Godslayers

We’d been expecting Lirian to hit the ball tonight, so this wasn’t like a Kives-level inconvenience. It was pretty damned inconvenient, though, because I figured she was going to head directly for me and try to get me thrown out of the ball. We didn’t have the funds—yet, anyways—to attend another one and Markus wasn’t getting anywhere without a sponsor.

“I think we split up,” I said to Markus. “I’m seeing some unaccompanied males around here, and we gotta make up for all the time we lost to Granny Gab-Gums over there.”

“That should work,” said Markus. “Commander, can you step in to back up Lilith?”

“I’m going to run interference on Lirian,” said the commander. “Lilith, just do your best. Val, you’re on handler duty.”

“Understood,” said Val. “Lilith, I’m piggybacking on your feed.”

“Confirm,” I said. That was more me than Lady Ajarel, but breaking character for a moment helped me center myself. I pursed my lips as I slipped between groups of chatting people. “Any advice for me?”

“Have confidence,” he said. “I imagine that you’re feeling unarmed right now.”

“A bit,” I conceded. “I guess I’ll adjust my posture or something.”

“It’s in the mindset,” said Val. “Appropriate levels of confidence communicate that you understand the situation and judge yourself capable of succeeding. Excessive confidence communicates that you don’t understand the situation.”

I reached the banquet table and stared blankly at the food there. It was too fucking dark to make anything out. There were bowls all the way down the table filled with—beverages? Soup? I sighed. I’d wanted to eat something, but with my luck it’d probably turn out that I was drinking a dipping sauce or something.

“The problem is I don’t,” I said. “Understand, I mean.”

“You are at war, Lilith,” he said. “What does it matter if your spear is dull? Aim for the throat.”

“Aim for the throat,” I said, nodding to myself. “Alright, I can do that. Where’s my target?”

“I don’t know what they look like either,” said Val. “Just circulate. You’ll recognize a name sooner or later. View it as sparring practice.”

“Really leaning on the stabby metaphors today,” I said. “Alright, let’s try the gals over there.”

The gals in question gave me a warm welcome—so warm, in fact, that I almost couldn’t believe the intense contempt coming off all but one of them. The lone holdout was from the House of Kess, I learned during introductions, but there was no way I was making headway in this group. I was pretty sure I flubbed something about my own introduction based on their reactions, but a high class event like this was always going to be socialization hard mode. There were still fine details about Therian social interaction we hadn’t nailed down. I had Val make a note on the Kess girl, then cut my losses and excused myself.

“Fuck,” I subvocalized as I walked away. Wasn’t about risk a challenge over uncouth language.

“It’s no great loss,” said Val. “She was too young to have enough pull with the Kessim to sponsor Markus.”

“It never hurts to have connections,” I said.

“The mission takes priority,” said Val.

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Markus, how’s it going?”

“I’m having a blast!” he said. “These people are so great at polite rejections I’m taking notes for later.”

“The mission takes priority, Markus,” I lectured him in my nerdiest voice.

“Ah, so you did hear me,” said Val. “One is never quite sure with you.”

“Cut the Mean Girls crap, I’m getting enough of that from these people,” I said.

“As you wish,” he replied. Judging by the lack of further comments, Val was either shockingly well-informed about Earth culture or too proud to ask what Mean Girls was. I knew where I’d put my money.

I decided to nonchalantly swing by the banquet table again and go for a one on one chat with some other person taking a breather. I scanned a couple of likely targets, then picked one lady in a complicated-looking dress—purely because I saw her dipping bread in one of the bowls and decided I owed her a favor.

“You’ve got great taste. I love this stuff,” I said by way of introduction. She turned slowly to me, giving me the impression of a raised eyebrow despite the mask covering the top half of her face. “Godsmile. Lady Ajarel, of Salaphi.”

“Godsmile,” replied the lady, eyeing the bread I’d just dunked in the bowl. Her voice was raspy, like old paper. “I see you’ve managed to shake off the honorable Lady Obol.”

