Page 37 of A Crown of Lies

“Last minute advice?” Emmanthe said, coming to fiddle with Aryn’s mask. “Remember why you’re here. Why we’re all here. We came to D’thallanar for Ruith. Do not get sidetracked playing political games.”

Aryn stayed irritated all the way to the carriage that was waiting to take them across D’thallanar. He settled into the carriage across from Mercia, arms crossed, an unconscious scowl on his face.

“You should smile more,” Mercia mused, drawing an irritated glance from him. “It makes you more approachable.”

He didn’t even try.

Mercia sighed, disappointed, and folded her hands in her lap. “So, what should I expect? What sort of party is this? Will there be dancing? Speeches?”

“No idea,” Aryn said, shaking his head. “Details were incredibly sparse. I was able to find out only that it was a masquerade of some sort, and that it was taking place in the old Starfall estate.”

Mercia cocked her head to the side. “Starfall… Isn’t that part of Faelyn’s name?”

Aryn nodded. “It is by design. The Starfalls are a defunct clan, their district largely run by the Runecleavers now. They fell with the monarchy, their line tangled in Besshirou’s. Since they were loyalists, there was no place for them in the new world Taratheil built, and so they essentially faded into obscurity, or were hanged for treason. Their clan house is at the edge of the city, and has remained empty, some would say by design. Others claim the place is cursed. The truth is somewhat more…complex.”

“As it always is,” Mercia agreed.

“True enough, but the reason no one has purchased the clan house and elevated their family is largely because it was a Shikami training house for many years. No one would dare tread there. Now that Omashii-Kuno is gone, however…” He sighed and looked out the window. “There may rise a fourteenth clan, if anyone ever finds enough cash and support among the Runecleavers to make it happen.”

“Are the Runecleavers really that powerful?” Mercia asked.

“Even Taratheil had to appease them to ascend, and we will too.”

“Lucky for us, we have Isheda on our side.”

Aryn’s response was a grunt. He didn’t seem very interested in talking.

She sighed and looked out the window for a while, watching the darkened houses pass by. Most of them were small, single-floor units crammed into every space that could be found, though a few boasted two floors.

The Starfall Clan House was surrounded by golden leafed trees with strange purple fruits. Unlike the Deepfrost Clan House, it was a more traditional design with dark stained wood. It wasn’t as large as the Deepfrost’s, or as elegant, but there was something beautiful about the ancient structure, as if it had been built in a simpler, bygone era.

The carriage stopped in front of the gates and a pair of human slaves opened the doors. Mercia clenched her jaw at the way they avoided eye contact. Aryn had counseled her repeatedly against reacting to seeing human slaves around D’thallanar, but it didn’t stop her from being angry at the sight of them. No one deserved to be treated as property.

They approached the gates where a servant waited, his face masked. The servant held out his hand and said in Elvish, “Invitation, please.”

Aryn presented the servant with two blank strips of black paper that he passed under a glowing magic globe. Several runes sparkled on the papers under the magic lamp, and the servant nodded before tossing the papers into a nearby brazier. They crackled and popped as the flames devoured them.

“Please enjoy your stay,” the servant said and pushed open the gates.

They stepped through the wide gate into a small garden where mums were in bloom. Masked elves stood in small groups, speaking in hushed tones. Some of them were wearing different colored pins on their clothes that seemed strangely out of place. A display of such buttons sat on a table near the gates, available for anyone to take.

“Shit,” Aryn said, and stiffened as soon as he saw the buttons. His hand tightened around hers.

“What is it?” Mercia asked.

Aryn winced. “It would seem we’ve inadvertently stumbled into a masked orgy.”

Mercia looked around again. It didn’t seem like an orgy. No one out in the courtyard was engaged in anything more than conversation, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t more going on in the estate.

“We should go,” Aryn said and started pulling her back toward the door.

“Wait.” Mercia yanked her hand away, stopping Aryn in his tracks. He spun around and she took a step in so that they could speak in whispers. “The assembly meeting is tomorrow. This is your last chance to get information about Niro Wolfheart for Ruith, isn’t it? And Emmanthe said careers were born and died at events like these. We can’t afford to walk away without something, Aryn.”

“Mercia…” He shook his head. “I don’t think… I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Do I look uncomfortable?”

He frowned and looked her up and down.

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