Discordant Note | The Beginning After the End SI

Toren Daen

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I watched the Jasper man scramble away, splashing mud on a score of people as he engaged some sort of rune. They shied away, crying out in shock and disgust as mud added onto their already water-drenched forms. Gradually, the other mages I’d forced to the ground with my killing intent pulled themselves up, and in varying states of disarray followed after their broken leader.

I inhaled deeply through my nose. I could almost smell the intent sifting through the ambient mana like a seeking serpent. The mages around me were impressed by my threat toward Blood Jasper.

Their fear has increased in equal measure with their curiosity, I thought with irritation. I turned around, ignoring the stares filled with alarm and interest. None had expected me to be as powerful as I was. None had suspected my strength to be as vaunted as it was. Each mage I made eye contact with shied back slightly.

I’m still releasing a bit of my intent into the air, I realized a bit too late. And as I pointed out to the Jasper man, part of them can subconsciously sense it.

I may have been more forceful with my display than I originally intended. The Jasper man threatening the clinic had touched a nerve.

“And you gave a hint at the source of your strange musical ability,” Aurora said. “They will be wondering how truthful you were.”

I hated what I’d just done. Before my concert, a part of me hoped that all it would take was my unique music to influence these people. But I couldn’t have been more wrong. The language they knew the best was strength. Brute force were their letters and fists their words. Sure, I’d shown them something unique. But in the moment, it was fleeting.

So I spoke their language. I flexed my magical muscles in front of someone who was far weaker than I; forcing him into submission with might rather than mind.

“It is a push and pull,” Aurora said. She could feel my disappointment. My quiet anger. “A carrot and a stick. This is true for all things. There is always a positive and a negative that must be engaged with.” She paused. “Though there is truth in your own worry. That you may become what you hope to eliminate.”

Highlord Renton Morthelm was staring at the spot on the ground where the mages seeking to confront me had collapsed. His eyes were shadowed, but the hand he was gripping his umbrella with was white from his tightened grip.

As I stood beside him, facing my tent, I felt I had more to say. “I’m not so easily manipulated,” I said. My voice came out tired. Strained. “I see more than you think, Lord Morthelm. I told you earlier I’d be happy to work with your enterprises again should it be on my terms. And I meant on my terms.”

He finally looked at me. While many of the others around held anxiety and interest openly, I recognized something deeper in this older man’s face. I suspected he’d been playing this game of politics for a longer time than most. He glanced at Lady Dawn’s clockwork bird one more time, then focused on me.

I could tell he recognized the ploy in what had just happened. He knew, at least to a degree, that I’d baited those men into confronting me.

“Noted, Lord Daen,” he said slowly. “It appears I’ve disrespected you in a way I did not anticipate.”

Masked words for, “I would’ve been happy to manipulate you if it weren’t difficult to do so,” I thought with an internal sneer.

Sevren was not-so-covertly glaring at the highlord.

“He speaks the truth to you, Highlord Morthelm,” an even yet powerful voice said. A familiar voice. “One needs greater skill if they wish to manipulate Lord Daen in any manner. I’ve had to change my own methods in ways I never expected.”

I felt a smirk split my face as I turned toward the voice. The crowd parted once more for another intruder. Renea Shorn wore her usual dark attire, though the sleeves of this dress were looser than her normal black ensemble. A mantle of dark fur wrapped around her pale neck, protecting her from the chill. Over her head, she held a shadowed parasol. It was dripping with water.

The pale-skinned owner of Bloodstone Elixirs finally stood before me. I looked at her parasol quizzically. In return, she raised a brow at me as if to say, “You expected me to let myself get rained on?”

“Your skills are beyond what I expected, Lord Daen,” Renea said, nodding slightly in respect. She gave both Lord Morthelm and Sevren a slight bow, sticking to protocol. “I believe you’ve more than kept your end of our bargain.”

She did watch my show, I thought with a hint of happiness. I thought she’d been avoiding me since I went against her advice and tracked down the Doctrination’s old temple in Nirmala.

It was a little nibbling thought in the back of my mind that the one who had made all of this possible didn’t attend. But it appeared she had, even if I hadn’t sensed or seen her in the crowd.

I opened my mouth to reply, but I was cut off by something else.

