A Boarish Introduction

We rushed down the steps to see the main room in disarray. A table had been overturned along with a few stools, shards of smashed dishes littered the floor. A young woman, maybe eighteen or so, lay on the ground amid the mess. Her lower lip trembled and she refused to look anyone in the eye. Above the woman hovered a man who looked far too pleased with himself. He wore a luxurious red outfit with exquisite goldwork embroidery across it. His blond hair was pulled up in a top knot and his green eyes regarded the room with undisguised satisfaction. The crowd had retreated to the walls, the patrons eyeing each other and the man.

“Well now, look what you’ve made me do,” the man said. “I’ve caused a scene. Are you pleased with yourself?”

Before knowing this man’s name, I knew he was in the wrong and that I wouldn’t spit on him if he were on fire. The entitlement with which he carried himself was near tangible presence in the room. Mizuki was to my right with Vris behind me on the last step of the staircase. Mizuki stared at the man like he was a piece of dirt on her shoe.

“I asked you a question,” the man said, leering down at the woman. “Did you not hear me?”

The woman whimpered. She drew her bright blue outer robe tighter around herself and tried to get up. The man kicked her so swiftly I barely registered that his leg moved, and then the woman was on her back.

I moved without thinking. There was no wisdom, no plan, just the realization that this cartoonish villain was the perfect object upon which to vent my pent-up rage. Mizuki tried to grab me but I moved too fast. I strode forward, grabbed a nearby cup of wine and threw it in his face.

A gasp rippled across the crowd. The man snapped his attention to me, outrage supplanting his smugness. The woman was so shocked she didn’t even move.

“How dare you,” he said, his tone laced with venom.

It was at this point I remembered that we were trying to lay low. My issue was that I had a habit of standing up for women in bars. Old habits die hard, I suppose. No point in backing off, time to press on.

“Oh, I’m so terribly sorry,” I said, widening my eyes and pressing a hand to my chest in mock horror. “I was told a way to chase off wild boar is to douse them with liquid. It was completely reflexive, I assure you.”

His face flushed a bright red. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

Ah, so he was that sort. With clothes like that, I’d suspected he was some rich kid with more money than sense. This confirmed it. Part of me was tempted to say Do you have any idea who I am? But, that would once again reveal our hand unnecessarily.

“I don’t, in fact,” I said. “But no matter who you are, you don’t get to run around flipping tables and kicking people.”

The man strutted up to me and looked down his nose. Wine dripped from his cheeks. “So you’re an uneducated peasant. I might have known. I am Cyril of Rhegard.”

He waited, looking at me to see if his name resonated. It did not.

“How very nice,” I said. “And yet my point remains. Does the Emperor go around kicking people? I think not.”

No one apart from Cyril and I were talking; the crowd barely moved. Were there no guards? I was also surprised that a man like this was alone. Surely some cornies were lurking nearby.

“Vris, perhaps you could go get some guards? Or something?” I asked over my shoulder.

Vris nodded and hurried out the door. Mizuki remained silent though her eyes burned. If she didn’t want to jump into the fight, I wasn’t going to force her.

The woman was still on the ground, watching us with wide eyes. I gestured for her to get out of there. She took the hint and scooted away into the arms of what looked like her sister.

Cyril never took his gaze from my face. He raised one of his hands and for a moment I thought he might try and hit me. Then he used his other hand to pull down the crimson sleeve of his raised hand. A bright black mark sat just below his wrist. It was a simple curve, reminiscent of a river or a crude snake.

“This,” he said. “is a Godly Mark. You wouldn’t know what that is, so allow me to elucidate. When the gods show favour in the form of bestowing magic, it appears on the skin as a unique mark.”

This man was a magic user? This man? If my faith in the gods could fall any lower, it would have.

“I have the blood of a previous seer in my veins,” he boasted. “And for that my family has been blessed for generations.”

Ah nepotism, a truly universal concept.

“So what can you do?” I asked bluntly.

He was taken aback by my lack of awe. “What?”

I folded my arms. “You can do magic, right? What kind of magic?”

“I am an artist,” he said, recovering quickly. “I can take anything I see and replicate it perfectly, precisely as you see it.”

“Isn’t that just skill?” I asked, raising a brow. I knew people who could do the same back home. I would have known more of them if I’d gotten into art school. No, don’t think about that.

He laughed in my face. “I can do it in seconds. Not even a master can compare.”

Just wait until the camera, my friend. I wanted to say. You won’t be laughing then.

The door to the inn opened and two men in the uniform of what I presumed was the local guard entered the room. Vris came in behind them and scurried back next to Mizuki. One guard had a mustache and the other was clean shaven. The mustached guard saw Cyril and let out a sigh. “My lord, we’ve talked about this.”

In a flash, Cyril’s entire demeanour changed. He stepped away from me and affected the look of a puppy caught chewing a shoe. “Lieutenant Cheyon, I can assure you it was all a misunderstanding.”

The lieutenant didn’t appear moved. “Mmmhm. Do you have the coin to pay for your disturbance?”

“Of course,” Cyril said. He pulled out a fat coin purse from his robe pocket.

“Pay the usual and come with me,” the lieutenant said flatly.

Cyril tossed a few copper coins onto the floor and followed the guards towards the door. Before he left, he shot me a glare of pure malice. After he was gone, the tension leaked from the room. Once the table and stools were righted and the music started back up, you couldn’t tell anything had happened.

“That wasn’t wise,” Mizuki muttered to me as we sat down to eat. The proprietor, who had been in the wine cellar at the time and didn’t hear a thing, was so grateful, he gave us free food and drink for the night.

“No,” I agree. “But no one else was doing anything.”

“Still, you can’t do that again,” she pressed.

I rubbed my temple. “Fine.” I knew she was right. In a way, I was surprised at myself. Being away from the palace made it too easy to forget about everything. The world was hanging by a thread and I was all but being held at gunpoint and told to fix it. For a moment, it all fell away and there was just one idiot that I could fight back against without worrying that he’d summon my brother and use him against me.

“I won’t do that again,” I added, taking a sip of wine. Mizuki nodded, satisfied with my promise.

Despite the pleasant atmosphere of The Dancing Plum, I couldn’t shake this lingering feeling. It was like being unable to get something off your hands no matter how you washed them. It irked me through the evening and up until bed, where I fell into an uneasy sleep.