A servant offers me roasted pork on a platter. "No, thank you," I say, preferring to get my own food. Though perhaps I am just sick of slaves catering to my every whim. To all our whims. The vampires live with too much leisure. The Fae with too much servitude.
Speaking of Fae…
Varis approaches me as Asher walks off to dance. The Fae looks wearier than he did, but he smiles brightly. "Finally, some decent company," he says.
"Any news of Arianna?"
He shakes his head, pouring himself a drink that glows purple. "There has been no sign of her. Not even whispers."
I clench my jaw, not surprised, but frustrated all the same. "What of Metsi?"
"She seems to have hidden herself away as well," says Varis, sighing. "What of you? Any luck?"
I lower my voice. "We did find a creature. A Wraith shrouded in darkness. She vowed to tell us of Arianna's location, if…"
Varis's eyes go wide. The wind around him begins to stir. "If? If what?"
I glance around, noticing Tavian by the bar, lost in drink. "If we deliver someone to her."
Varis follows my gaze. "The traveler?"
I nod. "What do you know of him?"
"I have heard tales of his deeds, but how many of them are true I cannot say. He is one of the older ones though, that is certain."
I raise an eyebrow, studying the large man at the bar that is Tavian Gray. "Older ones? Older than you?"
Varis nods, a severity to his look.
I can't make sense of this. Not from what I know. "But he looks as old as Kayla. His hair isn't even white yet."
"There are ways to color hair, Fenris," says Varis.
True. But I have never seen a Fae do so. Age is a symbol of respect in their culture, so none seek to hide theirs.
Varis takes another drink, shivering from the strong effects. "This creature you spoke of. It seems of—"
"The Darkness," I say. "It is."
Varis grabs my arm, his voice taut with urgency. "Then you cannot make dealings with it. The Midnight Star tapped into the Darkness back in the Moonlight Garden, and the grove of my ancestors burned as a result. Innocents were injured. The city nearly ruined."
"I am aware," I say, pulling my arm away and pouring a drink for myself. I put the cup to my lips, pretending to sip so others would see me at ease. But I do not drink. I must keep my wits about me. "I am as loathe to deal with the Wraith as you, but what are we to do then? We have no leads."
"Something may yet present itself. In the meantime, have you given more thought to—"
"Yes," I say, recalling our talks over the past weeks. "And the answer is still no. I do not have time to train."
Varis raises his voice over our hushed whispers. "Your powers will grow whether you train or not. One day, you will lose control."
"What do you expect me to do?" I gesture at the ball. At the frivolous festivities that waste my time. "I must find Arianna. Every part of me must be focused on this task. Without her, nothing will matter. Nothing."
"I know," says Varis, dropping his gaze to the floor. "But have you considered what you will do when you find her? Metsi is no weak foe. She has the Water Spirit on her side. She has an army of Fae willing to die in fanaticism. And she knows how to use her powers to full effect. What do you have?"
I glance at Baron and pat his head. "I have defeated Wadu before."
"I heard. But that was only the Spirit. Fighting both Spirit and Druid at once is another matter entirely. Not to mention the army she wields. And as I recall, you did not fare well against Oren…"
Oren. The Fire Druid who nearly killed me. The reason my powers awakened. "I will find a way to defeat Metsi," I say, turning away, not wishing to discuss this further.
Varis sighs again. "Please, let me teach you at least—"
Something catches my eye. The man in white. The one in the mask. He's no longer dancing. Instead, he reaches into his vest. In the blink of an eye, he draws a dagger.
And throws it at Varis.
There is no time to think. To plan. Only instinct drives me. The instinct of battle. Of survival. I dash forward, flinging my arm into the air. And I catch the dagger by the handle. A foot from the Druid's face. For a moment, he is not even aware of the happenings around him. For a moment, he is still finishing his sentence to me. But then he notices what has transpired. And his face fills with dread.
Someone claps. The man in white.
"As fast as ever, brother," he says, his voice smooth and thick. "Maybe even faster." He pulls off his mask, revealing his bald head and pristine dark skin, and walks over to join us, sitting at the table.
Niam.
I point his own dagger at his chest. "How dare you assault my guest?"
He shrugs casually. "How dare you harbor a Druid? As I see it, things now stand equal."
Scales and balances. That is what Niam is. The Prince of Greed. The Prince of Wealth. His white robes glitter under the flickering lights. Gold buttons run down his vest, and a sapphire adorns his neck. His smile is charming, perhaps even seductive to some. He appears as a friend, a close confidant I can trust, even after all he has done. That is the way with Niam. People always seek to be his friend, his ally, even as he stabs them in the back. Even I, for a moment, forget his true nature. But then I remember. He is my enemy, even though he comes as my guest.
"Why the charade?" I ask, gesturing at the mask in his hand as I return to my seat across from him. We are apparently playing this casual. I can do casual. More or less.