Aurora’s puppet was raising its bladed wings, puffing itself out in a display. It glared burning suns at Lady Shorn, hissing quietly. A sound like scraping knives slowly rattled outward.

And my bond’s own emotions… She was on guard. Her hackles were raised toward one, singular person.

“Toren,” she said sharply into my mind, “that woman isn’t what she seems. She is dangerous. I cannot say why, but you need to avoid her.”

I remembered the instinctual anxiety that suffused me when I first met Renea Shorn. That subconscious understanding that I was facing a predator; one who outclassed me in experience, grit, and intelligence as it slowly stalked toward my blind spot.

But for Aurora to feel the same sensation, I thought, staring at the bird on my shoulder uncertainly. Renea matched the steampunk sparrow’s sunset gaze. For the first time since I’d met the austere woman, she seemed a touch uncertain. Her face slowly morphed from its characteristic impassivity, a frown growing on her face as the seconds passed.

It was equal parts one of displeasure and another of confusion.

Suddenly, the reality of the item on my shoulder set back in. It was a djinni relic; taken straight from the Relictombs. Sevren Denoir had assured me that inquirers couldn’t detect it as a relic any longer after some sort of initial aetheric signature washed away over time, but that meant nothing to someone who was invested in actually determined to try and discover the clockwork raven’s inner workings.

Aurora, I said with a bit of internal hastiness, You need to be careful. At least for now. Renea is intelligent enough to be suspicious of your appearance.

Reading the flow of my thoughts, Aurora reluctantly settled the construct on my shoulder. Orange and purple light misted through gaps in its brass plating as it pointedly ignored the owner of Bloodstone Elixirs.

Renea turned to me instead, that frown still plastered on her face. “You did not tell me you gained a new…” She glanced at the bird again. The bronzish feathers ruffled in irritation as Aurora forcefully controlled herself. “Companion? I cannot sense any mana from its structure. How does it work?”

Think fast, Toren, I told myself. The crowd still spectated this interaction with fervent attention. None seemed primed to step forward, but I was extremely aware of the importance of my words.

“I truthfully don’t understand how it works,” I said, laying a hand on the puppet’s brass exterior. “This automaton was gifted to me by my friend Sevren Denoir,” I said, half addressing Renea and half addressing the crowd. “He would know better than I, but I doubt he would be forthcoming.”

I met Sevren’s eyes for a moment. Just as when we fought together, we had a sort of mutual understanding of one another. A push and pull that belied our intentions. I need to deflect the focus from me, I tried to convey. None here would dare press a highblood heir. I need that protection.

His teal eyes darkened for an instant. I thought he understood.

“It’s a prototype of something I’ve been working on these past few months,” Sevren said casually. “And I’m afraid its inner workings are a trade secret, Lady Shorn. Though perhaps I should give it another look to see why it's showing such… aggravation.”

Something inscrutable passed over Renea’s face as Sevren spoke. I thought I was close to grasping it, but it flitted away too quickly. “Intriguing, Lord Denoir,” she said. “If you are ever willing to tell me about your craft, Bloodstone Elixirs would be more than happy to assist.”

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“My work is my own,” Sevren said. His tone was almost rude. “And for those of my close friends.”

Translation: you are not my friend. I might have overestimated Sevren’s political skills.

I exhaled softly, but thankfully Renea seemed more amused than affronted. “As you wish, Lord Denoir,” she said.

I felt my nerves settle lightly. Potential crisis averted, at least for the time being.

Renea gave me a piercing look before turning to the crowd. “The show has been over for quite some time,” she said airily. “If you wish further inquiries, Bloodstone Elixirs would be happy to answer any questions you have. At a later time.”

The crowd seemed to snap out of their reverie. They gradually dispersed under Renea Shorn’s iron gaze. The sound of boots squelching in mud filled my ears as nobility reluctantly left the arena.

Behind the nobility, I saw the meager contingent of East Fiachrans who had managed to attend. Greahd, Wade, Hofal, and a dozen others milled about uncertainly. I saw Benny tugging on his mother’s leg, his hand-which had fingers lost to frostbite–clung tightly to her roughspun skirt. I locked eyes with Naereni in the crowd. I gave her a slow nod, which she returned.

Through it all, Renton Morthelm watched with a complex expression on his face. Naereni saw his attention and gave him a predatory grin; one that stretched nearly from ear to ear. Several people passed in front of her, masking the mage from view. Once they were by, the Young Rat was gone.

