Chapter 77. Gala I (Patreon)

The group set off for the transport array, waited in a short queue behind the delegation from Surno, and arrived at the Tai estate. Ian glanced around, realizing that they’d arrived on an inscribed platform of granite exposed to the elements. His eyes gravitated to the convergence of souls all around the mansion over a stadium’s length away.

Euryphel strode gracefully forward, his thin cape stirring slightly behind him. Ian followed with the others, assuming his position next to Euryphel on the right. The sky was bathed in fuschia, though the area was dark enough that the glow of fireflies was visible, flashing all over the tree-lined grounds. Walking over the path leading up to the main entrance, Ian was reminded of the forested vineyard from the wedding in the loop.

The outside layer of Tai’s mansion was open to the air, marked by columns that led towards the entrance of the house. The classical pillars and white marble gave the building a timeless appeal, while the massive scale of the outer area dwarfed the guests gathered outside .

The main entrance was a pair of doors at least twice as high as the average man. They were currently open, allowing for fluid movement between the open grounds and the interior. By the time they finally passed between a pair of crenellated pillars, Ian could tell that there were over fifty people scattered nearby; he estimated there was likely another two-hundred or-so in attendance, their figures growing more indistinct with distance, blurred by intervening walls.

Shivin’i touched the prince’s arm lightly, eliciting an almost imperceptible nod of recognition. As though he’d been headed toward the right-most room all along, Euryphel walked lazily forward, a muted smile on his face as his eyes fell over the numerous paintings lining the walls almost entirely from floor to ceiling.

Ian was frankly surprised by Diana’s behavior: As soon as they’d left the transport array, she’d been the picture of a loyal SPU citizen, quietly tracking every subtle gesture from Euryphel or Shivin’i. She gazed at the paintings and the surroundings with all the poise Ian would expect of royalty. 

In other words, she was acting like a completely different person than her normally abrasive self. The congressional representatives following behind them were similarly well poised, two even breaking out into quiet conversation about the history of one famous painting.

Ian followed the first prince’s lead, peering at the artwork while using his vital vision to inspect the surrounding area. He also tried to listen in on what other attendees were discussing, but the closest group was conversing in Minani, the language spoken in Minoa: Ian couldn’t understand a word they were saying.

After what felt like an eternity of gazing soullessly at pictures, they made it to Euryphel’s targeted destination: a banquet room with a table filled with food and drinks. This room was one of the most crowded, with people talking in both large and small groups while nibbling on sweet buns, fancy cheeses, and other tasteful hors d’oeuvres.

There was a wine station, but it wasn’t particularly busy: Ian figured that people wanted to be at peak operating capacity when Yuma Tai decided to make her appearance. Even so, most people seemed to be nursing mostly-full glasses. Euryphel first steered them over to pick up goblets of a bubbling white wine, raising a toast.

“To whatever tomorrow brings,” Euryphel said. “There’s no need for us all to stick together; grab food and enter into conversation at your leisure.”

Everyone seemed to get the hint: divide and conquer; see what interesting political insights they could glean in conversation.

It’s time once more to put Mother’s instruction to use, Ian thought. His mind also strayed to Germaine and what she’d told him during their last meeting: that he’d grow inured to the mindless act of politicking eventually. Ian figured it would take a while for that to happen, if ever: he wasn’t as extroverted as his sister.

Ian suppressed the urge to sigh as a group of people approached him. This is going to be a long night.

—

It only took an hour for Yuma Tai to make her appearance.  By now, it was fully evening, the sun little more than a dying ember on the horizon. It proved a brilliant canvas for her personal opening ceremony.

Ian followed the crowd out of the main building and outside. Eventually, it seemed that everyone had vacated the mansion’s interior: People were packed like sardines, filling the space between the columns and even spilling out to sit on the stairs below.

Suddenly, Tai appeared as a projection of shifting, colored light, almost as though she had been brought to life as an impressionist oil painting. The hues were vibrant and fantastical, cool greens and blues representing Tai’s gown while warm purples and oranges made up her face. Ian almost expected the souls over the estate to be caught up in the current of color, but they instead drifted unphased through the illusion.

“Welcome esteemed guests. It’s my honor and pleasure to welcome all of you to my humble dwelling.” Tai’s grin stretched across her face as she said the last two words. The broad brush strokes making up the image served to enhance Tai’s cheekbones and thin nose while smoothing out her wrinkles, leaving her far younger in appearance than Ian had imagined.  “There’s plenty of food yet to come, and however much you dare imbibe, I guarantee the wine won’t run out.”

