Chapter 412: Watching Steps
Watching Steps
Solday was the last day of the solstice festival, but Martel did not mind that it was nearly over. He had enjoyed himself, watching a play at the Golden Goose, and his friends of the actor troupe would remain in the city even after the celebration had ended. His feelings were more mixed when it came to the festivities among the nobles, but ultimately, the food was good, and he did not have to worry about his secret being revealed like last year.
Of course, an encounter with Duke Cheval might prove just as troublesome tonight, but Martel would stay out of the nobleman's way. He figured it was also in the duke's interest to avoid open conflict rather than risk embarrassment. Certainly, his attempts at causing problems for Martel had been discreet, striking from the shadows and letting others do the dirty work, like when he used the inquisitors to set a trap in the beginning of the year.
As Martel got dressed, choosing the clothes that Eleanor had bought for him last year, he remembered the jar of oil she had also procured for him. It sat in a drawer, not used since then; Martel had forgotten all about it. Now, he took it out, removed the lid, and enjoyed the scent. It brought him back to that afternoon, Eleanor applying the oil to his hair with a firm touch. He suddenly wished the moment could be repeated while knowing it would not.
Still, in honour of the evening, Martel poured a bit of oil onto his fingertips and spread it through his hair.
***
Much like the other night, Martel joined Maximilian in his carriage to bring them to the feast. Eleanor was already at her family's home. Unlike their last journey out, the viscount was in a talkative mood. "Everyone congratulated me on our performance, Nordmark. And the engagement too, of course, but I find that less praiseworthy. Our spectacle was harder to pull off, after all," he laughed.
"I'm glad it was a success. I trust your father is also pleased."
The mageknight nodded. "Tremendously. He believes that with Legate Fontaine's assistance, it is only a matter of time before I become captain of the Praetorians Guard. And of course, our performance helped to build my reputation as worthy of that post."
"That's great to hear."
"What about tonight? Any duels planned? I remember last year, how you and Eleanor put Guillaume in his place!"
"Nothing of the sort," Martel responded, trying not to sound irritated. "I'm not looking for trouble. I'm just here to show my respect for Legate Fontaine as a battlemage, or something of the sort."
"You say that, mate, but trouble always finds you."
Martel dearly wished he had a retort to that.
***
As the pair arrived at the celebration, they met the expected scene. A courtyard filled with carriages, nobles dressed in silk and jewels making their way into the house, and frazzled servants inside the hall serving beverages to the guests. The main difference, other than the home of Fontaine being smaller and built more like a fortress than the estate belonging to House Marche, was that Martel recognised many of those present as fellow students of the Lyceum.
His fellow fire acolytes stood scattered around the room, all of them dressed in their usual robes; besides the three Martel had classes with, he also saw a handful younger than him. And of course, plenty of mageknights, though most of them wore festive clothing rather than the black tunic of their uniform.
"Try this, Nordmark," Maximilian suggested, extending a glass of wine towards him. "Unless my nose betrays me, this is from the eastern provinces. Smells like home."
Martel accepted the drink, tasting it. He suspected that Maximilian made up his observations about wine; as far as Martel could tell, they all tasted pretty much the same. "Yeah, that's really good."
"Ah, there is Eleanor. Excuse me for a moment, mate. I am supposed to walk some rounds with her, on account of the engagement and everything. Let all the guests see us together. I will come find you later."
"Sure." Part of Martel felt almost relieved at being left alone; he could not remember why he had agreed to attend when Eleanor had given him the opportunity to refuse. He did not feel in the mood to be merry. He wondered if at some point he could excuse himself and simply walk home; he might not get back to the Lyceum faster than if he took the carriage with Maximilian, but it would allow him to leave earlier.
"I cannot believe you have the nerve to show up. Like a pig getting dressed up, thinking it belongs in the company of your betters."
Of course. Martel wondered if Cheval – the son – had waited until Maximilian had left before daring to confront him. He turned towards the shrill voice. "Move along. We have nothing to say to each other."
"You are half right, maybe because you are a half-breed." The young nobleman snickered at his own jest, swirling wine around in his glass. "Indeed, you have nothing to say to me worth hearing. But it would behove you to pay attention and listen when those of superior rank speak to you."
"Superior in title, but inferior in magic. As I proved last year in this very hall. Unless you wish further humiliation, I suggest you run along."
A sneer ran across Cheval's face. "You only win through cheating and unfair tricks. Meet me in an honest duel, you shall find yourself flat on the ground."
"You should not anger a battlemage," Martel said coldly. "We are not known for our restraint." The glass in the young nobleman's hand suddenly broke apart.
"My son, be careful. Have your hands cleaned. Remember, you are a representative of our house." Appearing by his son's side, the duke of Cheval gave a smile devoid of warmth with his unfeeling eyes glancing over the battlemage. "Master Martel, always a pleasure. Watch your step." Drops of wine had spilled to the floor.
"I always do. That's why I can be here, tonight, regardless of your ploys. You failed to ensnare me, and you'll fail again." As soon as he had spoken, Martel knew it was a mistake, but he had felt compelled to tear a rift in the duke's arrogance. He became aware of people glancing in their direction, probably alerted by the glass breaking.
Duke Cheval had begun to turn away, but Martel's voice arrested him. He broke into an overbearing smile that seemed genuine for once. "Master wizard, I have no idea what you allude to." He stepped forward, careful to avoid the small puddle on the ground, and spoke with a quiet voice, only for Martel to hear. "I decided your fate long ago, and I have not given you a single thought since then. And as soon as I turn away, I shall not think of you again except briefly on a distant day when I am told that you have suffered the consequences as chosen by me. Rest assured, when it happens, it will be done by an invisible hand that none may link to me, and yet you shall know without a doubt that I was the architect of your fate." Swiftly, he turned his back on Martel and marched away, followed by his son.
Around Martel, the celebration continued. He emptied his wine, retreated to a corner, and waited it out.
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