Chapter 10 The Dance of Diplomacy #2
Idly, Cedric realized there was shouting.
That the king was in an uproar as he yelled for his guards to take action.
They descended on the man, struggling against the bind of Elyria’s shadows, his features twisted with rage.
Elyria called her power back, allowing her magic to recede as two guards took hold of the man, wrenching his arms behind his back.
“Pixie witch!” he cried, spittle flying from his mouth.
“That’s what they call me,” she said, shrugging as she turned her back on him.
Breathless silence blanketed the ballroom.
It didn’t last long.
First one scream, then another.
Another attacker. More than one.
This wasn’t some lone exploit, some drunken act fueled by bigotry. This was planned. Organized. Orchestrated.
The ballroom dissolved into utter chaos as guests fled in all directions, some toward the exit, others to cower near the guards encircling the king and Lord Church on the dais. Out of the corner of his eye, Cedric was grateful to see a wide-eyed Tristan hauling Tenny out of the room.
Cedric’s gaze shot to the far side of the ballroom next, where Kit and Nox held one assailant against the wall, and Thraigg had another pinned to the floor, his knee on the man’s back.
A chill ran down Cedric’s spine. He spun to see another man leap out from behind the dais, dodging the attempted grabs of the guards nearest the throne. They couldn’t leave their position to pursue him; their duty was to protect the king.
Cedric swung himself in front of Elyria, bracing for the man’s charge. But this one was clever. Hand at his hip, no doubt clutching the hilt of a blade, he didn’t come at them directly. He wove through the throng of still-scrambling nobles, slipping through pockets of people with startling speed.
The riotous crowd made him hard to track, and Cedric lost sight of him for a moment. Right up until he burst forth behind Elyria, dagger raised.
“No!”
Elyria’s shadows surged again, but Cedric’s instincts had already kicked in before the word tore from his throat.
He crashed into the attacker, driving them both sideways, momentum slamming them hard into a marble column. The blade clattered from the man’s grip, spinning across the floor.
Cedric’s vision sparked white at the edges.
His hand had closed around the attacker’s collar, but it wasn’t just fury roaring through him—it was fire, screaming beneath his skin. His palms burned. Heat pulsed behind his ribs, a monster begging to be unleashed.
Let go, it whispered.
He didn’t. He bit down hard on the urge, swallowing the fire back into his chest, caging the beast. Cedric hauled the man upright and slammed him against the pillar once more. “Who sent you?” he hissed.
The man only grinned, blood staining the gaps between his teeth. And before Cedric could press further, the guards were finally there, yanking the man from his grip.
“We have him, my lord,” one said, eyeing Cedric somewhat warily. “That’s the last of them. Are you all right?”
Cedric didn’t answer. His eyes had followed the path of the assailant’s blade to where it had landed—right at Elyria’s feet. The darksteel blade, he realized, as she bent to pick it up.
Her shadows swirled faintly along her skin, smoke curling around her—protective, predatory. A suit of dark armor.
Throughout the ballroom, cries continued to ring out as more guards stormed in. One of the musicians had dropped her instrument and was weeping against the wall. Nobles shrieked and shoved each other in their haste to reach the doors.
“Clear the room!” barked Barcroff.
“Protect the king!” came another voice.
And then, cutting through the din, one word rang like a crack of thunder. “Enough!”
Lord Church stood at the center of the dais, hands raised, voice full of command. The crowd stilled just enough to hear him, even as panic rippled through the remaining guests.
Cedric noted the way Elyria now held the darksteel blade in her hand. The way her grip tightened on its hilt.
Lord Church’s voice was flat, measured, when he commanded, “Guards. Remove the attackers. Lock them up in the dungeon for questioning. And as for everyone else . . .” He looked down at the king, who nodded stiffly, knuckles white on the arms of his throne.
“I do believe the celebration has concluded for the evening.”
The royal guards obeyed, half of them hauling the four assailants off, bound and gagged.
The others herded what remained of the nobility out of the ballroom like cattle, many of them sobbing, some angry, some simply stunned.