She chuckled, her illusion’s expressions perhaps even more lively than if Tai was speaking before them in person. “As is highly traditional, the night will be filled with mystique and merriment, wonder and whimsy, tragedy and turmoil.” She laughed again, her eyes creasing into two crescents. “Perhaps less of the latter two; though they certainly make for a dramatic introduction!”

Ian shot Euryphel a glance from across the way, but the prince didn’t seem to notice. He wasn’t sure where Shivin’i, Diana, or the other attendees were at the present moment, but he assumed they were somewhere in the throng of attendees.

“I’ll be walking around and saying hello; continue to enjoy yourselves and go with the flow!” As the final word left the illusion’s mouth, Tai’s face seemed to unravel and collapse. The colored paint coursed through the air like a powerful thrumming river and slammed into the mansion’s roof, throwing up a shower of color that rained down below and covered the ground in what appeared to be pools of colored water. One landed close to Ian’s foot; despite the closeness of the crowd, Ian managed to stick out a foot and nudge the pool, observing that it did, in fact, ripple like water.

She’s a Moon practitioner; it probably is real water.

“As beautiful as always,” someone near Ian observed. As she turned toward him, Ian recognized her as a lesser dignitary of Turina, her hair done up in a braided bun favored in Kester’s upper circles. “And who is this but the tournament’s most mysterious dark horse?” She bowed her head. “It is an honor to meet the Skai’aren.”

Ian had been hearing approximately the same phrase all night. He bowed his head as well, though only slightly; as a peak decemancer and the Crowned Prime’s personal retainer, Ian found that most people took a deferential stance when greeting him.

“And a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Airodakwe,” Ian replied, flashing her a smile. “Is this not your first time at Yuma Tai’s gala?”

Airodakwe shook her head. “I’ve been several times by now, though I appreciate the flattery.”

Ian chuckled. Airodakwe certainly couldn’t be called young, her silver-streaked hair and wrinkles around her eyes testifying to her experience.

“And what do you think the night has in store for us?” Ian wondered. He’d been asking the same question all night: Not only was it a good, neutral conversation starter, but Ian actually wanted to know what kinds of bizarre scenarios might come to pass.

“Yuma Tai is nothing but thorough in her designs,” Airodakwe replied, a smile creasing the corners of her lips. “Expect something consistent with the display we’ve just seen.”

“Surely you must have a more concrete guess?” Ian probed. He and Airodakwe were walking together, going with the throng of people flowing indoors.

“I’m all out of guesses, unfortunately. Skai’aren, do tell me: Where exactly do you think you’ll place in the Grand Tournée? You’ve been evaluated favorably, but us spectators have not yet seen very much of your skillset.”

“I expect to finish highly,” Ian said simply, giving her a coy smile.

“Well, I wish you the best of luck. We were all impressed by your entrance this morning. It is rare to see a decemancer of your age perform at the level of an expert.”

Ian bowed slightly, preparing to leave before a thought flashed across his mind. Achemiss had mentioned someone, a decemancer. Someone who could teach me.

He looked up at Airodakwe. “But surely I am not the first. I take it there have been other peak decemancers over the years, if you care to enlighten me?”

The noble women paused for a moment, mulling over Ian’s question.

“No, not really,” she finally said. “From my years in Fassar, nothing of the sort sticks out. Though it could of course be that my memories have faded.”

Ian tried his best not to frown. “I am sure that’s not the case, though your answer surprises me. Surely there are peak decemancers in the East, I am curious why they would not attend the Summit...” Realizing that he’d been rambling a bit, Ian added, “Apologies if I’ve been peppering you with questions.”

“It’s no trouble, Skai’aren,” Airodakwe said warmly. “The absence of powerful peak decemancers certainly is curious, though I could see why. I don’t mean to offend, but to be forthright, decemancy is not always the most well-regarded of affinities, especially with the public. If there is a peak decemancer in the East, I’m sure whatever house they serve has its reasons for keeping them out of view.”

“No offense taken.Thank you for indulging me.” Ian bowed again. “It was a pleasure speaking with you, Ms. Airodake.”

“Likewise, Skai’aren.”

Ian conversed with a few more individuals and groups, each interaction seeming to sap the life out of him. I have no idea how the others can do this so tirelessly. All along, he was trying to locate one individual in particular, someone who he had never met, but feared he would: the Eldemari. Just where was she?

