22. Basil - Soiree Preparations (Patreon)

Chapter 22

Soiree Preparations

“I can’t believe he won,” I said to my reflection, “and with a Mythic up for ante. A Mythic.” The mirror I was looking into was gilded in gold – part of the Colosseum’s furnished rooms for competitors – and the cravat around my neck hung in two forgotten halves. I was supposed to be getting ready for the Soiree, but the enormity of Hull’s victory kept distracting me. Little things like getting properly dressed felt so…pedestrian in comparison to the memory.

“Who is this again?” Warrick asked. My friend had only recently joined me, and he lounged on the plush, plum-colored sofa, his lanky frame stretched from one end to the other. He held a glass of wine close to his chest, and another waited on the end table below the mirror, which I had yet to touch. “That beggar boy you faced in the first round?”

“One and the same,” I answered. Using more focus than it should have required, I took the two ends of the cravat in hand and gave them the proper loops and tugs so that the silken concoction puffed up below my neck. Then, to hold it in place, I used a small silver pin bearing my family’s Hintal insignia. I had received it from my parents when I raised my soul to Uncommon, and, besides my cards, it was one of my most prized possessions.

“And you helped him again because your first attempt was so well received?”

“Esmi wished it,” I replied, not rising to the bait. I made a slight adjustment to the cravat now that it was pinned down. “Turns out she’s a Rapturist. I suppose it makes sense considering how sweet she is to everyone, but I wouldn’t have guessed it. Have you ever met any Rapturists here in Treledyne?”

“She didn’t seem so sweet when she was brow-beating you about your deck,” Warrick murmured into his wine cup.

I had meant to check my hair next, but responding to a comment like that through a reflection didn’t feel direct enough, so I turned around. The sofa that Warrick was splayed out upon sat directly across from the bed, its four posters made of wood, carefully carved vines running up and down the length of each. Past those two pieces of furniture was a wide, free standing dresser, each door made to look like the back of a card. To the left of that was a window looking down on the city, and to the right was a tiled washroom. Spending time with Hull must have rubbed off on me, because I was half tempted to take Warrick into the side room and dunk his head into the water basin. However, a noble couldn’t afford to be a brute, nor had I gone to the trouble of assembling my outfit just to get it wet.

“She was worried about me,” I explained. “And I’m grateful, I’ll have you know, particularly if her attention to detail can help me perform well at the Tournament and elevate my soul to Rare.” Warrick didn’t respond, so I added. “I think that Charbond fellow – Plutar is his name, by the way – must be a rotten piece of work for her to be so concerned.” I also hoped I was becoming someone fond to Esmi, but I didn't have the courage to say that part aloud.

Annoyingly, Warrick just stared into his glass instead of looking at me, seeming entranced by the swirl of dark wine, nearly the same color as the sofa.

“I should have drunk more before meeting with my parents,” he said. “It would have made their stories about that damned student they sponsor infinitely more bearable. Afi this and Afi that. You’d think they wanted to adopt her.”

I shook my head and turned back to the mirror. He wasn’t trying to insult my fiancée; he was just having one of his moods. “She’s been winning, has she?”

“Of course,” Warrick said, miserable. I heard a clink as he put his glass down on the marble coffee table and a burble as he poured himself a fresh glass. “Fought a kestrel in her second match, apparently, somehow managing to beat a pure Air deck. They say she duels Gerad tomorrow. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted the Prince to win anything before, but I hope he sweeps her off the stage, I really do.”

The Prince was favored to win the whole Tournament, so he’d probably do exactly as Warrick wanted, but I was still caught at the halfway point in his story. “A kestrel?”

“That’s right,” Warrick confirmed, taking a huge gulp of wine. “I’m sure it will be at the Soiree, flapping around.”

It was possible for lower-order creatures to become summoners, but it wasn’t something that happened frequently. For a kestrel – the diminutive bird-folk closely aligned with Air – to accomplish such a feat was an impressive thing indeed, and I certainly wished to meet it.

Another clink told me that Warrick had already tossed off his second glass, and I sighed internally. I felt more than a little guilty; I had asked him to come watch me duel when being here at the Colosseum was obviously too blatant a reminder of his failing as a duelist. On the other hand, he had just gotten to spend time with his parents, while I had no such prospects – both my parents were too busy guarding the city, helping to feed it, or some other thing they deemed more pressing than spending time with their extra son.

A knock at the door relieved me from my darkening thoughts, and I moved to answer it, knowing that Warrick would stay right where he was. I thought it might be Hull – I had told him my room number before we parted ways – but Esmi stood in the portal instead. She looked utterly divine in a scaled dress of the softest salmon pink. A similar hue dusted her eyelids and lips, and she wore twined rose gold earrings to match. Her hair was curled with purpose, flowing down her neck and over her shoulders in rolling waves much more hypnotic than any cravat or cloth could hope to mimic.