They stared at Cedric and Elyria, still standing in the dead-center of the dance floor, the air stinking of fear and sweat and the sharp tang of spent mana.
Cedric turned to Elyria, every nerve in his body alight. “Are you—”
“I’m fine,” she said, the last of her shadowy armor dissipating. “Are you . . . ?”
He raked a hand through his hair. “Never better.”
“I suppose that’s one way to get out of dancing with me,” she said.
Cedric huffed a laugh. “Not precisely the kind of footwork I’d expected to pull out tonight.”
Elyria hummed thoughtfully, reaching out with one hand to smooth his lapel and adjust his token. Her touch lingered, like she was looking for the excuse to keep it there.
Cedric’s gaze dropped to the darksteel dagger still clutched in her other hand. To the wolven sigil stamped into the base of the blade, just above the crossguard. “Is that what I think it is?”
She nodded, a slow, solemn movement. “Cultists.”
Cedric blew out a breath. “Malchior.”
Kit sidled up beside Elyria. “Knightling,” she said, inclining her head at Cedric. “Wish I could say it’s good to see you, but I think we’ve already moved a bit beyond that tonight, haven’t we?”
“Well, I’ll still say it.” Thraigg joined them with a jovial slap of Cedric’s arm. “It is good to see you, boyo.”
“Yes, quite the reunion, isn’t it?” Nox said, that telltale tone of amusement in their androgynous voice. “What say you, Dentarius? Looking forward to writing home about all that occurred here tonight, are you?”
Behind Nox, the green-haired fae grimaced. “Not quite. Though I daresay His Majesty will be pleasantly surprised to hear about how well Lady Lightbreaker did this evening.”
Elyria blinked at Dentarius, her head tilting and lips quirking as though she was caught off guard by the compliment.
“Cedric.”
Lord Church had stepped down from the dais and was beckoning him over. Cedric tore his eyes from Elyria, tossed a grin at Thraigg and a nod to the rest of the Arcanians, then went to join him.
“I must find Portentia before seeing to our unwelcome guests in the dungeon, but you handled yourself well tonight,” said Lord Church, voice pitched low.
“Er, thank you, my lord,” Cedric answered, voice lilting up at the end, though he hadn’t really meant it to sound like a question.
Lord Church’s gaze flicked to Elyria, and something cold slid into his tone when he added, “I daresay our other guest of honor has had enough attention for one evening.”
Red flared at the edges of Cedric’s vision. “Lives were saved tonight. Who knows what would have happened if she hadn’t acted so quickly against our assailants.”
“Mm.” The lord’s eyes glittered. “And yet, were she not here, had they all stayed on their side of the continent, would there have been any assailants to act against in the first place?”
Cedric’s brow creased. “What would be the point of a welcome celebration without anyone to welcome?”
“Exactly,” replied Lord Church. “Though I hardly condone the act, tonight was a clear result of the unrest and dissatisfaction the people are feeling. His Majesty has shoved these accords down our throats, so eager for access to the mana of the Midlands that he forgets not all are so quick to forgive—or forget.”
Cedric frowned. That wasn’t what he’d meant at all. “The people—”
“What the people will remember tonight,” the lord continued, “is the dark power of the Revenant on full display in the center of the king’s court. They will remember that chaos erupted because of her.” He smoothed the front of his robe. “I reiterate my earlier point. Always such a show with them.”
Cedric fisted his hands at his sides, his muscles vibrating from the restraint it took not to speak further in Elyria’s defense. He knew it would be pointless.
As if he could sense Cedric’s rising ire, Lord Church raised a placating hand.
“I do hope all this excitement won’t have you forgetting everything we discussed.
My study. Tomorrow morning.” And with a final clap of Cedric’s shoulder, the lord walked away, chin up, head high.
Unbothered. Like this whole affair was little more than an inconvenience.
Cedric stood stark still, his palms hot. He closed his eyes, just for a second. Tried to regain his bearings, to settle the beast locked inside him.
And when he looked back, seeking Elyria once more, she was gone.