“Ah, the Skai’aren,” a familiar baritone called out. Ian turned around, smiling stiffly as Suran Rindo took him into a side hug.

I wasn’t aware we were so friendly, he thought, plastering a jovial expression on his face.

“The Sublime,” Ian acknowledged.

“I said before: you can call me Suran Rindo. Now tell me, are you up for another round of cards?”

Y’jeni.

“Suran, there’s no need for that,” Ian replied carefully.

The man chuckled. “No, not those cards; no active practicing, remember?”

You said another round of cards. There’s only one round of cards I’ve participated in... Ian thought. His gaze fell between the three other individuals flanking Rindo on all sides. “Where would you have us play, anyway? This place is already filled to the brim.”

Rindo tilted his head back and laughed. “There’s more to this mansion than the first floor. We came to grab more refreshments; you should come back with us.”

This seems a more effective way to gather information than bumbling around. Ian nodded and fell into step behind Rindo’s group, helping them grab a few pastries and glasses of sparkling wine. Rindo led the group through several rooms, each of which held paintings, sculptures, musical instruments, and relics of times long passed. Ian questioned Yuma Tai’s generosity in letting so many dignitaries into her lavish abode where they might accidentally break something, but figured the woman probably had defensive measures in place.

Not that I plan on testing them.

They eventually arrived in an open atrium. Rindo stepped past the ornate column of stairs leading up to the open-banistered second floor, instead choosing to wander down a shadowed hallway. He opened one of the doors without hesitation, swiftly rounding a corner and ducking into a new, small staircase.

“You seem intimate with Tai’s estate,” Ian observed.

Rindo turned his head back to face the decemancer and smiled. “I’m lucky that I can cheat a bit,” he explained, chuckling. “It’s easy to find someone when you have an arrow pointing you the way.”

“To be honest, I didn’t think much of End practitioners before becoming a practitioner myself,” Ian admitted. “The tidings of fate seemed distant and unimportant. Fate seemed unlikely to tangle regulars in her web.”

“We’re all tangled in the web, for better or worse,” Rindo replied, leading them down a dimly-lit hall.

“The Crowned Prime has said as much,” Ian murmured. Eury often spoke of how everything in his city was connected, almost as though Zukal’iss were one living organism.

“These are the last set of doors,” Rindo said, gesturing with his right arm. His cape followed his hand, causing a curtain of emerald to trail from his fingers to the floor. He released its fabric and turned the door knob.

Just as he did so, the world around them seemed to shift and distort. Everyone in the cohort stopped moving, evidently deciding to wait out the weirdness. Ian closed his eyes, trying to remove any visual artifacts while relying on his vital vision to see the surroundings.

A moment passed; Ian heard the click of the door. Rindo’s voice sounded out: “Let’s proceed; it seems that the night is going to begin shortly. We’d best be seated until the transition is in full effect.”

Ian’s mind tried to think of possible explanations for what might be going on. What was a transition, exactly, in the context of Tai’s estate? He figured it was some combination of illusions and water. He looked around, his vital vision just barely detecting small apertures in the wall where water might be funneled into the room, each aperture linked to a system of pipes.

Perhaps the transition spoke to something more interesting: what if Tai was using more than just water?

Ian took a step away from the group, falling to the back as the others entered the doorway in a shuffle of fabric. Ian stood on his toes and just barely managed to dab part of a napkin into the nearest wall aperture, soaking it in a bit of liquid. There’s no way this is poisoned, he reasoned, though it could be drugged. He drew the napkin up, then carefully sniffed, wafting with his off hand; the liquid smelled sweet, like wine.

Not wanting to be left behind, Ian followed after the last person, the door closing behind him as he entered a spacious room. Ian tentatively opened his eyes, finding a wild scene in front of him. He seemed to be in a library filled with vast shelves of books on two levels...but all the books seemed to be flying off the shelves, spirited away by unliving animals and birds. In other words, realistic water constructs. Book-toting birds fluttered around the ceiling, rapidly shedding their feathers–dried, feather-shaped gobs of oily paint–onto the floor.

Several people aside from Rindo and his followers were already inside and seated on thick upholstered chairs. In one corner sat a woman, whose face lit up as her gaze fell over Ian.

“Suran, you’ve brought someone fascinating. Fate absolutely becomes him; so many ribbons, almost like he’s been gift-wrapped by the universe.”