“You’re the image of perfection,” I told her, and she smiled, taking the opportunity to inspect me, too.

“You look quite nice yourself.”

The suit I was wearing was black trimmed in a whimsical teal. Its angular cut wasn’t quite as popular as it had been when my brother Gale had commissioned it for himself, but thankfully it fit me well enough, though I found it a bit long in the sleeve.

“You’re too kind,” I said, stepping aside. “Please come in.”

She wafted past me, the perfume she was wearing giving off a light floral scent with a touch of bite beneath, putting me in mind of my friend’s comment about her personality.

“Warrick,” she said, spotting him immediately. “It’s good to see you again.”

He lifted his glass in salute but didn’t answer.

Esmi leaned closer to me, and I did my best not to overreact to her nearness or the heat she emanated. “Is he all right?”

“He’ll be just fine after this glass,” Warrick answered for himself.

Esmi blushed at being overheard, looking absolutely adorable with her cheeks flushed. She moved farther into the room, seating herself on the edge of my bed, and for a brief moment I wished I possessed some Spell that would whisk Warrick somewhere else, anywhere else.

“You have quite good hearing,” she told my friend.

Warrick smiled at her, his teeth stained just a touch red. “Didn’t Basil tell you? That’s my soul ability. Wondrous, flawless, unmatched hearing of the gods.”

“Oh,” Esmi said, smiling like she wanted to make a good impression. “How nice. I wish mine stopped me from getting hot-headed like I was earlier. I wanted to apologize for that, actually, so Fate was kind enough to bring us together again so soon. You two should have been celebrating Basil’s win, and instead you had to deal with me. I’m sorry I interrupted.”

She looked up, including me in the apology, and a small part of me I’d been ignoring in the madness of the day untightened. I had been excited to win that match. Ecstatic even, and with her words it was like I was allowed to feel those emotions again.

“It’s all right,” I told her. “We can celebrate now.” I took the glass that Warrick had poured for me and walked it over to Esmi. Then I whisked into the washroom and grabbed a squat crystal tumbler from the counter. It wouldn't aerate the wine in the same way as a proper glass, but Warrick had only brought two, and I found I didn’t care. Warrick had already swung his legs down from the sofa when I returned and, like a good friend, was ready to fill my cup as soon as I brought it near.

Libations in hand, we all clinked them together.

“To staying on the winners’ side,” I said.

“To staying on the winners’ side,” Esmi echoed, her grin just as pleased as mine.

“Congratulations to you both,” Warrick said, and he looked as if he might just mean it.

We all drank, and the wine turned out to be exactly what I needed – not just delicious, but relaxing as well. I could feel my muscles breathe as soon as the full-bodied liquid touched my tongue.

“So, Esmi,” Warrick said, surprising me by lowering his drink first, “I hear you’re dueling a previous champion tomorrow. Some bruiser from Dalrish.”

I perked up. I had been so focused on my own matches – and then Hull’s – I hadn’t done any research on anyone else’s yet. Dalrish was the third great human city, said to be a maze of ever-changing warrens from the constant earthquakes.

Esmi nodded, her muted reaction telling me that she was well aware of the difficulty of her upcoming opponent. “With no one of age for the Rising Stars Tournament, the Velps decided to go a different direction than your family,” she said to Warrick.

“You should hear my parents tell it,” Warrick said with a snort. “They won’t shut up about how the Velps are disgracing the rest of the nobility, trying to pay for a win like that. The hypocrites.”

“He’s that good, is he?” I asked. “And a bruiser – so he’s a big fellow?”

Esmi took another sip of wine. “From what I’ve been told, he has won Dalrish’s equivalent of the Rising Stars twice already.”

Warrick nodded, having apparently learned the same from his parents. “He uses Relics, but not the same way as that Artisan you fought. Lots of weapons and armor; only a few Souls. He’s an up-close duelist.”

I let my wine explore the recesses of my mouth as I pondered those details. Someone from Dalrish would probably cultivate Earth, and that Source Power allowed the Summoner to stop damage directed at them. That would make for a powerful combination, almost like a more reliable version of what Hull did.

I looked over at my fiancee sitting across from me. Esmi had been kind enough to provide feedback about my deck, and it would only be chivalrous of me to offer the same in a situation like this.

“Did you hear about the competition tonight?” she said before I had the chance. Esmi didn’t seem worried in the slightest about the bruiser tomorrow, but excited, the gold flecks in her eyes twinkling.

“What’s that?” I asked when Warrick didn’t seem to know either.

She leaned forward on the edge of the bed, her smile wide. “The culmination of the Spring Soiree will be a chance for each attendee to show off their personal soul ability. They’ll do a round for each level, from Common on up, and the prizes are donations from some very affluent families both local and foreign. Won’t that be fun?”

I sat back on the sofa, not feeling quite as jubilant as she was, but that didn’t seem to dispel her enthusiasm.

“Warrick? I’m sure you could impress them with your ability.”

