her family colors of red and blue. Rather, it was a sleek black breasted jacket with a long skirt, embroidered with silver patterns resembling flames. It was nice, but the entire thing resembled a fancy riding habit more than a ball gown.

"Interesting choice," Lacey said as Selena walked from the carriage, followed by two monks in classic monk robes.

She pointedly did not look at them, and though her expression was carefully blank, it was easy for Riorke to tell she was irritated.

Before she could catch his eye and make her bad mood his problem, he whipped his gaze away and concentrated on Lacey.

"Good to see you're still alive and General Pissguzzler hasn't taken you out yet,” Lacey said. 

"He couldn't, even if he tried. And he was trying.” Talking about Pissguzzler would put him in a bad mood, so he changed the subject. “So, did anything exciting happen at school?”

“Not necessarily anything I haven’t written about in my letters,” he said. “Although there was some strangeness at the end, with a creature. But Selena took care of it.”

“What creature? Was it a demon?” Lacey had written that they had given the entire school a demon alert at assembly, warning them of a potential invasion.

“No. It was like a demon but not. I don’t know how to explain it. There was also the rumor that Arielle was involved in summoning it, but it got quashed.”

"I don’t understand. Why would she be involved?”

“They thought she was consorting with demons.”

“Arielle Blacksoil? That’s ridiculous. She barely knows how to consort with humans.”

“That’s what I said. I think people were just jealous, that’s all. Anyway, it got cleared. Are you coming back next semester?”

Riorke pursed his lips. “I don’t know. We’ll see.” He wasn’t sure that Erynwall wasn’t just a waste of time and there was truly something there for him. 

There was a chime, a groan and a whoosh, as the doors of the main palace-like building opened, the glow beckoning them in. 

"Looks like you were right on time,” Lacey said. “Let's go meet our guest of honor."

Riorke tried to imagine Arielle Blacksoil walking down the stairs in princess attire and that blank expression on her face. For some reason, the image made him snort.

"Should be an amusing procession."

***

At the chime, the crowd began moving towards the doors, but Selena hung back, hoping the outer breeze would calm her irritation before she had to be around people.

However, her plan was ruined when Monk Ernesto came up to stand next to her, not saying anything, just existing in an aggravating manner. 

“I can feel you seething,” she finally said to him

“I don’t seethe,” he responded.

“No. You brood. And hiss and judge silently like you’re above it all.”

“You could have worn the dress that was laid out for you.”

“Yes, but I wanted to wear this one.”

“Why?”

"Because I wanted to.”

“You simply wanted to be difficult." That was Monk Ignacio, who stood behind them and usually had less patience for Selena’s antics. “And we don’t have time for this. We’re already going through enough without you making a fuss over a dress.”

“Yes. I'm aware that we're going through a crisis you won’t tell me about.”

“We did tell you.”

“Not in detail. I can tell you left things out.” When they had informed her about the growing civil unrest between separate factions that made up the power structure of Pyronis, they had said all that she needed to do was attend more meetings, and her presence would help mediate and reduce the tension. While there, the Elders would tell her what to say at those meetings, and what offers to make, and what deals to cut.

She hated it.

They wanted to put words in her mouth, strings on her back, and make her dance. Not to mention, there was something else they were keeping from her, something she could sense in their secretive looks and glances.

And it was everyone around her, from the elders to the maids, all having their secrets that she was to remain ignorant of. 

It drove her mad, and perhaps her current outfit was a protest. She had worn her riding clothes today, on a whim, and no matter what they had said, she had refused to change.  

She needed to show them that she was not a creature that they could easily control. She was no longer a child that could be easily brought to heel with the threat of punishment. Her will would butt with theirs constantly, but in the end, she would win.

They finally began moving towards the entrance, sticking to the tail ends of the crowd. Selena heard a few people call out to her, and she merely smiled and nodded in their direction, not in the mood to make small talk.

They entered the glittering hall, with well-dressed servers standing in straight lines at the base of a split imperial staircase that held Lord Wesley at the top, his wife and Edward next to him, his mistress on a few steps below, Wulfric with her.

"Welcome friends," Lord Wesley announced. "To the sixtieth annual Iverson Ball. This year there are even more of you in attendance, and our staff has worked tirelessly to accommodate your every need and ensure that tonight will be one that you never forget."

A sliver of annoyance flashed through Selena at the thought that all this was for Arielle Blacksoil, but she brushed it aside. It didn't matter. Selena had once been a guest of honor herself when she was only twelve years old. This was nothing.

Except the crowd was bigger. And the place shinier. Did Lord Wesley seem happier, too?

It didn't matter.

It wasn't important. Arielle Blacksoil wasn't important. 

Ensuring that she was in control of her Kingdom was the important thing. 

"This year, we have a very special guest," he continued. "A young lady unlike anyone I have ever met. She impressed me within just a few minutes of meeting her, and I'm sure she'll impress you too. An unparalleled scholar, fearless fighter, and a fine addition to our bold society." He extended his hand towards the long balcony leading out of sight. "Please. Allow me to present to you, Arielle Blacksoil."