Shit, she remembered me from my entrance. Think like Val, say something snide!

“Apparently I’m great company!” I said, wincing on the inside. Not snide enough. The other woman chuckled politely.

“She has an affinity for lost songbirds,” she said simply.

Her dress was a deep navy blue, fading to black under the thousand ghostlights that gave us bare minimum of vision. It gave her a slightly inhuman appearance, aided in part by the fact that she was freakishly tall and rather thin. Her cheekbones and jaw—illuminated by flickering, pale blue ghostfire—were sharp, giving her a somewhat sinister appearance. On my comm, I got the impression of distant interest, like a scientist poking at a bug to see what it’ll do.

She leaned in slightly, somehow indicating the bread in my hand without gesturing to it.

“You love dvoli,” she said. “I would hate to keep you from it.”

I sensed a trap, but shoving that bread in my face was the only way to avoid losing face. Like, social face. Besides, I’d just seen her eat some bread with that sauce, so it was probably fine. Aim for the throat. Or the mouth, in this case.

“To your health,” I said. I took a bite and immediately coughed as the burning hot sauce ignited all of my mucus membranes and about two-thirds of my sinuses. Oh god I was going to die. Oh fuck me that hurt.

“Love this stuff,” I coughed, tears welling up in my eyes. “Food should fight back.”

“Indeed,” said the other lady, straightening as if satisfied with her examination. “Please convey to Lady Obol my compliments on her family’s ball, and inform her that she is not as subtle as she thinks.”

“Wait, what?” I said, almost distracted from the bonfire that my oral cavity had become. “Hold on, can I get your name?”

Something in her demeanor turned cold at that. “Must we continue this farce? Lady Eloi Voranetes. Herself. There, child—we are introduced. You may report the failure of your mission.”

I knew it was a dismissal but fuck it, I’d immolated my face and I wasn’t going to let that be for nothing.

“Lady Eloi!” I said, then coughed again. Her face turned back to me, conveying rapidly thinning patience. “I’m not here for Lady Obol’s sake. My friend needs a sponsor to compete for glory in the Renathion. Lady Obol stonewalled us so we wouldn’t get a chance to ask anyone. I know I’m out of my depth here, but this is our only chance.”

“Indirect requests,” Val said sharply in my ear, but it was too late.

“You are a fool, Lady Ajarel,” said the tall, thin specter in front of me. “Begone.”

I clenched the fist that didn’t have bread in it to restrain myself from throwing the one that did. Lady Eloi peered through her ghostfire-illuminated mask with cold satisfaction, waiting for me to leave. I was aware enough to recognize this as a power move, but knowing that just made it worse. I turned around and forced myself to march forward, barely watching where I was going. At some point I snagged a cold drink and started trying to wash the spiciness out of my mouth.

“Commander, I fucked up,” I said. “Do you know if Eloi Voranetes is important? Because she hates me now.”

“I don’t know that name,” said the commander.

“I do,” said Markus. “She’s sash-bearer to Sael Voranetes, the family head. Most people give her a wide berth.”

“I can see why,” I said. “Fuck her.”

“She has too much clout to engage directly,” said the commander. “The Voranetti should be considered off-limits tonight. Focus on the other families.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“The preparation for this mission was incomplete by necessity,” said the commander. “Mistakes are to be expected. We will adapt. Just keep doing your best.”

“I was wondering why Obol let you go so easily,” said Val. “For Eloi to react like that, Obol might have an established pattern of using independents to accomplish her objectives.”

I resisted the urge to wave my hands in exasperation—Lady Ajarel was more refined than that. “She won’t leave me alone even when she leaves me alone!”

“We’re running out of time,” said the commander. “The ball ends in two or three hours. I’m guessing it’ll take about an hour once you find a good connection.”