It would seem she was picking up more habits from Karsien.

“What are you planning, Lord Daen?” Lord Morthelm asked, his attention still focused on where Naereni used to be. Unlike before, his tone was far more respectful. It was laced with wariness.

I thought of all I hoped to accomplish with this endeavor. To change the minds of so many men toward the unadorned. To show their common ground through emotion and thought.

I planned to tear down the High Sovereign’s discrimination against non-mages, one brick at a time, while using those bricks to build a bridge that would span a chasm not nearly as wide as others thought.

“If I told you,” I said, “I don’t think you’d believe me.”

—

I sat in an upscale cafe in Fiachra’s northern sector, quietly sipping at my coffee.

Alacrya still didn’t have the wonderful bean beverage, of course. But I’d managed a workaround.

I’d found a can of coffee grounds in the town zone during my last visit. And if I brewed a large batch of coffee before this and sipped away at it now, who would judge?

Renea Shorn, apparently. She watched my drink critically from across the table, seeming to disapprove innately. Her own steaming drink was cupped in her hands.

Sevren Denoir sat at my side, but he was slumped against the back of the booth. He looked a lot more tired than I expected. All in all, it was a strange mirror of my first meeting with Renea Shorn. Though there was now a clockwork raven perched on my shoulder.

“I do not recognize the drink you indulge in,” the stern, pale-skinned woman finally said. Internally, I grinned. I had a feeling my silence on the matter would eventually irritate her enough to actually speak, and it seemed I was right. “I usually recognize most drinks served at these establishments by scent alone. And yours is… more bold than what I am used to.”

I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath through my nose. The coffee in my mug was black; without sweetener or cream. The rich, aromatic scent misted from the edge of the liquid with smokey undertones. It intermingled with the scent of Lady Shorn’s perfume, the familiar floral scent tickling my nostrils.

I’d been strung as tight as my violin bow in the aftermath of my confrontation with the Jasper man. After the reality of what I’d had to do to truly bring about my plans settled in.

But I found the simple aroma of my coffee–and the sweet balm of Renea’s perfume–both served to loosen my tensed muscles.

“It’s called coffee,” I said, taking a sip. It was bitter and earthy, but the acquired taste was something that grounded me in the moment. “It’s somewhat similar to tea, but you steep ground-up beans instead of leaves.”

I opened my eyes after a moment, feeling myself relax slightly. Lady Shorn raised a hand. I stared at it blankly for a moment.

“You took liberties with my own beverage the last time we met,” she said seriously. “You’re going to compensate me.”

It took me longer than I would’ve liked to admit to figure out what she was referencing. I’d heated her tea for her, taken a sip, then handed it back. She’d appeared amused by the rather overt gesture.

I felt blood rising in my cheeks, but with an effort of iron will, I shoved that reaction down. Instead, I floated my own cup over to her with a careful application of my telekinesis. She took it in her lithe fingers with grace, swirling it lightly. She peered into the dark depths of the drink before taking a sip.

I very pointedly ignored the raven puppet’s stare from the side. And Sevren’s deadpan disappointment.

Renea’s dark brow furrowed, but that was the only indication of her thoughts on the beverage. “I must admit, Lord Daen,” she started slowly, “this drink is… unique.”

I chuckled lightly, then latched back onto it with my telekinetic emblem, settling the mug back into my hands. “It’s an acquired taste,” I said honestly. I took another sip myself. “I didn’t expect you to enjoy it.”

“Perhaps it is,” she acceded. She looked at me through her shadowed hair. “How do you feel in the wake of your performance today?”

I let my head fall back against the lush cushions of the cafe booth. It was a more upscale location than I’d been in before. At least this time, my clothing matched the locale. I traced the engraved patterns on the ceiling with my eyes. “It was more exhausting than I expected,” I said honestly.

“The show itself,” Renea asked, “Or the crowd?”

I felt my hand clenching around the handle of my mug. I had to forcefully let it relax. “I don’t know what I really expected,” I said a bit morosely. “But things aren’t going to change after a single song.”

Renea sipped at her tea. Her demeanor changed slightly as she visibly considered her response. As my own exhaustion bled through my words, the dark-haired woman let the slight edge of playfulness seep out of our conversation. I didn’t have the mental or emotional energy to invest myself in our familiar back-and-forth flirtations.

