The Rifts of Psyche by Kyle West (i love reading .txt) 📕

there – one on his head, just below his hairline, and the other on the right side of his jaw, about two centimeters long. In short, he was unrecognizable. When he had left Earth, he was all of twenty years old, and on Volsung, he had turned twenty-one. If enough months had passed on the prison barge, he might very well be twenty-two, now. But the man in the mirror looked thirty-two, and he felt much older than that after the events of the past two years.

And he looked tired. So very tired. But there was still a determination in those eyes. He hadn’t given up, despite everything that had happened.

He could never let that fire die.

Despite the fine clothing, something seemed to be missing. And Lucian realized what it was when it was brought to him.

Jarvis himself handed Lucian his shockspear, fitting a sheathe for it on his back.

“It is not proper for the Queen’s consort to go without shockspear to any social gathering,” Jarvis said, watching him neutrally. “It is for you to protect her, should the unthinkable happen. She has placed a great deal of trust in you, sir.”

All Lucian could think was she couldn’t have chosen a worse person.

“I see.” It was all he could manage to say.

The other servants worked at his clothing, fixing minor details Lucian couldn’t even see, adding a kerchief to his breast pocket. They even added a dash of cologne before he could tell them to hold off. The sharp aroma made him cough.

“When is the soiree, anyway?”

“In less than an hour. It will be a small gathering. No more than fifty of the Queen’s most trusted lords and ladies. Quite exclusive.”

“The last thing I want is to play politics. What’s her game?”

Lucian had mostly been speaking to himself, something that the butler must have sensed, because he remained silent. It was not for him to speak against his Queen. In fact, Lucian had better be quiet himself. Every word he said, Jarvis would certainly faithfully report.

“That shall do it,” Jarvis said, with a final bow. “I shall fetch you when the Queen has called. Until then, Master Lucian.”

With that, he left, leaving Lucian alone in his chambers with his shockspear.

Immediately, he unsheathed and extended it. What kind of damage could he expect to do? Could he find the others in time and make an escape? Could he ever hope to outrun the Queen and the Zephyr?

The answers to that question were: almost no damage, they couldn’t escape in time, and even if they did, the Zephyr would hunt them down within the hour. The Queen already knew where he planned to go, so all of it was useless.

Lucian reached for his Focus, streaming Dynamism along the shockspear’s length. The spear crackled as he practiced his footwork, creating the space to deal with an imaginary foe. He poked and jabbed, swinging the spear in a wide arc to cut down multiple enemies, dancing away to create space again. He lost himself in the movements and sequences taught to him at the Academy, enough to work up something of a sweat. It was probably the opposite of what he should be doing, but he didn’t care. He branded the Dynamistic Magic to the tip of his spear, allowing it to last all the longer.

By the time the brand petered out half an hour later, Jarvis had returned with a retinue of bronze-armored guards, each with their own spear and rounded shield. Lucian knew these were to be his escort, probably some “honor” he was due as the Queen’s consort, but it certainly didn’t seem an honor.

Jarvis’s eyes widened upon seeing Lucian’s state, but Lucian kept his spear out, feeling a flash of irritation at the interruption. “Yes?”

“It is time, Master Lucian.”

Reluctantly, Lucian sheathed his spear with a flourish. “Lead the way.”

Jarvis took a minute to straighten out Lucian’s appearance – the man wouldn’t let Lucian do it himself. Once done, the butler led the way as the guards formed a box around them. For minutes, they walked through lamp-lit halls filled with sculptures, paintings, and rich carpets. The darkness outside was nearly absolute. Hours had passed since their arrival.

Anytime they passed a servant, they bowed as if Lucian were a Mage-Lord himself. He didn’t know what was going on, until he realized he probably looked like one.

At last, they came to the final entry hall, a grand space with three floors with twin spiral staircases. It was in this reception area that Lucian was greeted to the sight of several dozen Mage-Lords and Mage-Ladies, all dressed richly in gold, red, blue, violet, and every color of the Spectrum of the Septagon. At once, each group and conversation stilled as Lucian stumbled inside. The Mage-Lords’ eyes narrowed as if in challenge, while the ladies’ eyes went wide at the sight of him. Lucian reached for his Focus to steady his nerves, while he resisted the urge to reach for his spear. He noticed some of the other Mage-Lords had armaments, too – spears, rapiers, even some hand-axes.

Lucian knew from one look that he was in a room full of jackals. The oldest ones might have even been in the Mage War, surviving until this day by wile and magic. The middle-aged ones might be their children, or those Psyche-born who had the spark of magic in them. There were few mages of an age with Lucian. This seemed to be an older crowd, and he could feel them calculating his strength of position, their minds mechanizing on how Lucian might be used to their advantage.

It was a good five seconds before they returned to their conversations, though they cast plenty of surreptitious glances his way. Lucian just wondered where his friends were.

“Please, wait here,” Jarvis said. “The Sorceress-Queen Ansaldra Dara will arrive soon.”

Jarvis withdrew, weaving through the lords and ladies with many-a-bow before entering the banquet hall beyond.

Lucian stood alone, doing his best not to feel like meat at a market. Though none