Book of The Dead - Chapter B3C11 - High Society

“Vic, I haven’t slept in two days, I’m going to need you to use plain language, for a change.”

“That’s difficult. The exalted blood within my veins demands I speak in as roundabout terms as possible.”

“What exalted blood? Your dad is a merchant and your mother is a jeweller. You’re as noble as I am.”

“As much as the Almsfield name rings throughout the land, there is a key difference between our families. Mine is exceptionally wealthy.”

“Get to the fucking point, Vic,” Tyron dragged a hand down his face. “I’m tired and I’m not in the mood for your delusions of grandeur.”

The Necromancer had been engaged in a frenzy of work since his unexpected visit from Shadda. Completing the order had required a furious pace of activity, but doing so while upkeeping his experiments had been exhausting. Luckily, the task had been completed on time and the delighted Dust Folk had departed back to the desert with the goods in tow only hours before Vic had arrived and begun pounding on his door.

“You wound me. I haven’t visited you in weeks and this is the welcome I get?”

“This welcome is about to get a lot less friendly,” Tyron glared.

The guard behind Master Willhem’s apprentice stepped forward, a frown on his face, only for Tyron to turn his stare in his direction.

“At least welcome me inside, damnit,” Vic sighed. “It’s getting cold out here and I’m worried I’ll get murdered.”

“You’re perfectly safe, you coward.”

Nevertheless, he stepped aside and allowed his associate into the store.

“Looks like business has been ticking along nicely,” the Arcanist observed as he walked between the glass cases of displayed wares, noting the various ‘sold out’ items. “Perhaps you weren’t as crazy as I thought you were when you opened this place.”

“Come on, Vic, please get to the point. I’m not kidding when I tell you I’m exhausted. Another time, I would love to invite you in for tea and biscuits, but I’ve just filled a big order and I need some fucking sleep. Out with it.”

The well-dressed apprentice sighed and pouted.

“Fine.”

He reached into his coat, frowned, fumbled at several pockets before he smiled and withdrew a sealed envelope. With a small flourish, he presented it to his friend, who took it with a weary expression plastered on his face.

“The Lady Shan is throwing a ball tomorrow evening and I not only have an invitation, but have also been given the privilege of granting an additional seat at the table. Naturally, I thought immediately of you, my dear friend, to take advantage of this rare opportunity.”

“Master Willhem pulled out at the last minute, didn’t he?”

“… I mean… what are you… I would never… yes.”

Tyron barked out a laugh.

“Still trying to curry favour with the Master, Vic? You should know by now he doesn’t care for this stuff,” he slapped a hand against the envelope which surely contained an invitation. “If you want his favour, then work harder. Enchantments are all that man cares about.”

“It was worth a shot,” Vic shrugged, a sly smile on his face. “Although, I must admit, I didn’t think he would accept in the first place. When he did agree, I certainly never imagined he would withdraw at the last second. So, to try and stave off embarrassment, I am forced to lure the Master’s favourite apprentice in his stead.”

“Who is going to be at this thing?”

“Why, an esteemed gathering of rising young entrepreneurs, along with a cadre of Lady Shan’s close friends and allies amongst her peers.”

The apprentice waggled his brows suggestively.

“A chance to rub elbows with the nobles is worth its weight in gold. You may thank me now.”

Tyron just stared at him, disbelief plastered on his face.

“You invited Master Willhem to a gathering of young aristocrats?”

Victor’s smile slipped.

“Well… perhaps I didn’t think it all the way through. Never mind. The details are on the invitation, make sure you aren’t late, or early.”

He began to collect himself and head to the door before Tyron could object.

“Make sure you wear something worthy of the event. Don’t embarrass me. Look dashing, but reserved, arcane. I’m sure they’ll be thrilled to meet someone the old goat actually approved of.”

“Wait a second–Vic?”

“Oh, and don’t forget your plus one. Everyone is expected to bring a partner. Except me. I’m escorting Lady Shan for the evening.”

Victor radiated concentrated smug energy as he stepped out of the store, his guard shadowing him closely.

“See you tomorrow, my friend!”

And with a cheery wave, he was gone into the night, leaving Tyron standing on his own doorstep, filled with weary frustration.

“Well, shit.”

~~~

“Stop fussing,” Yor scolded him.

“I hate these stupid robes. Who could possibly have worn something this unwieldy?”

“This is a type of formal robe that was popular in my Mistress’s realm. Several thousand years ago.”

“And you just had one on hand?”

“You should be grateful, not bothering me with this nattering. Now sit still.”

The carriage continued to roll smoothly along the road as the vampire reached across and settled the complex layers in an esoteric pattern that eventually materialised into an elegant formation.

She sat back with a look of satisfaction on her pale features. Yor herself was dressed flawlessly in a flowing gown, scarlet, of course, her hair bound in intricate curls and flowed down the nape of her neck. A picture of deadly perfection.

“This was a bad idea,” Tyron groaned, not for the first time.

“Nonsense. To decline this invitation would be suspicious. Craftsmen of your status would murder their families for the chance to forge ties with the nobility. Not to mention, inviting me has more than made up for your recent dependance on us.”

“I expect the ledger to be squared,” Tyron glared. “You promised knowledge, I would have it supplied.”

The vampire smiled, blood red lips peeling back to reveal her fangs.

“No need to be so forceful. You will have it. Along with these.”

She reached down to the carriage seat beside her and lifted an ornate, palm-sized box. She undid the latch and lifted the lid, presenting the contents to Tyron. Inside nestled five gem-like ovals gleaming with red light, each the size of a fingernail.

The Necromancer frowned, but reached to take the case regardless.

“Five at once. That is… unusually generous,” he remarked. “Should I be worried about your intentions tonight?”

“Calm yourself. I will behave. Indeed, I do not need to do much other than present myself.” She arched an elegant brow. “The young lords and ladies will come running to me for a deeper taste.”

She was probably right. Sculpted by blood magick, she was a picture of perfection, beautiful to the point of fantasy. Even Tyron found it difficult to take his eyes away from her at times, and he knew full well what she was.

“It’s almost depressing how effective a weapon appearance can be,” he said.

She laughed throatily and he suppressed the stirring of his blood. For some reason, his recent… experience made it even more difficult for him to remain calm in her presence.

“No time like the present,” he muttered, mainly to distract himself, and withdrew the case again, removing one capsule and placing it in his mouth. With a sharp crack, he bit down, releasing the gleaming fluid contained within.

The moment he swallowed, he felt the burning in his veins and hissed against the pain. Soon, it withdrew, leaving an echo of fire that continued to flow just below his skin. When he recovered, he fumbled for the capsule he had brought for the night and slotted it into the now open groove in the case.

Yor watched the process through hooded eyes, a slight smile twisting her lips.

