“A host’s honor hinges on maintaining a clean and peaceful hall. Likewise, a guests’ honor relies upon their good behavior. An upset in either direction leads to imbalance and chaos.”—“To Run an Estate” by Lady Felecia Valkier

  Castle Tower, Cryptonia, Ground Plane

  The following morning was filled with bustle as the majority of guests ate breakfast in their rooms before the confirmation ceremonies began. Jasper was pacing in his large bedroom, wringing his hands. Calian stood by, checking over the lists of preparations.

  “Ser, you really should eat something,” said the vampire. “Some food will help to settle your nerves and it will be a long day.”

  “I feel like I may throw up,” Jasper admitted. “Last night I was just hosting a big party. Now I’ve got to go up in front of everyone and convince them I know what the hell I’m doing without forgetting any of the damn lines.”

  “I doubt the words will escape you in the moment. Your practice has improved through each recitation and you mean them.” Calian set down the writing board he had been holding, wiping his fingers on a cloth before picking up Jasper’s vest and helped the fidgety human into his court clothes. It was the first time Jasper had donned them since Aron had arrived with his order some time before. Jasper fastened the silver buttons while Calian brushed lint from his shoulders and back. When he was satisfied there was no residual debris, Calian removed the tailored coat from its hanger and held it for Jasper to slip his arms into the sleeves. Once again, the steward went through his routine of grooming until Jasper could stand it no longer.

  “Enough, Calian, or I’m going to lose it.” Jasper shrugged out from under the vampire’s ministrations. “I appreciate your thoroughness in all things, but I cannot sit still.”

  “Just as well, Lord,” said Titus from the doorway. “It’s almost time.”

  “Good. Let’s go.” Jasper headed for the stairwell, but Calian held up his sword belt.

  “Do not forget your sword.”

  “Damn,” Jasper shook his head and belted it on quickly. “Thank you. Now I’m ready.”

  They descended the Tower and moved through the corridors of the castle instead of through the main hall, allowing them to emerge into what used to be the throne room. The twin of the main hall’s great round table had been split into its individual parts. One crescent was placed at each corner of the room, granting a wide open space in the center of the room. Several circles of chairs were arranged around a simple wooden platform in the center in ever-increasing diameter to accommodate the number of guests attending. They stood when Jasper stepped into the chamber. He paused only for a moment to pull his vest tight before marching down the green and gold carpeted aisle and mounting the temporary dais. He gazed around at the people watching him intently.

  Guests were seated with the Guild Masters, council members of The Vill, and Ambassador Reesa placed nearest him. Their advisors and travel mates were seated behind them. Dwarves lined one of the back walls, Harla standing before them. She wore a garland of flowers on her head and smiled when Jasper locked eyes with her. Several of the veteran soldiers and a few of the newer recuits stood to their posts at each entrance. Jasper noted they were intent on the gathering, watching for any sign of trouble. That reassured him. He nodded to the steward before him and Calian and Titus began their walk down the carpet towards him, side by side, just as they had rehearsed. Behind them came Fern and Harla, the elders virtually gliding over the stone. When the four had reached the dais, they stood around him at the cardinal points. Jasper went to one knee, drawing his sword to rest it across his thigh.

  “You have passed trial by combat,” said Titus, his parade ground voice carrying easily through the quiet room. Jasper raised his sword flat in both hands, offering it to the knight.

  “Should I prove unworthy before the Land and gods, may the same not come to pass again.” Titus took the sword by the handle, placing the edge on the back of Jasper’s neck.

  “You have proven to be a man of the people, with no heart for cruelty,” Fern intoned, holding out a beautiful stone carved with blocky elven runes. When Jasper placed his hand on it, the inscription glowed blue.

  “May they rise up in revolt should I turn them aside in time of need.”

  “The Law lives in your heart and mind.” Harla stepped up, dipping her fingers in the bowl of green ink she carried. The dwarf daubed marks on his forehead, careful not to drip any on his fine clothes.

