Chapter 6: Hospitality

The moment the library’s door clicked shut behind Rylan, Soren carefully placed down the book he’d taken from his best friend, and let out a quiet groan, taking a moment to rub his eyes with the palms of his hands.

So, it was as he’d feared. Rylan didblame him, and probably had been avoiding him. Great. Just fogging great.

And of course, as usual, Soren didn’t have time to do anything about it. He had expectations to meet, responsibilities to uphold.

Like going out to greet Vidric Talon. The young nobleman might not hold a title yet, but from what Soren had heard, he had been making waves in political circles, and was considered by many to be a strong contender for the position of heir to his grandfather, Duke Talon.

Moreover, Soren’s grandmother had warned him many times never to insult a Talon. After all, while their holdings might not be the largest, their main branch held a monopoly on the elusive Contract Skill.

It had always seemed odd to Soren that no one else appeared capable of gaining the Skill. Then again, it could simply be a case of no one who’d acquired it being willing to openly practise it, lest they evoke the Talon’s wrath...

But before he played host, he was going to make sure his friends—plural, as he assumed Zahra had been in on this—hadn’t left behind any evidence of what had obviously been a break-in.

It was a small rebellion, but he found there was meaning in those. They kept him sane.

He didn’t find Zahra hiding between the shelves, but he did discover the door leading outside to be unlocked, and spotted a curly brown hair on the sandstone floor of the otherwise empty balcony.

Satisfied that the story he’d overheard Rylan improvise through the door would hold up with his assistance, he made his way out of the library, blowing out the oil lamp and locking everything up behind him.

Then he hurried over to the main building, only to find Vidric Talon just coming out.

The young nobleman’s blonde hair was coifed immaculately, and he was wearing a finely weaved yellow spider-silk robe bearing the Talon crest that was cinched at the waist, but looked like it still had plenty of room to hide things beneath. Similarly, his smile was casual and aloof, but his violet eyes had a sharp gleam to them as they cut across the grass and spotted Soren.

Walking just a half-step behind him and to his side was a lady that, judging by her livery and equipment, served as his bodyguard.

The way she scanned her surroundings and held herself gave Soren the impression that she was steady, cool, and professional, despite her youth. She exuded a quiet confidence, the kind that was born from experience, and couldn’t be faked. The kind such a young woman really shouldn’t have.

Soren’s eyes naturally drifted to her metallic left arm for a moment, but he’d been taught better than to stare at people’s prosthetics.

“Ah, splendid,” Vidric said as he made his way over. “You must be Soren.”

A muscle next to Soren’s eye twitched at Vidric’s familiar tone. Frankly, addressing Soren directly by only his first name without any honorifics like that could be considered rather rude, but well... Vidric probably didn’t care, nor did he need to.

“Thar Talon,” Soren said, lifting an arm and touching the outstretched fingers of his left hand to the outer corner of his eye in a Quinthar salute. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“I’m sure, I’m sure,” Vidric said, sounding amused as he lazily returned the gesture.

The moment they both had their fingers touching their eye, Ethereon spun into motion, hijacking Soren’s vision. The world turned grey, the only splashes of colour being the light welling up from inside of them.

Familiar green light spilled from Soren’s chest, but the light seemingly coming from a spot deep inside Vidric was blue. His spirit wasn’t Emerald like Soren’s, it was Sapphire, one grade higher, indicating Vidric had at least one Sapphire-Grade Skill.

The young Sapphire Quinthar dropped his arm, and the monotone world disappeared. Blinking, Soren followed suit, as Vidric started looking Soren over from top to bottom, even going so far as to walk around him, one hand stroking his chin as if he was studying a work of art or something similar.

Suppressing the urge to turn with the circling noble, Soren glanced at Vidric’s bodyguard to gauge what she thought of her master’s bewildering behaviour. However, the girl just looked at him impassively, like she thought there was nothing odd going on.

“I hope our hospitality so far has been satisfactory,” Soren said, electing to pretend he thought nothing of it either. “I hadn’t expected to find you out here unaccompanied...”

