Chapter 223: Save The Last Dance

The pre-wedding meet and greet wound down slowly as the people who got the favors they wanted gradually drifted out the door, making the party more and more sparse, leaving behind a thinner and thinner crowd surrounding the tireless Lords or milling around each other on the dance floor.

Finally there was a spare moment when Bakton, Luis Akul and Mark Wyrd weren’t crowded by anyone, chatting with each other.

“What’s wrong with that guy?” Will cut his way into their conversation, pointing at Fabron Faefire. Probably rude, but Will was a bit tipsy.

“Fabron Faefire is currently in the process of self-destructing.” Luis Akul said.

“Eh?” Will grunted, prompting them to explain.

“Not everybody is suited for being a Lord. A fair number of people destroy themselves in the pursuit of power. This Fabron is an excellent example. The man’s practically wearing a sign that reads ‘Disaster waiting to happen’.” Bakton said, his voice tinged with a bit of malice as he glared at Fabron across the room. “He’ll be dead soon enough, either by his own overreach or someone else deciding to do me a favor.”

“Yeah but…” That doesn’t feel like the whole story. Will thought. Fabron felt like a drowning man reaching for a rope, not someone driven mad by greed.

“What’s up with the fae butler?” Will asked.

“I’m told his maximum set bonus provides a certain number of fae attendants to serve him, at no cost. That happens to be one of them. They’re pretty strong. Lost a couple guys to them in the first couple days after he escaped the keep.” Bakton said.

Hmm…

I wonder if they’re spirits created from an amalgam like my butlers. Will wondered. Were they distinct individuals or assembled from a slurry of random…fire-fae?

Hmm. I guess the question is-

“Where the Abyss did a set like that come from?”

“Our best guess is that Kincaid had it hidden somewhere in his castle,” Bakton replied. “Mr. Faefire over there was the lucky one to find it while we cleaned up the lump of glass.”

The word ‘clean’ triggered a memory of Reese.

The thing. Did you clean up the thing?

…I suppose I didn’t clean up the thing, Will thought, realizing that Reese had been talking about the remains of Kincaid’s castle. It made sense that treasure had been sealed inside the ruins of the castle, waiting for someone to discover it.

Will had been so focused on Caddock that he hadn’t even spared the castle a second thought.

Then, if Reese is right, this wedding is going to get violent…unless we can figure out how to remove the fuse from this barrel of cannon powder.

Will scanned Fabron from head to toe.

A gold diadem studded with fire opal on his brow. A fire opal amulet, a cloak with a white fringe around the neck, with thick embroidery and rich fabric, studded with small fire opals in the center of the patterns.

Shirt, gloves, boots, pants, a tiny scepter and an ornated sword at his waist, all with the same aesthetic.

Will spotted rings under the gloves, but who knew if it was fire opal?

That’s like…nine items.

“…Does he sleep in all that?” Will asked.

“When I’m in someone else’s Stronghold, I don’t take my kit off for nuthin’.” Mark replied to Will’s question, with a scattered grunt of acknowledgement from the other Lords.

“It might not all be the Set.” Void approached to stand beside his Lord. The necromancer was wearing his featureless black mask and the scythe over his shoulder.

He was wearing a tight black getup that emphasized how gaunt he was, causing the nearby attendees to shy away in discomfort.

Will, too, but for different reasons.

Void and Will had run into each other on multiple occasions. He was a heartless mercenary who thought nothing of the kidnapping and/or murder of talented children to keep his Lord in power.

On the bright side, he didn’t do anything he wasn’t commanded to do, so his behavior was largely dictated by the morals of his Lord.

…Who had recently been replaced by Mark Wyrd.

And while Mark Wyrd wasn’t the nicest guy, he wasn’t a complete monster like his father.

Still, best to give him some distance.

“Any jackass whose momma didn’t give them fetal miasma poisoning could come up with the idea of commissioning Relics that look like the rest of the set, making any attempt to target them have a small chance of failure.” Void said, watching Fabron through his inscrutable mask.

Simple, but effective.

“Bet he didn’t think of it himself, though.” Bakton mused. “I wouldn’t be surprised if those fae are the ones doing the thinking.”

If I take away the full set bonus, Will thought, focusing on the amulet. Maybe I can get an honest answer out of him…assuming that amulet is a piece of the set.

Will recalled how some invisible force had turned Fabron’s head to face Will.

It’s gotta be more than just the butler. There were other eyes on us.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Is that why he didn’t say anything?

Sure, there was probably some element of pride at work there, but…the way Fabron had replied to his offer to help…was stifled. He wanted to say something, but thought better of it.

The butler had been out of earshot, the loud chatter of the party effectively preventing anyone else from hearing.

Except he still denied everything.

They’re – I can’t…I’m fine. Fabron’s exact words.

They’re what? You can’t what? Will thought, replaying the conversation in his mind. It sounded like they had outsized control over him.

Maybe these fae attendants can see and hear everything he does. What do they have over him that would allow them to dictate his behavior rather than the other way around?

“Hey, if you caught Fabron without his set on, would you kill him?”

“Yep.” Bakton replied.

“Yeah, probably.” Mark said while Luis nodded in agreement.

“I would be interested to see how his set works with my family’s Build, since it’s a fire-based set.” Luis responded. “I don’t particularly desire his death, but I can’t see him giving it up willingly.”

So he can’t take it off, because it’ll get him killed. So that’s one source of pressure.

What’s the other source? What is causing him to suffer from being forced to keep the set on? Are the fae threatening to withhold assistance or betray him if he doesn’t do as they wish?

Or is it worse than that?

Tap, tap. Will glanced over and spotted Brianna tapping on his shoulder.

“Hey you.”

“Me.” Will replied.

“I talked to the crew. Last song’s coming up.” She said, offering him a hand. “You owe me a dance.”

“Sure do.” Will took her hand and the two rounded out the night with a bit of awkward spinning around each other.

Some of what he learned from Bakton translated into dancing, but overall, Will would rather somebody be trying to kill him than spinning in a circle with a pretty girl in front of an audience, trying not to step on her feet while everyone judged him.

Ah well, it’s part of the job. And it’s at least a little bit fun.

“Ahem.”

Their dance was cut short by a black-haired young woman in a crumbling evening gown. Bits of corroded wire were exposed where the dress had been reinforced to last the evening.