I pulled myself up with a grimace, setting my drink aside. My mouth still hurt, but it was down to more of a dull twinge after the absolute conflagration that had been my initial taste of the dvoli. Damn Eloi. In retrospect, she’d only put a little bit of the sauce on her bread. That was probably what outed me. The worst part was she hadn’t even been that wrong about why I was there. She just didn’t know who I was working for.

I was still gonna gut-punch her, though. She could wait in line after Lady Obol and the jerks from earlier.

Go for the throat. I threw myself at another group of women, all my seniors. They tolerated me but I was otherwise ignored. Frustration quickened my heartbeat but I would not let it reach my posture and expressions. Clamp that shit down. I had a job to do. But not here, apparently. I made my excuses and stepped away.

No luck either on my next two conversations. I made a new friend in the next one, then I learned she was Voranetti and had to make the minimum polite niceties before bailing. Sorry, Alceoi, maybe next time.

I had to spend the next fifteen minutes avoiding Lirian—she was wearing the bright purple ghostflame mask, which I could only assume was because she somehow knew I wanted it—who had wandered over to this area and was definitely looking for me. After two close calls and an incident involving a near-collision with a servant carrying a food platter, the commander managed to block her path and draw her into a conversation. I tuned in and realized with vindictive amusement that she was pulling a Lady Obol on our wanna-be spy. I was overjoyed to learn that Lirian wasn’t any better at dealing with it than I was.

Free once more and down more time than I would have liked, I got back to it. On a whim, I found a group of men who were all hanging out on the edge of the courtyard. I cringed a bit as I watched their postures shift—I was making them uncomfortable by intruding on their broment. Don’t let it matter, Lilith. Go for the throat.

“Hey, lads,” I said. “Beautiful night, am I right? Lady Ajarel.”

“How can we help you, ma’am?” asked one of them. He was a well-built dude, with a wide shawl decorated in more of a traditional style. Ruffly brown hair poked out over his mask, illuminated by neon orange fire.

“Just build rapport,” said Val.

“I’m just trying to take a breather,” I said. “This is all pretty overwhelming for an out-of-towner. Who are you guys?”

“Sela,” said the spokesdude, touching his chest gently with one hand. “Of the grace of the Kessim, by descent. These are Joissa, of the grace of the Kessim, by bond; Kalim, of the grace of the Jenerretti, by bond; and Hortasia and Gurana, of the grace of the gods.”

“That means they don’t count in demigod genealogies,” Val interpreted for me. “Not relevant here.”

“Pleased to meet you,” I said, giving them enough of a smile to communicate friendliness but not so much that it broke decorum, given our ambiguous relative social status. “It’s my first Starlight Ball, so I’m a bit out of my depth here. It’s nice to meet some friendly faces.”

“Where are you from?” asked the other Kessim with polite interest. Joissa, that was it.

“Salaphi,” I said. “Things are picking up over there with the whole tree situation, but the political maneuvering isn’t as complicated.”

“Don’t go to Bulcephine, then,” laughed Kalim. “At least in Vitareas you know who all the players are.”

A couple of the other men shot alert looks at him and then me, but when I didn’t seem offended they relaxed a bit. Sela, I noticed, was one of them. I gave them a rueful grin.

“I might have to,” I said, tilting my head to the side—the gesture communicated more or less what a shrug would have, back home. “I’m here to get my friend a sponsor for the Renathion.”

“For your sake, I hope he has an excellent singing voice,” said Kalim. “Only a child of the gods could best Cades in the pentathlon. People used to think he was one himself.”

“I saw him lose a spar this morning,” I said. “It can’t be that hard.”

“Well, naturally,” one of them—Gurana?—spoke up. “He’s…” Gurana looked around, then continued. “Well, it’s different in the tournament, you see.”

“Hortasia,” Sela said warningly. Okay, fine, I was wrong. I held my hands up placatingly.

“Hey, don’t worry about whatever that was. I’ve got too much going on to dig into Cades’s secrets.”

That was a lie. I was totally going to dig into his secrets. But they didn’t need to know that.