“The first setback is always the most wrenching,” she said with a hint of quiet. “When one pushes for something so large; aiming for a piecewise construction rather than one, powerful blow, there can be innumerable unforeseen circumstances along the way. No person–mage or not–can foresee the future.” She tilted her head slightly. “You learn very quickly, Lord Daen. To roll with the punches thrown at you is a skill not so common.”

I had a great teacher, I affirmed internally. I wasn’t sure there was anyone I knew who had faced more than Aurora and made it through the other side.

“Highbloods will always be creatures of politics,” Sevren interjected with a quiet sneer. “In everything they do, it’s always a balance of profit and loss. You can try all you want, Toren, but this is more than a punch you can roll with.” He pulled himself out of the booth, locking eyes with me briefly. “I’ll be waiting outside. I need some air.”

The white-haired young man trudged toward the exit, a hunch to his shoulders I’d just begun to unravel from my own.

He hates highblood politics, I thought. He thinks them petty machinations of the High Sovereign. Like an experiment.

Aurora, who had kept eerily quiet through this entire exchange, chose that moment to interject across my mind. “And he is not wrong, Toren. Never, ever forget that.”

Renea watched him go with an impassive look.

I sighed. “My friend hasn’t had the best interactions with highbloods,” I said honestly. “Politics are never fun. And I’ve met too many people myself who revel in the power one can get from having a high station.”

“Those who enjoy the game are the ones you must fear the most,” the dark-haired woman replied. “For they are motivated not just by the need to assure their wellbeing, but also the thrill of the chase. The triumph of minds.”

The table was quiet for a brief time. “And do you enjoy the game?” I asked pointedly.

I immediately felt I had made some sort of mistake. Pushed too far. Or prodded something raw. Renea set her tea down slowly. Her spotless jaw worked for a moment, something akin to muted surprise in her dark onyx eyes.

“I find myself too lax around you, Lord Daen,” she eventually said, her voice somewhat strained. “I say more than I should.”

I stared at the steam rising off Renea’s tea, trying to think of something to say.

“You said I need to roll with the punches,” I eventually decided on. Anything to shift the topic away from this wound. “Where do you think I should start? What next?”

Renea was quiet for a long moment. “There is a venue available in a few weeks or so,” she said at last. I felt my shoulders relax as she finally spoke once again. “One of my inter-Dominion contacts has recently completed the construction of a large, public theater in their middle-class areas. They’ve asked me several times for financial support and are thus indebted to me. For its opening act, I could think of no better performance than yours.”

I hummed. “That sounds nearly perfect,” I admitted. From how she presented it, this venue seemed exactly what I was looking for. The middle class of Alacrya–while headed primarily by mages–still had substantial numbers of unadorned. It would be a good mixing ground for mages and non-mages. I started to raise my coffee to my lips. “And where is this theater?”

“In Aensgar.”

My hand halted in its tracks, my coffee splashing slightly. A drop managed to peek over the rim, and then slide down the edge of the mug. The dark dot slowly traveled down the microscopic rivets of the porcelain, before finally splashing to the table below.

Aensgar. I’d been planning to visit there soon regardless. After all, it was the closest access point to the Redwater. And at the headwaters of that river was Mardeth’s current base.

I met Lady Shorn’s eyes, and I found I could not read them. There was a wall of ice in those pupils infinitely wide.

I hesitantly set down my cup of coffee. How much does this woman know about my plans? About Mardeth? About my grudge against him?

It seemed too perfect. It could be a coincidence, maybe. But in the short time I’d interacted with this woman, I’d learned that every action was deliberate. What was it she had said upon splitting that crowd not long ago?

“One needs greater skill if they wish to manipulate Lord Daen in any manner,” she’d said. “I’ve had to change my own methods in ways I never expected.”

The words Karsien told me when I’d first received Oath and Promise bounced around in my head. “She so smoothly achieved both of our desires,” he’d snarled. The one time I’d seen the Rat without his mask was when he told me about his interactions with this woman. It was seared into my memory nearly as deeply as Karsien’s own burns. “Do you understand the difficulty of that, Toren?”

I shook my head, recognizing I had no valid reason to refuse. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Inside my mind, Aurora seethed.