Discordant Note | TBATE

Chapter 153: A Speech

Seris Vritra

Toren Daen left the room shortly after his decision had been voiced. He nodded to Cylrit once, citing a need to prepare himself for what I'd proposed afterward.

My ever-vigilant Retainer approached quietly, standing near the chair where I still sat. I could sense his unease and uncertainty; his quiet question.

"You wish to speak your mind, Cylrit?" I asked, giving silent permission.

"Pardon me for the arrogance of my question," my Retainer said, "But why focus so much on this human? He is dangerous. His secrets are dangerous, and they threaten the foundation of all you have worked so hard for." He looked where Lord Daen had exited. "You yourself acknowledged that your first assumption was that he was a spy from Epheotus. And then again, you confided that you assumed him connected to that phoenix that was recently slain in the High Sovereign's dungeons."

I sipped at my tea, then felt a twinge of disappointment. It had cooled in the time I'd spoken with Toren, and without his handy freeform spell formation–the Dicathian way, of course–it would not be hot again any time soon.

I set the teacup down. "Your contentions are valid," I acknowledged. "And while I did inform our High Sovereign that I was keeping an eye on an undercover agent from Epheotus, we both know that Toren Daen can not be a spy."

I felt my thoughts drift toward my undercover agents and all they'd uncovered. One of Toren's ascending partners from the Unblooded Party, a sentry named Alandra, had given a vivid account of their trials and tribulations throughout the tombs, though it had taken a sizable purchase of expensive alcohol to draw the story from her reluctant lips.

The Unblooded Party had been trapped in the worst convergence zone they'd ever experienced, with little to no chance of escape.

Until Toren Daen entered the level. Only with his intervention did they manage to navigate through an endless city of steel, glass, and undead toward a final push to the exit.

And afterward, their leader–Darrin Ordin–had beaten Toren with his fists, blaming him for the existence of the zone. Alandra had lamented that Toren didn't deserve such a treatment. It was only through his actions that they'd all escaped, after all.

Except in the aftermath, Toren still allowed himself to bear a scar from said beating. And what was it that he had said to Lord Patamoor?

"In the process of earning this scar, I realized that every scar Darrin Ordin left in his wake was deserved."

After that event, Sevren Denoir–whose sole obsession was aether and the workings of the Relictombs–had clung to the young Lord Daen like a bodyguard, snapping his jaws at any that dared edge too close like an overprotective hound. What did that say about the truth of the matter?

The puzzle pieces fit together snugly.

"Toren Daen is one of the most honest people I have ever met," I said, voicing my thoughts as they came to me. I kept a finger under my jaw as I contemplated this puzzle. "I suspect this is partially due to the nature of his intent-based music. He cannot afford subterfuge or any sort of lie to so fully project his own emotion."

Unlike Sovereign Orlaeth, I thought darkly. I'd been able to quickly deduce the nature of Toren's empathic abilities when I'd met him. After all, I'd danced around one with a sight far deeper than Toren's emotional probing for decades.

I preferred not to think of Sovereign Orlaeth for too long. Too long, and I'd remember the darkness of Taegrin Caelum's dungeons where I'd been raised.

So instead, I flashed back to the first time I'd heard his music in the depths of the East Fiachra Healer's Guild. He'd been alone, the only stabilizing anchor for a little girl who had been through hell. And as he sang her a lullaby from the depths of his soul, I'd felt something in my heart surge in response.