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I thought I was being paid for tonight. I didn’t know how much I’d get, but I figured there would be something.
Enough to pay the overdue rent on my tiny attic apartment.
Maybe enough to have my glyphs retouched and purchase a tiny bottle of varnish to keep them protected.
After that I’d figure out how to pay for other, less important things, like food.
Knowing that I won’t be compensated at all is devastating. How can they expect me to work an entire night for free? Maybe I’m supposed to view the company of Prince Vawn and his friends as adequate compensation.
It’s not.
Taking my seat in the carriage, I endure the teasing and laughter of the young noblemen in stoic silence. I glance down at the glyphs on my nails, wondering if I can beg a little more varnish from Ryah, the artificient who painted them, and maybe eke a couple more months of use out of the set.
It’s my first full set of glyphs. Well, technically the second, but the first one doesn’t count, because I was stupid enough to hire an artificient with unbelievably low rates. Turns out his seals of reference were all fake and the nails were as useless as if I’d painted them myself.
I wish I could do my own nails. But only those with the artificient gift can do the job effectively, and even then, the results depend heavily on the quality of the paint and varnish used, and the clarity of the glyphs.
About a hundred and thirty years ago, a physician discovered that magical energy collects in the extremities of living things—the tips of the fingers and toes.
Thirty years after that, an art professor learned how to harness it through symbols called glyphs.
Just as language, spoken or written, gives form to concepts, glyphs give form to magic.
Genevieve Zivan was the first glyph painter, or artificient, and since then, magic has become a pillar of our society.
Of course, because humans are greedy by nature, we viewed our potential magic not as a gift to be shared freely, but as a way to gain power and make money.
Nowadays, the price of glyph paint and artificient services has risen so high that most people can only afford to have one or two nails done occasionally, if that.
I invested everything into this set to give myself an edge at the Elite Guardians Academy.
It was practically a requirement for fourth years to have a full glyph array.
Without one, you’d gradually slip to the bottom of your classes.
Professors would overlook you, favoring the wealthier students whose families could back their training.
Before getting my first set, I spent weeks researching glyph variants, choosing the designs carefully and deciding which symbol I’d have painted on each fingernail.
It was tough to narrow it down to ten, and I found myself wishing that I could afford a lower set on my toes as well.
But podalic glyphs can be tricky. Unless you’re accustomed to running around barefoot and touching or licking your toes, the glyphs are difficult to trigger or direct.
And unlike glyphs on the fingertips, podalic symbols sometimes activate without the user even realizing it.
No one knows why, though some researchers theorize that it has to do with sweat accumulation and the repeated pressure of footwear.
Accidental activation can cause all sorts of problems, including energy depletion and desiccation of the flesh.
Most people never have their toes glyphed, and most artificients won’t even do podalic sets because of the low satisfaction rate.
After I was scammed by the first artificient, I had to start all over earning money for a proper nail array, and it barely lasted me through my fourth year at the Academy.
I need this bodyguard position. I need the housing, the meals, and the salary that come with it.
But I’m not off to a very good start, critiquing the prince’s friends and refusing their orders.
Granted, they’re not the ones who hired me, but still.
If I want the prince to keep me around, I should try to be more amenable.
The carriage slows, and the young men cheer.
“Lyre & Vice!” yells Loxley. He flings open the carriage door before the wheels stop turning.
Renfrow places a warning hand on the prince’s arm, but Vawn doesn’t heed him. He launches himself out the carriage door after Loxley, howling with excitement.
I’m smaller and quicker than Renfrow, so I leap out after Vawn, placing myself at his side just in time. He’s already being surrounded by the colorful throng waiting outside the club, hoping for admittance. The Lyre & Vice likes to keep its clientele exclusive.
With my back to Vawn’s left side and my arms spread wide, I speak firmly to the eager crowd. “Step back, please. Give the prince his space.”
A girl in a sparkly purple corset lunges across my outstretched arm, her assets bulging right in my face. Her glyphed fingertips nearly touch the prince’s shoulder.
