Toren Daen
Sevren slowly uncrossed his legs, tossing his apple core behind him. He flourished Promise, the red-patterned dagger flashing before he sheathed it at his side. He moved near my side in a gesture of silent support.
I saw the cause of the ruckus in a few seconds. A squadron of mages bullied their way to the front of my surroundings, their faces set with iron.
They stopped as they finally saw me.
I recognized a few of the families confronting me. Blood Jasper, Farriver, and Ilason's sigils stood proudly on puffed-out chests, along with a few I didn't recognize.
I scanned the men at the forefront. They'd worked with the Joans a few months back using their warehouses to store blithe.
And the Rats and I had burned their supply depots to the ground. The man with slicked-back hair sneered at me silently, but that sneer quickly turned to something more indecisive as he locked eyes with Sevren Denoir. The other mages were similarly uncertain upon witnessing the Denoir heir. "Lord Denoir," the Jasper man said, bowing slightly. "We were just here to confront this mage for breaking the law. If you would be so kind to assist us..."
They didn't expect the heir to Highblood Denoir to be here, I thought. Then just like what I'm planning, it's become a spur-of-the-moment action. By actually managing to play my music, I probably disrupted whatever plan they had in place.
Sevren's eyes narrowed. "I doubt my friend Toren broke any laws," he said, annunciating the word friend. "But if you want to levy accusations, go ahead. I'll listen."
The air churned with sudden apprehension. The mages were getting cold feet at Sevren's subtle declaration of support. The Jasper man glanced toward me, a burning hatred in his eyes. But also a note of uncertainty.
"They can't be allowed to hesitate," Aurora said. "Should they retreat, they'll form a more comprehensive plan for another confrontation. Spur them onward. Make them reckless."
I tilted my head. "I think I recognize that symbol on your chest," I said, looking at the Jasper man quizzically. I pretended to rack my brain. "Ah, you're of Blood Jasper, yes?" I asked. "I remember seeing your symbol on a warehouse."
The man's nostrils flared as his apprehension swirled down the drain. "Toren Daen," he said imperiously. "You are going to accompany us to the Supervisory Center and confess to your crimes."
I got ready to speak, but Lord Morthelm interjected. "And what crimes would those be?" he asked, shifting so he was slightly in front of me. "You cannot make accusations without due cause."
"Lord Daen has violated the Emotional Spellform Act of 1654," the Jasper man snapped, clearly irritated that I hadn't made a move to concede. "Manipulating the emotions of the masses without signing a waiver is illegal. And how many hundreds have been subjected to this?"
Many of the people watching the confrontation from afar mumbled nervously. As far as they were aware, I had broken some sort of law. But I was dismayed by the flash of greed in the eyes of not a few.
Lord Renton laid a firm hand on my shoulder, like a father does with their son to hold him back. "That may be unwise to press for so openly, Lord Jasper," the broad highlord said. "Considering you would be matching lawyers with those of Bloodstone Elixirs and Highblood Denoir." He gave me a covert, conniving smile. "And perhaps those of Highblood Morthelm as well, depending on how the wind blows."
"I see his angle," Aurora said, her melodic voice simmering. "He thinks you naive. Impressionable."
"Then we will have all the financial compensation we shall need for the wrong you have done us," the Jasper man rasped. "Bloodstone Elixirs and Highblood Denoir have more than enough funds to address this violation. The High Hall would love this case."
More greed simmered through the crowd. My shoulders slumped as I closed my eyes. From the victorious look I'd seen on the Jasper man's face, he clearly thought I was giving into his demands.
But that wasn't why disappointment thrummed through my veins. Some naive part of me though that in the aftermath of all of this, every highblood and lowborn unblooded would have common ground to stand on. Yet I hadn't made a bridge as I'd hoped. I'd simply laid the first brick. I needed mortar to seal that impression.
A single song will not change centuries of ingrained habits, I thought, feeling how more and more people seemed to be drifting toward the Jasper contingent. Their greed gripped the air like sewage. If this man was right, then the payout they'd get from suing me and Bloodstone Elixirs would be immense. It was profit before empathy.
I shrugged off Highlord Renton's hand, opening my eyes again. I'd spoken to these people in one language they understood: music. But if I wanted to change things, I still needed to speak the language they were the most familiar with.