“Hmm? Oh, yes,” Vidric said, waving away his concerns and coming to stand in front of him. “I’m having a great time! Lord Thistlethorn was kind enough to offer to entertain me in the parlour, but I declined in favour of a stroll, and he excused himself to go freshen up. Say, help remind me, your mother would be...?”

Soren stiffened. The question was as unexpected as it was rude, but he knew exactly what Vidric was getting at.

Due to the age difference between them, people liked to whisper that Soren, rather than Bryce and Dionne’s legitimate child, was actually Helen’s son, born out of wedlock.

Soren had a contentious relationship with his irresponsible sister—the bane of his existence—but after overhearing the rumour one too many times, he’d still started to wonder, and confronted her about it.

Helen had laughed so hard she’d fallen off her chair. Soren no longer wondered.

“The Lady Dionne Thistlethorn, of course,” he managed to say, fighting not to give away his embarrassment at the question.

His grandmother had taught him better than thatas well.

“Of course, of course,” Vidric replied smoothly, as he cocked his head to the side, squinting at Soren like he wasn’t so sure at all.

Soren’s left hand twitched, itching to rest on his rapier’s pommel, even if just for the calm it would bring him, but the girl’s eyes zeroed in on it immediately, her body tensing.

Soren didn’t need to salute her to know she was a Quinthar as well and would likely pose a significant threat; otherwise there was no way she’d have gotten her job. So he swallowed and took a deep breath. He would not be the cause of a diplomatic incident.

Before he could say anything more however, he heard a commotion from the open kitchen window on the second floor, cries of anger and surprise coming out.

Then he felt something unusual, a kind of rush of something, brushing over his spirit like wind flowing over bare skin.

“Oh my,” Vidric said, turning to the window as well. “Was that one of your family members, do you think?”

Soren didn’t answer, frowning in confusion at the noble.

“Doesn’t seem likely,” the girl replied instead. “I believe that’s the kitchen.”

“It is indeed,” Soren said in response to Vidric’s questioning look, a little surprised that she’d known, and still not entirely sure what was going on.

“A servant then,” Vidric mused. “Still quite fortuitous. I wonder what Skill it is; probably Cooking, I suppose.”

“Someone just received a Skill?” Soren asked. “Is that what that feeling was?”

“You’ve never experienced it before?” Vidric asked with a slight smile. “Well, I suppose you must’ve been the last one to gain one on this island. Ethereon’s interference is something only Quinthar can feel. Anyway, I must say this is quite exciting! Shall we go have a look?”

“Of course,” Soren replied automatically, not like he had much of a choice. For some reason, though, his heart had started beating like a drum.

It can’t actually be Rylan, right? Oh man, I’m not sure if he’d laugh or cry if he really gained Cooking...

They arrived at the entrance to the kitchen just in time to see a limp body personally being carried out by Chef Zelim.

Soren’s stomach flipped. It wasRylan! His best friend had actually done it, gained a Skill all by himself!

A swell of pride and joy surged through Soren, and he found he couldn’t suppress his smile as the chef gently put Rylan down in the hall, propped up against the wall.

The man spotted Soren then and bowed. “He’s just fainted from the heat, milord,” he rumbled. “Seen it happen a hundred times. No cause for alarm.”

“Just fainted?” Ava asked, coming out with her hands on her hips. “You coddle that boy too much, Zelim. He threw a knife through the kitchen!”

“Did he now?” Vidric drawled, his eyes twinkling. “Who did he throw it at?”

Ava glanced his way, then did a double-take, and quickly dropped her arms and bowed. “Milord! Ehm, he seems to have thrown it at a sign, not a person.”

One of the kitchen hands listening at the doorframe—Soren didn’t know his name, so he must’ve been new—scoffed.

Vidric’s eyes immediately zeroed in on the poor fellow. “You. What’s your name, boy?”

The boy’s eyes widened, the blood draining from his face. “M-me? Ehm, Seth, milord.”

“You’re doing great, Seth,” Vidric assured. “Now tell me, why did you make that noise?”

The boy swallowed. “Ehm... well, he did hit the sign, milord, but it’s... it’s not the only thing he hit.”

Vidric made a little noise of intrigue, then strode towards the packed opening of the door with the kind of confidence only a true noble could posses. The kitchen hands immediately scrambled aside to make way.