“It’s nothing that would affect you,” said Sela amiably. “Just a matter best kept in confidence to allow him to focus on reaching the Kabidiad.”

“A man’s gotta have goals,” I said.

“Is that your friend’s goal as well?” asked Kalim. “I also used to dream of marrying the Empress as a boy, but I haven’t Cades’s blessings in the arena.”

“You’ll just have to settle for Lidiel,” said Joissa, to general laughter. I guess she was attractive or something? Mostly I was just thankful that the mask covered my widening eyes at the bombshell they’d just dropped. Normally I’d assume that was a figure of speech or something, but over comm translation the meaning was unmistakable.

“Urgent. The prize for winning the Kabidiad is marrying the Empress,” I subvocalized quickly.

“Yes! Excellent job, Lilith,” said the commander. “That was worth the price of admission by itself.”

“I always thought I’d make a good trophy husband,” said Markus. “This contact’s a bust, by the way.”

I hadn’t flubbed the conversation yet—the culture’s inherent sexism was probably helping me there—so I tried to bring up the sponsor thing again, while it was still on topic. But I guess none of them were important enough, or had the ear of a woman who was, to get us the thumbs-up we needed here.

“Dead end,” I subvocalized.

“They might have more leads,” said Val. “Contacts are good for more than one thing.”

He had a point, so I gave it a shot. “Do you know who else would be willing to sponsor Thala?”

“Sight unseen?” asked Sela. “I’m afraid not. Lady Ajarel, you seem like someone receptive to frankness.”

“Go for it.”

“It can’t be done,” said Sela. “Or at least it would be extremely difficult. With the competition so fierce, the risk of investing in an unknown athlete is higher. You’re not the only ones whose hearts are set on the Kabidiad and the influence to be gained there. It might be best to move on to a different city.”

Reasonable, yet—I got the impression that he wasn’t telling me everything. More importantly, so did my comm.

“We don’t really have the funds for that,” I said, grimacing. “I guess we’ll just keep trying.”

“It might be better if you went home,” said Sela, with compassion in his voice. “Sometimes fate has other plans.”

“Why do you say that?” I said, looking between him and the other guys. They didn’t look as confused as me, so I assumed they were all in on it.

Sela considered for a moment, then leaned in slightly.

“It’s Lady Lirian,” he said. “She arrived a year ago and began targeting anyone who might outcompete Cades. You know Merisites. Nothing ever provable and so on. But last year, a handful of our city’s best athletes were involved in scandal. Another was crippled. The worst case was Kela of Borovin—he has, to the best of my knowledge, vanished utterly.”

“Shit,” I said, causing some smiles on the dudes around me. Hell yeah! Look at me with the rapport building! “I guess I know why Lady Eloi called me a fool.”

Sela’s face—what I could see of it—immediately became blank.

“I would not presume to know the thoughts of milady,” he said neutrally.

Okay, got it. It’s not safe to talk about the White Witch even in friendly territory. Well, I probably wasn’t a real friend yet.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to imply—uh, just forget it, okay?” I said. “Trade you for the Cades stuff.”

“A bargain well struck,” said Sela with a deferential movement of the head.

“I should probably go,” I said. “Stay safe, don’t let the Merisites bite.”

Sela turned a bit red at that, and Joissa nudged him while the other guys laughed.

“Did—did you—” I started. “You know what, I don’t wanna know. Bye!”

I escaped to an out-of-the-way corner of the room, looking for a table. Val started talking with the rest of the team about the new wrinkle with Lirian and its implications, but I was suddenly exhausted and I needed to sit down. All this effort for nothing. Frustratingly, it turned out that most of the tables had already been claimed, but I found one that was only occupied by a bored-looking teenager reading some kind of book. I guess they had nerds on Theria, too.

My table companion had pulled her mask up to see better, but hadn’t taken it off entirely. Probably so she could use the ghostlights, which were fairly bright, to read. Smart kid. I wish they’d had those at my school dances.

True to type, she didn’t look up as I collapsed into a seat near her.

