Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 136: To Dance

I tilted back the glass of deep red wine, letting the soothing liquid trail down my throat. I didn't savor it sip by sip as would've been proper. Instead, I gulped it like a drowning man. I felt the warmth settle in my stomach, but I knew it would have barely any effect. My body was far too strong to be even phased by this level of alcohol.

I set the glass back down, looking at the empty bottom. The action had centered me somewhat, allowing my thoughts to flow smoothly. Around me, nobles streamed to the dance floor in alternating waves. A few men were playing soft music over the venue, something Highlord Denoir and Renea Shorn had agreed upon in their negotiations. I was not to play my music for the actual ball.

I noticed as someone approached me from the side, both with heartfire and mana sense. I turned to see Highlord Renton Morthelm, the large man giving me a complicated look. I was aware of the eyes watching us, but unlike before, I didn't have the energy to try and put up pretenses.

"When I asked you how you planned to rock the boat," he said gruffly but not unsympathetically, "I didn't realize this was what you had in mind."

I gently set the glass back down on the table. A servant would be by eventually to take it away. "I'll be honest," I said with an exhale of breath, "neither did I. The music was all I had planned."

Morthelm nodded slowly. "I find myself intrigued by the music you played," he said. "You seemed quite open about what it was. And Highlord Patamoor's artifact didn't even fire, but I'm certain I felt my emotions being altered. Why was that?"

I furrowed my brow, confused for a moment. I'd explained this to Lord Morthelm before, hadn't I? How my intent-based music functioned? But as I looked past the man's mask, I recognized something crucial.

Aurora saw the same. He might not understand your final motive, she thought, sounding slightly shocked, But he's figured out you wish the methods to spread. He's giving you an opening to explain.

I smirked tiredly. "Every mage can sense mana signatures," I started. "And even nonmages can feel the effects of mana. But there's far more to mana signatures than most people know," I said. "The bluntest application of this is killing intent. You enforce and spread your mana signature through the air, weaving your emotions and confidence through it. I've grown attuned to these hidden aspects of mana signatures and can alter my own at will. With some help, of course." I clenched my hand tightly. "Highlord Patamoor's artifact failed to activate because I wasn't invading his mind. It's no different from me speaking aloud and the words being interpreted through your brain."

"So any mage can learn this skill?" Morthelm pressed. The attentive men and women around me seemed to lean even closer as he posed the ultimate question.

I nodded. "It takes practice, of course, but you can. One must learn the subtle intricacies of their own mana signatures and subconscious intent, but it's entirely possible, regardless of your runes."

Morthelm nodded sagely, opening his mouth to say something when a familiar woman strode toward me in a deep olive dress. Her plain silver mask matched her husband's, and when Lenora Denoir offered me her milky white hand, I felt a renewed dread in the pit of my stomach.

"Lord Daen," she said imperiously, "I do not believe you have been inducted into the dance floor. Seeing as you are our guest, it is only right that I show you the hospitality of the Denoirs."

I looked at that hand like it was the jaws of a venomous snake, but as I chanced a glance around, I realized I had no reason to refuse. I bowed slightly, then took Highlady Denoir's hand in my own. It was surprisingly rough. "Thank you for the offer, Highlady Denoir," I said, trying to mask the tired wariness suffusing my bones. "I've been privileged all throughout the night to be your guest."