Chapter 222: Burning The Candle At Both Ends

His flesh sizzled as white hot stone crashed over his limbs like a wave. His Resistance only slowed the process as the water in his skin caused the molten stone to bubble. His fat rendered and burned, sending tiny gouts of flame popping out of the suffocating heat.

No!

Fabron struggled against the clinging stone even as it ate away at the very muscles he needed to do so, turning them to charcoal wrapped around charred bone.

The white-hot glass crawled from his arms to his chest, burning its way up his throat, rendering away the soft tissue, stealing away even his ability to scream.

It climbed and climbed, until the white-hot glass was all that he could see.

It never took his sight.

In the manner of dreams, it reverted back to the beginning, seamlessly returning to the moment of impact at the slightest moment of distraction.

It was a dream, but an animalistic portion of Fabron’s mind clawed and fought back viciously with the desperation of a fox caught in a trap.

Because every iteration he started just a little more burnt than he had before. His fingers were charred bone that refused to obey his commands as the roiling wall of molten stone crashed over him again.

What happens when it reaches my eyes? Fabron didn’t know what would happen, but he knew with certainty that it couldn’t be allowed.

So he fought.

And burned.

And fought…

And burned.

…ster

…aster

…Master!

“Ung!” Fabron started awake, a bottle clattering to the ground from where his sudden jolt had dislodged it from his rumpled covers.

“Wh”-HACK- Fabron hacked a wad of dry mucus out of his throat and regained the ability to speak.

“What time is it?” Fabron rasped, blinking the sand out of his eyes.

“Two hours before the mixer, master.” Aria said, putting a warm hand on his back to help him sit up before she slipped out from under the covers herself, silver hair cascading down her back before a dress shimmered into place over her eye-catching curves.

She was the most beautiful of the Burning Court. A courtesan who saw to his needs, comforting him and helped him sleep every night. She was more valuable to him than all the others by a Coil.

Fabron grunted as he turned sideways, sticking his feet out from under the covers and instantly regretting it.

Why does it have to be so damned cold on this Floor? And why do I feel so awful? I suppose age comes for us all, Fabron thought as the night’s dreams were scattered by his waking -and hungover- mind.

Only a few years ago, a night with a woman, even a paid one, would have him feeling relaxed and ready to conquer The Tower the next morning, but these days he almost felt more spent and anxious than he did the night before, a ball of nerves boiling in the pit of his stomach with seemingly no path for release.

At least the sex is good, Fabron thought with a groan, leaning into his palms.

Between his fingers, he could make out Lucas, the Burning Court’s butler, a sharp-featured older man bustling around the room, preparing the clothes he would be wearing to the party, while Aria poured him a drink of water.

Aria saw to his body, Lucas to his business.

And the others?

Madelhari saw to his Vassals.

Tassos saw to his money.

Neka saw to his protection.

Keeney saw to his wisdom.

Jakome saw to his future.

Madelhari and Tassos were still on the 9^th Floor, overseeing his Stronghold, but the others were still with him, hovering intangibly just outside his sight. Like something floating at the edge of his sight, and every time he turned to look, it flitted away just before his eyes landed.

Of the intangible ones, Neka was the closest to him. He could practically feel her hand resting on his shoulder, ready to shove him out of the way of an attack and manifest in his place in an instant.

Neka had the privilege of being the only of the seven who could summon herself at her own discretion.

The others could only patiently offer their assistance and wait for him to bring them forth into reality.

Together they took care of his every need. Fabron felt like the moment he had completed the set, he had begun hurtling down the path to Lordship, dragged along by seven flaming horses, with nary an effort from himself.

Well, that’s not entirely true.

Having all seven out at once was a strain. Not on his Charge or Focus, but…simply on his mind and body.

Having four summoned at once was a light, constant drain that he hadn’t quite been prepared for. A few hours at a time was nothing much, but days? Weeks? Farbon was nearing his breaking point.

He couldn’t dismiss Madelhari or Tassos for fear of Lord Bitch-ton trying something while he was away, so he would have to suck it up and dismiss one of his two favorites.

As much as I would love to show off Aria to all those Lords and Nobles with scepters up their asses, Lucas is better at guiding me through etiquette.

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Guiding me. Like a puppet.

Fabron shook the strange thought away, causing his hangover to flare up, making his head ring and pound like a forgemaster’s hammer.

“Aria, as much as I love your company, I’m dog tired. Leave us.”

“Of course, Master. I look forward to comforting you again.” Aria said, bowing low. In the blink of an eye, Aria was consumed by flames, leaving a momentary outline of her blackened skeleton before she vanished back into intangibility.

Aria returns to the fire.

I wonder if it hurts them when I do that? Fabron thought, feeling Aria move to stand beside him, her imaginary hand resting on his other shoulder, imaginary breasts brushing against his arm. Imaginary breath on his ear.

Fabron chuckled.

Even unsummoned she stokes my imagination. That vixen.

With only three of his Court summoned, Fabron felt the low-grade constant strain fade to something more manageable. Like a mild hangover instead of a wasting disease.

Something he could muscle through on sheer willpower. Still, it wasn’t pleasant.

Ugh, that outfit Lucas has picked out makes me look Like a popinjay.

“This outfit makes me look like a popinjay,”

“It makes you look like a successful Lord who presents himself well. We haven’t fully rectified…that,” Lucas said, gesturing to Fabron’s slight potbelly. “But these clothes will help you cut a fine figure. Now put them on.”

Fabron groaned, wobbling in place for a moment before simply sitting on the bed to put on the pants.

“Bakton approaches with an offer for a ceasefire, what do you do?”

“I summon Keeney to review the terms.” Fabron said with a grunt, hiking the uncomfortably tight pants up.

“Why?”

“Because it’s probably a trap.”

“Several young women want to spend the night with you. What do you do?”

Fabron glanced to the side. “I mean…do I know them, or…”

“What do you do?” Lucas asked, looming over him.

“I politely decline.”