I couldn't keep being so merciful. I couldn't simply hope for the best in everyone.
Pormin Jasper
I watched as the arrogant teen's shoulders slumped, an aura of defeat washing through him. Around me, the crowd was getting boisterous. Quiet mumbles of possible payouts, opportunities to press legal action, and more bubbled like a viscous sea.
That's right, I thought, grinning widely. You thought you could just waltz in with your little gang and destroy my operations? Attack my reputation? There are consequences in this world, boy, and you're going to lament this day.
I would admit that I'd been impressed by the display the Daen boy had put on on that stage. He'd somehow managed to play his instrument despite my attempted sabotage, leaving our plans in disarray. For weeks, my companions and I had spread rumors among the noble circles of Fiachra. This was the mage who destroyed Blood Joan without any sort of legal backlash. This was the man who invaded our stable structure.
Someone else had been spreading their own rumors just as fast. I suspected it was Bloodstone Elixirs, but upon seeing the infamous Sevren Denoir, I had to reprise my suspicions.
My allies and I had quickly scrambled to make this move a reality in the aftermath of the boy's little music stunt. But for all the difficulty I'd experienced in trying to sabotage this event beforehand, it had been so remarkably easy to figure out how in the aftermath.
He shouldn't have pulled on our emotions, I thought. I remembered the phantom terror he'd made me feel. I shivered imperceptibly as my boots squelched on the wet ground beneath me. He shouldn't have made me into a coward.
Fear wasn't for men such as me. That, above all else, was what made me vow to break this arrogant brat.
It was just a storm, I thought. There was nothing more to it. Nothing greater at play at all. That fear wasn't mine.
The boy looked at me with those bright, orange pupils. His shoulders were still deflated, his posture weak. But something in those eyes made me hesitate.
What am I worried about? I chastised myself. He's clearly beaten.
I stepped forward, reaching out a hand to grab the errant brat. But the mechanical bird on his shoulder hissed lowly, emitting the sound of scraping metal. I looked at it, and then felt sweat trickle down my spine. Those eyes...
I'd thought it was a little toy. An old clockwork instrument for children. After all, Toren Daen was only seventeen years old, still a child trying to play among his betters. But that construction didn't look like a toy anymore. Suddenly, those razor-like wings seemed far sharper than a blade.
"I never manipulated your emotions," the boy said tiredly. Highlord Morthelm looked ready to interject, but the strange artificed raven on the Daen's shoulder looked at him with the gaze of a predator. He choked off. "Even if you were to take me to court, your inquiries would fail."
I scoffed. "Your lies won't help you here," I said. "You can save them for the High Hall."
The boy straightened, glancing at the sky for a time. "When you listen to poetry and you feel emotion from what is spoken, is that 'emotional manipulation?'"
I frowned. "Don't think you can talk our way–"
"Answer me," the boy said. His voice was tired, but there was a sort of weight to it. I gulped, something imperceptible cresting the air. I looked to the side, noting the reactions of my companions. "Is it?"
"Of course not," I spat. "And–"
"And when you see the face of a crying boy," the boy continued, cutting off my words. I felt myself flush in anger at being interrupted, but he didn't seem to care. "Do you not remember what it was like to weep as a child yourself?" He shook his head. "No, that analogy doesn't quite work. You seem the type to hit a child for crying."
Something was wrong here. I could almost taste it. But no matter what explanation popped into my head, I couldn't find a reason for my fear. Except one.
"You're doing it again," I accused, taking a step backward. "You're forcing emotions into our heads. Trying to manipulate us." Around me, my compatriots were similarly unsettled. I steeled myself, then pulled out one of my trump cards. "Your trial will be even swifter after this. I am sure those from your old clinic will testify on our behalf, too, should you continue. They'll see the reason behind our cause," I said slyly.
There were very few connections Toren Daen still had. But with a bit of digging, it wasn't hard to discover his ties to the East Fiachran Healer's Guild. He was attached to that place.
It was a weakness.
The Daen heir tilted his head as he slowly loped forward. "I'll admit something to you, Lord Jasper," he said, low and menacing. "You are feeling the effects of my intent. Just as you did during the show. You're small-minded, Jasper. Part of you realizes that you've fucked up. The instinctual part of you that can detect intent knows your error. The part that can sympathize with the emotions of others."