  “The justice of the ancient Law will guide me true in all things. May the Treemother turn her face from me should I abandon it.” Harla stood to the side as Calian took her position.

  “By your word and deed, Jasper McKenna, you are named Lord of the Tower.” The vampire held out the signet ring that had first appeared when Jasper had chosen his crest. He had initially been confused why he had not been allowed to put it on. Calian had only told him it was not yet time. Now he held out his right hand to his steward and the immortal slid the signet onto his ring finger. “Rise now and lead with greater honor than those who came before you.”

  The weight of the blade at Jasper’s neck disappeared and he stood. His friends knelt around him, Titus offering up his weapon much as he had just done. The knight smiled confidently and gave him a nod. Jasper took the weapon by the hilt and looked down at his reflection, marred only by the old Norse script in the fuller. He lifted the blade over his head and addressed the assembled mass.

  “By this sword and on my oath, I will give my last drop of blood to see the Tower and her people protected from all foes. In peace and war, in famine and plenty, in drought and rain, until the Father claims me once again.” He sheathed his sword and when his companions rose, the room was filled with polite applause and a few scattered shouts of approval from the castle staff. Jasper smiled and held up his hands for quiet. “Thank you, my friends, but I am absolutely starving, and the smell of Cook Harla’s cakes is making me ravenous.”

  There was a round of laughter as the guests followed the officially confirmed Lord through the double doors leading into the main hall. The large dining area had been much more elaborately decorated late the previous night and early that morning. Thick strands of vines were draped in long loops over cross bars at the tops of un-skinned poles. Through some elaborate magic known only to the dwarves, many different types of flowers grew along the vines, with the aroma of fresh blooms permeating the entire room. Beautiful intricately woven cloths were draped over the tables, all bearing Jasper’s crest on the excess fabric hanging over the edge. The tables themselves were already set with piles of food; fruits, steamed and grilled vegetables, meat pies, and every kind of wild game that could be found in the surrounding forests.

  “Miss Harla, you have truly outdone yourself,” Jasper gasped in awe, looking around at the feast set before them.

  “I believe you will be quite pleased,” the dwarf grinned broadly. “I made sure to prepare your favorite biscuits as well as the cakes.”

  “You had best keep them until later or I will spoil the rest of my meal,” he laughed. Jasper waved his assembled guests forward. “Please, sit! I would not keep you from your lunch while I talk.” They obeyed and soon the feast was well under way. The dwarves not directly involved in serving gathered in a corner with a collection of strange instruments. They began to play tasteful background music to create an even more jovial atmosphere to the hall. When they had finished eating, a handful of Master Lorrenson’s folk split off from the lower tables to join the dwarves in making merry. Jasper smiled at the sight, thrilled that his people had found such harmony with the newcomers. He spoke with his guests, asking after their journeys in the south and what the Empire was like. He had read a great deal in recent days, but wanted to hear it from experienced travelers. He tried to share his attention equally to prevent any perceived favoritism among his guests. They milled about and clustered in groups around tables or stood together as the party continued.

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  Jasper cradled a glass of wine which Calian had poured. He had never truly been one for overindulging in alcohol, but that was clearly not the case with some of his dining partners. Loric seemed to have gone a little deeper in his cups than was proper, leading him to be considerably louder and more obnoxious than normal. Jasper shot Calian a look and tilted his head at the tipsy messenger questioningly, as if to ask, “What do we do?” The steward shrugged, coming as close to rolling his eyes as Jasper had ever seen him. Jasper’s eyebrow rose but he simply mouthed “carefully” at his friend. Calian nodded and began cooly edging his way around the table to offer polite assistance to the Banking Guild Master, who had unfortunately become so engrossed in his conversation with Councilwoman Alanis that he was unaware of Loric’s compromised condition.

  Keeping an eye on the intoxicated Loric, Jasper noticed Ambassador Reesa sitting at his table. She appeared content, but he detected a tightness to the knight’s shoulders and the set of her jaw that warned of her sour mood. Jasper moved over to the chair beside her and sat. Reesa had traded her simple riding garments for a flowing sand-colored dress and garnet corset. The bodice was stitched with beautiful golden swirls that glittered in the light. Her hair was done up in coiling braids with several short decorative rods that reminded Jasper of chopsticks that held her long hair in place.