Warrick took another drink and only after pretended to notice her speaking to him. “What’s that? Sorry, didn’t hear you.”

Esmi caught the joke immediately and gave Warrick a look before turning to me. “Basil?”

“Ah, well,” I said, not wanting to disappoint her but feeling like I had no other option available to me, “my soul ability isn’t well suited to that sort of thing.”

“It’s not?” she asked, tilting her head, causing her curled hair to tumble to the side.

Warrick looked suspiciously between us before declaring. “By the Twins, you two haven’t shared your soul cards yet.”

Esmi and I both jumped at the accusation, my cheeks heating to match Esmi’s blush, which had returned in full force. The sharing of one’s own soul cards was a deeply personal thing. I had heard that some couples in arranged relationships did it right from the start to force an immediate closeness, but Esmi hadn’t offered to show me hers yet, so I hadn’t broached the topic either.

“Ah… no,” I said, answering for both of us. “We’re waiting,” – I shared a quick look with Esmi, trying to confirm that I wasn’t misspeaking too badly – “for the appropriate time.”

Warrick reached down at his feet and then proceeded to thump a fresh bottle of wine down on the table. “What time could be better than now?”

If it was possible, Esmi went even more red, brighter than her dress and all the way to the tips of her ears; if I could still see myself in the mirror, I was sure I looked precisely the same.

“Actually,” I said, hoping to save us both, “I was going to ask Esmi to help me decide what to cut from my deck so I can add the new cards I traded for.”

Warrick threw up his hands in the air. “Cards? Again? Can’t we take a break from that nonsense for a while?”

I looked at him with a very real frown. “You’re the one who brought up Esmi’s next opponent.”

“That’s people, not cards,” Warrick said, as if the distinction should be obvious. Something in the way Esmi and I looked at him made him toss his hands into the air again, the yellow cape he was wearing fluttering when he stood. “Obsessed, both of you. I’m going to find a runner to get me something salty.”

With Warrick’s departure, Esmi scooted from the bed over to the sofa, watching the door as if worried he might suddenly return and renew his previous awkward demands.

“So,” I said, doing my best to sound natural, “the first one to remove is obvious: there’s no need for my Helm since you say Plutar uses only Spells.”

“That’s a wise start,” she agreed. The pink was starting to fade from her ears.

From there, we talked and tinkered, the intense nervousness we had both shared gradually shifting into an enjoyable exchange of ideas. As I had hoped, she approved of the Metal Golems, and Warrick returned with enough fried potato wedges for us all to share. He had even ordered half a dozen different dipping sauces in small ceramic bowls that paired perfectly with the hot snack.

Eventually though, Warrick looked like he would throw himself out the back window if he had to hear us talk dueling any longer. So, I thanked Esmi for her insight, tucked the cards I would use behind my ear and the others into my leather holder, and stood, stretching my legs.

“We should probably be heading out soon.”

Warrick had been up pacing, and he turned to us both, flaring his cape as he did. “If that’s the case…” He reached into his pocket and produced a handful of tiny, colorful pouches. “I brought Tears of Les.”

I choked on the air I had been breathing, even more shocked by this revelation than when he had proposed Esmi and I lay our souls bare to each other. “You didn’t!”

He grinned. “I definitely did.”

Esmi took a tentative step toward Warrick but then stopped, like she was afraid to go any farther. “Is that legal here now?”

“It most certainly is not,” I answered. Few weeks went by that my father’s patrols didn’t bring someone into custody for the use of the illegal substance. In small amounts it was said to simply make people feel euphoric, but taking more led to visions – visions said by some to give a glimpse of what one’s soul might be when elevated. The trouble was if a person became angry or violent while on the drug, such distortions of perception could easily make them dangerous.

Warrick knew my father and his stance on such things, but that didn’t stop my friend from waving the bright pouches in front of our faces. “Neither of you competes again until morning. This will take the edge off.”

A knock at the door did away with Warrick’s playful taunting, and he stuffed the Tears back into his pocket. I made sure the pouches were well and truly out of sight before I opened the door, revealing Hull on the other side.

The surly urchin had clearly not listened to my advice about a bath. In fact, it didn’t seem like he had done anything at all to prepare himself for the gathering this evening, other than perhaps wipe a bit of grime from his face. His hair still looked like an untrimmed hedge, his clothes hardly earned the name, and the smell that rolled off of him was somehow even worse than before.

“What?” he asked when he saw my shocked, disapproving face. “You told me to come.”

“You can’t be serious,” Warrick said from behind me.

Esmi had moved up to my shoulder, and she put a hand to her mouth when she saw the state of the fourth member of our party. “Oh my.”

“What?” Hull asked again, expression darkening as he looked between us.

And then a brilliant idea struck me; an idea so perfect, so just, that it must have come from the Twins themselves. “Esmi,” I said, “would you be a dear and summon your kobolds?”