His bodyguard smoothly fell into step behind him, snapping her head back and forth to glare at the staff, her braided hair whipping after her motions.

Soren cast another glance at Rylan, but his friend seemed fine, and was most likely in the process of being integrated by Ethereon, so he did his duty as a host and followed in after.

He was surprised at the swell of heat that met his face as he entered the kitchen, having not been in there while it was in use in a long time. His stomach growled a little at the scents, but he ignored it and quickly made his way over to the sign Vidric was staring at.

When he got there, he finally understood what Seth had meant.

The knife was still stuck in the bamboo, and on either side of the blade was half a fly.

Despite himself, Soren snorted with laughter.

“Well, that confirms it, doesn’t it?” Vidric mused, violet eyes twinkling as he turned back to Soren. “Seems your servant has Knife-Throwing. Congratulations.”

Soren made his way out of the kitchen with the sign under his arm, the knife still in it. Taking a memento from the moment one became a Quinthar was traditional, after all.

It would look great over Rylan’s bed.

Or in the living room of a small apartment in a Free City, a small voice in the back of his mind said.

He suppressed a frown at the old, childish fantasy that had popped up unbidden. Moving to a Free City together was something he, Rylan and Zahra had used to talk about quite a bit when they were younger. The life they’d dreamed up had been full of expectations Soren now knew to be unrealistic, but the basic concept still held... a certain appeal.

With Rylan’s new station, it suddenly seemed almost attainable.

Almost, because Soren’s grandmother would never allow it.

The fantasy was quickly forgotten when he walked out into the hall and saw his friend being lifted by two guards. Soren opened his mouth to speak, but then spotted her.

Beatrice Thistlethorn was not some kindly old lady who served cookies and tea. Her spine remained unbowed, her skin mostly unwrinkled, and her hair may have gotten a bit more silver, the blue still shone through.

While Soren’s father might be making most of the day to day decisions, he hadn’t officially taken over as head of the household. And there was no question about who was really in charge.

“Take him to the cooler,” Soren’s grandmother said sternly. “And be careful,” she added when one of the guards almost lost grip on the pit of Rylan’s arm, her piercing grey eyes boring into the poor woman’s skull, who promptly ducked her head and proceeded to very carefully lift Rylan up farther.

“The cooler?” Soren repeated in surprise. “But he gained a Skill!”

His grandmother shot him a look. “He also threw a knife through a busy kitchen. I think he could use some time to cool off, wouldn’t you agree?”

Soren blinked, hearing Vidric snicker behind him. “I... Yes, ma’am.”

She nodded, then turned to Vidric and made an actual curtsy, something Soren had rarely witnessed. “Thar Talon, what a pleasure to receive your visit. I really wish you’d given us some advance notice, so that we could’ve better prepared your reception...”

“My sincerest apologies,” Vidric replied smoothly, inclining his head. “I heard some entertaining rumours, and I’m afraid my enthusiasm got the best of me.”

“I see,” Beatrice Thistlethorn replied flatly, leaving Soren with the distinct feeling that there were things going over his head, matters he wasn’t privy to. “Would you care to join me in our parlour until dinner? I’m afraid our young friend may have caused a bit of a delay, but I’m sure we can have some refreshments brought over.”

She glanced at Ava, who immediately bowed her head, and headed for the pantry.

“I would be delighted,” Vidric replied, even though he’d apparently declined a similar offer from Soren’s father earlier.

“Excellent. Are you coming, Soren?” his grandmother asked, her tone making it clear that it wasn’t really a question.

Soren threw a mournful glance back down the hallway leading towards the cooler, still holding the sign with the knife pinning the fly under his arm, and sighed.

“Yes ma’am.”

Rylan’ll be unconscious for some hours still, anyway.

Still, now that his friend had actually gained a Skill, at least mending their relationship would be a little easier. Probably.

And at least it isn’t Cooking.

Author's note:

That's right, I'm expanding my horizons, and doing multiple POV's . ^^

But don't worry, the meat of the story will still be Rylan; I'll only do it occasionally to offer a fresh perspective, and much like in this chapter, Rylan will often still be present and/or involved.

Let me know what you thought, and thanks for reading! ^^