~~~

“Invitation,” the guard spoke gruffly as he extended an armoured hand.

With what little grace he could muster, Tyron withdrew the envelope from his sleeve and presented it. The document was inspected carefully by eye before a crystal was waved over it, then inspected again. Finally, the guard nodded his approval.

“Welcome Mister Almsfield, and guest. Before you enter, a mandatory status check is required. I thank you for your cooperation.”

“Not a problem,” he remarked stepping forward and presenting his right hand, palm up.

With care, the guard accepted a silver needle from another behind him and pricked Tyron, then Yor on the pad of their middle finger. The two of them were presented with a page of creamy paper and he almost rolled his eyes at the waste before he caught himself.

The two of them enacted the ritual, waiting as their blood flowed over the page, forming the words and numbers that made up their status. These pages were again inspected carefully, then subjected to arcane inspection via the crystal before the guard nodded.

“Welcome to the Shan estate, Mister Almsfield, Miss Kiris.”

The guard stepped back from the carriage and as he did so, the other dozen stepped back with him, lowering their weapons as the gate slid open to allow them passage inside.

“Kiris?” he asked as he pushed down the nervousness he felt.

“It’s a word from my native tongue,” she mused. “I’ve been feeling nostalgic lately.”

“I’m guessing it means ‘blood’.”

She turned to him slowly.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because, at the end of the day, that’s all you care or think about.”

The vampire sniffed daintily.

“A small price to pay for immortality. Are you sure you aren’t tempted? Eternal life has many benefits.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” he replied dryly.

When they alighted from the carriage, it was difficult for Tyron not to grimace. The structure before them was an abomination, an exercise in opulence. Fountains hovered overhead, drizzling water down into verdant gardens of exotic flowers as paintings formed of bent light glittered on either side of the path.

The residence itself was enormous, a towering edifice of radiant, golden stone and coloured crystal, studded with glowing orbs that ensured no part of it would ever be hidden in shadow.

For one family to command this much space, inside the Castle District no less.

Tyron did his best to ignore the gigantic fortress that loomed to his right, dominating the skyline. The weight of it felt as if it pressed down on him every time he caught a glimpse in the corner of his eye.

“Lukas! There you are!”

Victor stepped from a small gathering outside the ballroom door, waving. Rather than his normal apprentice robes, he was dressed in an impeccable suit, his long, dark hair pulled back and tied in a neat tail that trailed down between his shoulders.

“You’re looking very dignified there, friend, and I see you managed to find a–holy shit!”

“I’m sorry?” Tyron frowned.

His friend gaped like a fish for a moment before he recovered himself with a strangled cough. Cheeks flushed, Victor appeared to struggle to tear his eyes away from Yor with a mighty effort.

“I see… you found… a date,” he managed to grind out.

Fucking vampires. This is so pitifully easy for them, Tyron thought, not for the first time.

“This is a friend and business associate of mine, Yorin Kiris. Yor, this is my… friend, and an apprentice of Master Willhem, Victor Tarkyn.”

“A pleasure,” she said before dipping into a flawless curtsy.

As she dipped, Victor’s eyes flicked to her bosom and appeared arrested there. Tyron decided to step in and save him, placing himself between the vampire and the apprentice.

“You may want to ensure your eyes stay glued to Lady Shan tonight, Vic,” he murmured quietly in his friend’s ear. “This is a big opportunity for you, right?”

Victor closed his eyes and nodded slowly.

“You’re right, I apologise.”

He resolutely turned his back on Yor and marched away, though he walked a little stiffly.

“I’ll see you inside,” he called over his shoulder. “They’re opening the ballroom in five minutes.”

Tyron waved back before he eyed the various small gatherings scattered around the garden. Murmured conversations and laughter filled the air, dim forms drifted amongst the shadows arm in arm with heads bent together in conversation.

I hate this.

An arm slipped around his own and he found Yor at his side, watching the knots of people like a wolf eyeing sheep.

“What did you say to your friend?” she asked pointedly.

“Nothing. Just… try not to entangle him. He’s accompanying the host tonight and if he goes mooning after you, he’ll probably be found dead in the morning.”

Yor rolled her eyes.

“I know who he is. I know who all of these people are.”

She licked her lips slowly.

“There’s more interesting prey here than your little friend, of that, I can assure you.”

Tyron rolled his shoulders uncomfortably.

“Well, try to exercise some restraint,” he said.

“Not for me,” she grinned like a beast. “For you. Did you know that Lady Jana Shan’s older brother will be in attendance? The young Lord Regis Shan is a trainee Magister. Isn’t that interesting?”

Tyron stiffened.

“Yes. Yes it is.”