My arm slices upward, striking hers. Bone on bone impact. I’m used to the pain—she’s not. She recoils, crying out, and the sycophants around her withdraw a bit, yielding space as we proceed to the entrance.
My response might seem harsh to some. Purple Corset Girl could have been harmless—or she could have been an assassin with lethal glyphwork. I couldn’t take that chance.
The club’s guards wave us inside, holding back more of the crowd as we proceed along the tunnel of glittering people.
Renfrow covers the prince’s other flank, and as we pass through the arched entrance, he shoots a glance my way and gives me the barest nod.
He approves of the action I took to fend off Purple Corset, and that’s all the affirmation I need.
Once we’re in the club, Renfrow and I can relax a little.
The Lyre & Vice has plenty of its own security, and on nights when the prince is expected, every employee or guest in this place has their glyphs reviewed and their weapons stowed in a secure room before they’re allowed through the door.
We still have to be vigilant, but it’s a relatively safe zone for the prince to party as hard as he likes.
None of his companions brought their own servants or guards.
Maybe they don’t see the point, since their people would have to be vetted ahead of time and disarmed at the door.
Only Renfrow and I, along with the house guards, are allowed to have weapons in here, so I suppose it makes sense for the prince’s friends to rely on the club’s staff and security.
After a glyph check to ensure no one is carrying forbidden marks, we move through a passage lit by glittering gold insects, creatures from the tunnels of Xarsi, a mountainous kingdom to the east where most of the citizens reside in caves.
I want to stare at them, absorb the beauty, and maybe set them free, but there’s no time.
The prince and his friends seem desperate to be more drunk than they already are.
Renfrow precedes the group out of the passage, his head on a swivel, watching every part of the room.
Vawn’s friends surround him, exuding cocksure arrogance as they stride out onto the main floor.
I bring up the rear, checking behind us to ensure that the club’s guards have closed the doors.
When I turn around, I find myself in a world of color so dazzling that for a few seconds, I forget why I’m here.
Square pillars of transparent crystal line the edges of the room, each lit from within by fiery strands of glowing unicorn hair, twining and swirling, turning the pillars beautifully incandescent.
Those pillars are the lamps of this place, each one featuring different hues of lava orange, flame red, vibrant pink, and stunning blue.
Their light gleams on a floor so slick and polished it looks wet.
Tables dot the space between the pillars, and semi-circular booths are tucked into shadowy alcoves set into the walls.
At one end, a band plays stringed instruments and drums. Each musician bears a glyph set that enhances their talent.
On a night like this, they would use one glyph at a time, making sure to deactivate each one and let it recharge before it causes desiccation.
The sheer number of jeweled corsets, pearlescent half-masks, silver-studded leathers, and silken scarves screams luxury.
Smooth bare skin, plush lips, and sparkling eyes are everywhere.
But what really takes my breath away is the fixture in the exact center of the room—a crystal cylinder as big around as a watchtower, almost like an aquarium…
except instead of fish, this display contains magic carpets.
They’re floating inside it like captive jellyfish, dipping over and around each other, twisting and dancing in midair.
Threads of unicorn hair gleam in their intricately patterned surfaces or flash in their tassels.
Their colors are so similar and their movements are so languidly mesmerizing that it’s difficult to count them, but I’m guessing there might be a couple dozen of them held captive in that beautiful prison.
Fuck, the group is moving away while I gawk at the scenery. I take a few quick strides to catch up and realize that the prince has turned back to look at me. He noticed that I lagged behind.
Vawn might be a notorious flirt, a habitual smoker, and a slut for a good time, but he’s not as oblivious as I thought. He’s definitely checking to see if I’m doing my job. Which means I probably just lost my chance at making this position a permanent thing.
I’m thoroughly pissed off at myself for getting distracted, especially since I’ve trained in all sorts of busy environments. But none were quite so dazzling and luxurious as the Lyre & Vice.