Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 134: Masquerade

Toren Daen

I adjusted my mask slightly, letting the dense metal settle across my face. The dark, dusky steel had a deep handprint over the forehead where Mawar had grabbed it, but besides that, it was nearly unrecognizable from what it had been before.

When I'd learned the Denoir ball was a masquerade, I'd considered what I would like to wear in attendance. And considering the long history I'd had with vicar's masks, it was only appropriate I'd modify one to suit my needs.

The metal along the faceplate had been sculpted to a sharpened beak instead of a normal nose. After the damage Mawar had done to it, it only covered the highest part of my cheeks and nose, but that was okay. And best of all, it didn't need face straps anymore. It stayed suctioned to my face by a light application of mana.

It wasn't the most graceful of masks, but it had a quiet, menacing beauty that matched the rest of my outfit as well. I was wearing my maroon and orange vest again and was clothed in darker colors.

The banquet building was one of the largest I'd been in. Tall vertical windows gave a bare glimpse of the sunset outside, the colored glass casting the inside in a dark ambiance. The ceiling must have been five or six stories above my head, giving the entire area a lofty feel that displayed the grand elegance of the stone that held it aloft.

As the eminent musician for the event, I was situated slightly to the side of the large rectangular room. I stood on an area slightly above the rest of the floor as I played a soothing tune on my violin, amplifying the sound outward with my magic.

"Introducing Renton of Highblood Morthelm," a voice said from a mana speaker. The doors at the front of the hall opened, revealing a familiar slightly pudgy man entering. His mask looked like the cutaway of an old Hellenic helmet in a deep black. The highbloods milling around gave the man cursory introductions and moved to speak to him in their small cliques.

The Denoir ball wasn't just a ball. It was a social get-together for the highest in Alacryan culture. In fact, the ball part would only start later, once the sun was fully down. High in the stones above, Aurora's songbird artifact observed each group critically.

Morthelm is giving most attendees neutral responses, my bond conveyed. He's paying special attention to the Denoir faction, of course, but it seems to be out of respect for their hosting of the ball rather than political preference. Though Highlord Zachian Exeter seems to hold his attention more than the rest.

The political factions were quick to form as highbloods filtered in one by one. Corbett and Lenora were surrounded by staunch advocates and allies. Opposing them was a group centered around a few other highbloods, namely Patamoor, Seaworth, and Plainsrunner. And the other group of note milled near Highlord Exeter, clearly of a more neutral cast.

Though there were half a dozen more highblood groups milling about, it was Aurora's keen eyes and ears that helped me dissect the political landscape shifting in real-time. Over the past half hour or so, the rich and wealthy of Alacrya had gradually filed in. I'd spotted several familiar faces, including Caera, Lenora, Corbett, and more. Surprisingly, I hadn't gotten the opportunity to speak much, but that was clearly about to change.

I drew out one last note on my violin, exhaling as I left the semi-fugue state. A man with a blonde beard–nearly silver–stroked his chin. His mask had a bluish cast and seemed distinctly crystalline.

"Much has been said about your ability, Lord Daen," the man said, an undercurrent of something in his tone. "If that is all you can display, I'm disappointed."

As I did whenever I finished a song, I allowed my violin and bow to hover near my head under telekinetic control. "Highlord Uriel Frost," I said, barely bowing to the head of Highblood Frost. "I'm afraid the main event hasn't yet begun. I hope you understand if I'm reserving my skills for that time."