  “My Lord,” Reesa nodded politely, raising her wine in salute.

  “I hope you found the meal and refreshments satisfactory.”

  “I did, my Lord.”

  “And yet,” Jasper said, his lips curving into a friendly grin. “You look as if someone squeezed a lemon into your wine. What troubles you, Ambassador?” Reesa chuckled at his jest and smiled.

  “I am simply tired, my Lord. The trip was long and I am weary from the proceedings.”

  “You do not approve of our setting?” Jasper’s brows went up, his smile faltering. “Don’t let Miss Harla hear that, she may start redoing the decorations around us.”

  “I am merely used to the way things are done in the south, Lord Jasper. Despite being the Imperial Ambassador and traveling quite extensively, I do prefer our court in H?llthar.” She leaned closer to him and rested her elbow on the arm of her chair. “But I am certainly beginning to enjoy the company.” Her brown eyes gazed up at Jasper through hooded lids in a seductive manner that he felt was entirely intentional. He was thrown off balance and did not know how to respond. The young man had never had a woman make such a blatant pass at him. He coughed into his hand, taking a moment to look across the room to where Loric poured another glass of wine. Jasper watched with interest, unsure how Calian would handle the situation, but sure that it would be interesting. As it turned out, he would never get the opportunity. On the other side of Loric was the scarred young orc Jasper had spoken to. The drunk human was speaking quite loudly regarding his lengthy training and schooling in the imperial capital. Jaca, his dining partner seemed mostly content to brush off Loric’s comments.

  “Ahem. Well, I am pleased you find it pleasant enough.” Reesa opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by the clatter of plates and silverware. Jaca’s muscled forearm had come up in a flash and he had backhanded Loric clear out of his chair, tipping it and the human onto their backs with an outraged roar.

  “Bastard!” Jaca stood, snarling down at the disoriented Loric. To Jasper’s surprise, the drunk man had managed to draw his own belt knife and was facing Jaca in a wobbly crouch. Jaca responded in kind, candlelight flashing off the wicked hunting knife he pulled from his belt.

  “Come on then, savage, let’s see you fight a man when he’s ready for you,” Loric slurred. Space cleared quickly around them, and the music stuttered to a stop. Guests backed away, muttering in surprise and panic. Racan stepped forward to support his brother, but the scarred sibling held up his hand, clearly intent to handle it himself. Calian had disappeared in the mash of bodies.

  Jasper had seen all he needed.

  “Enough!” He thundered, slamming his mug onto the table. His vehemence startled most of those present into silence and made Reesa jerk upright. Music petered out and even the orcs were stunned into stillness. “I will not have blood spilled a short stroll from where I swore to strive for peace not three hours ago!” Jasper glared back and forth at the offending individuals, hands braced on the table before him. “There will be no duels of honor here, or you will have me to answer to.” Loric pointed accusingly at Jaca.

  “But he—!”

  “You will both put away your knives this instant, or it will be me you face, for having bared a weapon in my hall.” Jasper raised his voice only to cut the man off before lowering it into an icy tone. He stepped clear of the chairs and table, moving towards the agitators and putting a hand pointedly on the pommel of his sword. “I may be new to these lands, but you will not forget the manner in which I became Lord of this Tower.” Jaca muttered something in orcish, but Sigbald barked a command and the younger orc grunted, obeying. Once his blade had disappeared, he held up his hands with the palms out. Jaca faced Jasper, refusing to look at Loric who was begrudgingly following suit.

  “I beg Lord Jasper’s pardon for disrespecting his hearth. My choler got the better of me.” He bowed deeply. “With your permission, Lord, I would remove myself for the night.”