Intent? I thought, What does he mean? Like killing intent?
Of course, mages could affect the ambient mana with their emotions. But–
The air drew itself from my lungs as an overwhelming pressure assaulted me on all sides. My words became less than a wheeze as I crashed to my knees, my neat, silken attire dirtied by mud. It felt as if the world itself was rejecting me; deeming me unfit. Unworthy.
I whimpered as my face hit the muddy ground, gasping for breath like a dry fish. My thoughts sputtered out as this force clawed at my insides, taking a piece of my sanity with every second. I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. Needed to escape.
What in the High Sovereign's name–
The Daen boy knelt by my struggling form, looking at my companions behind me. They were all in similar states. "When I press my killing intent into you, Jasper, am I emotionally manipulating you?"
I whimpered, trying to curl into a ball. But my arms didn't work. My legs refused to twitch. I wanted to cry out for help. Ask for anyone to save me from this suffocating terror.
"When you feel the weight of my mana; understand the force that I have kept leashed all this time, am I forcing you to feel this fear? Or is it the natural result of facing something you can't hope to overcome? Of a man staring at an oncoming tsunami, recognizing in his heart of hearts that nothing he creates can withstand its approach? Do you punish a tsunami, Jasper?"
He looked down at me. I wanted to close my eyes. To hide away in my late mother's dress. But his orange eyes shined, demanding my attention. They drank in my soul like mist. "I'm not wealthy like you are," he said slowly, like he was talking to a child. "I don't have an estate. I don't have businesses to maintain. And I don't have assets for you to seize." He cocked his head. Distantly, I was aware that the entirety of the small plaza had gone silent, everyone watching this with choked attention. With rapturous fear. "And you might think this a weakness. I don't have the resources of Blood Jasper. I can't call a dozen people to harass and intimidate others like Blood Farriver. And unlike Blood Ilason, I can't distribute drugs from a warehouse. That sounds like a weakness, doesn't it?"
The boy tapped his fingers on his bent knee, savoring my terror. I wanted to tell him. That I was wrong. That he was right. That I was sorry. Anything so that he would just let me go. But all I could do was whimper as the ever-present force stole the warmth from my blood.
I saw the wretched form of Mandra Ilason, unconscious on the ground not far from me. And then Lord Farriver was openly weeping.
Is that what I look like? I asked myself.
The boy slowly turned to look at everyone present. "But I encourage you to think about it differently. When a man doesn't have finances to worry over, doesn't have a powerbase to balance, doesn't have a livelihood to maintain? He becomes something different." The boy–no, the monster–traced a hand over the symbol of Blood Daen on his breast. "He becomes someone with nothing else to lose."
The thing lowered its head to whisper in my ear. "Blood Joan killed my brother," he said quietly. Softly, as if trying to restrain his breath from snuffing out a candle. "They removed the person I cared most for in this world. And now they're ash. Should you touch those close to me, you should pray to your High Sovereign that you can run faster than I can chase you."
He patted my shoulder forcefully, almost as if we were friends. I felt the bones in my torso creak and groan just from the touch. I felt a spot of warmth seep down between my legs. "But we both know Agrona Vritra rewards strength, not weakness. Your gods won't save you from me. So if you want to try and threaten those I care for," he said, standing up, "Know that I've given my warning."
The world around me exhaled a long, suffering breath. The tar lashing my body to the ground relented, melting away to simple water once more. Suddenly, I could move again. I thrashed like a fish out of water, scrambling to my feet. I looked around wildly, uncaring of the mud caking my once fine suit. My companions similarly wrenched themselves upward, but that didn't matter. I spun, trying to find a way out.
So many eyes. Focused on me. Focused on the monster. I cried out, engaging my mana. Wind wrapped around my legs as I pushed my way through the crowd, knocking several people over. Their disgusted gazes and unnerved expressions washed over me. None of them felt it. None of them knew.
Lord Toren Daen was a monster. He pretended to be a boy. But whatever was using his skin was stringing them along like puppets. Playing at being a musician.
I crashed into the dirt again as I finally exited the stadium. Damn them all, I thought. Those orange eyes flashed in my vision again. If they want to grace a demon, let them!
I scrambled back to my feet and then rushed back toward my home. Toward Fiachra. Away from that monster.