“Go away,” she greeted me.

“I don’t wanna be here either, kid,” I said, putting my head on the table. It was probably shameful and people would talk. Didn’t matter. This town was a wash. Probably Kives’s fault again.

She seemed to regard me for a few moments.

“You can stay if you’re quiet,” she conceded.

“How generous of you,” I said.

“It is,” she said self-assuredly. “You didn’t even ask to sit down.”

“I’m tired, okay?” I said. “Give me a break.”

“I did. That’s why it was generous.”

I made a frustrated noise. “I—you know what? Whatever.”

“You’re not being very quiet,” she observed.

“Why don’t you let me?” I shot back, sitting up. She was looking at me now, wearing a defiant expression on her stupid little nerd face.

“You were wrong.”

“I’m just wrong about everything today,” I said. “Alright, fine, I’ll leave.”

She looked intently at me, then awkwardly reached out and patted me on the shoulder. “I’m sorry. Are you having a hard time? Kuril keeps saying I need to know when not to argue with people.”

“Kid, did you just decide we’re buddies or something?” I said. “A minute ago you were telling me to go away.”

“I thought you were like them!” she said, gesturing vaguely at the rest of the ball. “Everyone keeps interrupting me so they can lecture me on proper behavior. They just want me to marry their kids. I hate it.”

“I hate it too,” I said. I caught a blip from Markus and stood up in a hurry. “Shit. Uh, nice meeting you, but I need to go like right now.”

“Why?” asked my new buddy.

“Because she’s about to get thrown out of the ball,” said Markus, walking up to us. “Head for the banquet table, we’ll try to stall her there. Don’t run.”

“Confirmed,” I said. “Seeya, kid.”

“Who’s challenging you?” she asked, standing up with us. “It’s a challenge, right? I knew something was going on with you.”

“Markus, keep her out of the way. I don’t want her going down with me,” I said. “Commander, what’s going on?”

“Lirian talked to Lady Eloi,” said the commander. “She’s got the leverage she needs for the challenge. Get out now, it’ll be a public relations disaster if they catch you.”

“Got it,” I said, hurrying—but not running—toward the table. “Where is she?”

“She seems to expect you to head for the entrance,” said the commander. “I’ll get you out the way I came in. Whatever you do, do not use the cloak.”

I swore internally as I saw the freakishly tall shape of Lady Eloi moving through the crowd to my left. If anyone could find me, it’d be her. I ducked behind a group of chatting ladies to avoid her sight and continued onwards.

“Ah, there you are!” said a voice in my blind spot. I whirled to see none other than Lady Obol blocking my way, beaming in a nurturing kind of way. Here to do me another “favor,” no doubt. “I hear you’ve caused quite a stir without my guidance.”

“I, uh—” I stammered.

“You don’t belong here,” Lirian said, approaching from the other direction.

“I’d rather leave than talk to you,” I tried.

“That might be best, my dear,” said Lady Obol. “It’s best to avoid a scandal, and there’s always—”

“I invoke the Right of Challenge!” yelled Lirian, pointing at me. “If you are of grace, let it be shown before all!”

Lady Obol cast a dark look at both of us before settling her composure again. “Are there any who bear witness to this challenge?”

“I do: the Lady Eloi Voranetes,” came a withered voice behind me. “The Lady Ajarel behaved in a manner most unrefined before my eyes.”

Lady Obol sighed. “And are there any who would attest to her grace?”

I looked pleadingly at her, but she only met my gaze with blank warmth. I was fucked.

“I do: the Lady Roel Vitares.” I turned, surprised—everyone was speaking up from outside of my field of vision and it was pissing me off—and saw my nerd friend, standing nonchalantly with her book under her arm. Behind her, Markus gave me an apologetic look.

“Then let the challenge commence,” said Lady Obol. “Time shall be given to prepare, then your worth will be shown before all.” She punctuated the statement with a message just for me—a glare that said you better not fuck this up.

I sighed. Get in line, Obol.