  “I believe that might be for the best,” Jasper agreed, his momentary choler abated as quickly as it had come. “Go then and cool your temper.” Jaca bowed again and marched towards the thick double doors at the end of the hall, his brother close behind. With little apparent effort, Jaca pulled one open and stepped through. He waited for Racan before closing it with a soft thud. Titus raised his eyebrows from his position beside the doors but stayed silent. Sigbald remained and blew out a long sigh, shaking his head. Jasper regarded the troublesome human with narrowed eyes. “Loric, of the Bankers’ Guild, are you master of yourself?” The man swept hair back out of his face and straightened his tunic, though it did little to redeem his drunken appearance.

  “I am, Lord.”

  “Hmm. Then perhaps you will consider keeping a tighter rein on your tongue in the future, ser.” Jasper tilted his head pointedly. “I think my intervention was the only thing keeping you from an unpleasant introduction to Jaca’s knife.”

  “He…I-I…” Loric glanced furtively at Master Torald, who shook his head.

  “Do not look to me, Loric, he is right. You made a fool of yourself and—” Torald jerked his thumb at the doors. “—provoked an experienced warrior, by the looks of him. Confine yourself to your room for the time being. Sleep off the wine you seem to favor so much. We will discuss this at a later time.” Loric hung his head. He bowed first to his master, then Jasper, before departing the hall without another word. The room was dead quiet.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, I am sorry for the interruption,” Jasper apologized. “Please continue.” He gestured to the musicians, who hesitated for but a moment before picking up their song once again. The room quickly devolved into a flurry of whispers. Calian appeared at Jasper’s side and glanced reproachfully at the wine-stained tablecloth where Jasper had been sitting.

  “Apparently I have a temper problem too,” the young man sighed.

  “Better to spill wine than blood.” Calian shrugged. “I think the Ambassador might be the more sorely wounded. But look,” He jutted his chin, directing Jasper’s gaze. “Both Sigbald and Torald approach, no doubt in order to attempt to smooth things over.”

  “No doubt,” Jasper nodded. “Oh well. Like you said, it could be worse.” Just as Calian had predicted, both the elder guests begged his forgiveness for their companions’ misbehavior. Jasper dismissed their groveling. “These things happen at large parties,” he said. “Let us be grateful it did get further out of hand.” The Hall calmed down once again after a few minutes of excited chatter. By the door, Titus nudged Vek at his side and informed the veteran he was going to take a walk.

  “Gonna check on the hothead, ser?” Vek jerked his head towards the direction the orc had disappeared. Titus shrugged.

  “I need to stretch my legs, and you’ve got a handle on this lot.” Vek smirked and nodded. “Send a runner if you need me.”

  “Aye, ser.” With that, Titus slipped through the doors and eased them shut. There was a half dozen guards in the vestibule, a mix of veterans and newer additions. They were standing by on ceremony and looking incredibly irritated to be on duty when there was a feast going on through one set of doors. They straightened a bit when they saw Titus emerge from inside.

  “Ser Titus,” the squad sergeant said, snapping a salute.

  “Stand easy, soldiers,” he said, smiling good-naturedly. “But don’t let yourselves be lax just because there is a party on. I can’t count how many assassinations have occurred at events like this.” One of the younger recruits in the squad gaped.

  “You really think someone might try to kill Lord Jasper?”

  “I would not put it past anyone to do just about anything, Dal. It’s our job to watch everyone and everything, to keep the Tower and her people safe.”

  “Yes, ser.”

  “You think we’ll get to pick over the leavings?” One of the others asked, his tone hopeful. Titus shrugged.

  “We’ll see how things turn out. Hopefully nothing else too exciting happens the rest of the night.” As if a spiteful god were waiting for him to make such a foolish remark, there was a loud clank, and the Keep’s outer door opened. The guards turned to look, expecting to see Jaca, perhaps having changed his mind. Instead, they observed a tall, pale-haired figure in bloody scale and plate mail. A heavy cavalry saber was sheathed across her back and a scratched helmet was loosely gripped at her left side, her right hand braced against the open door. Her silver braids hung down over her shoulders and in her face. She blew a lock away from her violet eyes in irritation.

  “Someone better have beer,” Elle growled.