He gritted his teeth until it hurt. "Bring him in" he said to the butler, voice quiet and tight. "And... arrange for a feast. Whatever we have."
Varin's head snapped around, the bindings white against his pale skin. "My lord... Alfrenzo is—"
"I know exactly who he is," said the Marquis in his coldest tone. "But I've seen enough combat this week. Let him in."
Varin closed his mouth and nodded, but his eyes were still filled with concern.
The doors of the grand dining hall swung open, the smell of roasted meats and baked bread wafting through the air as the cooks rushed to fulfill the Marquis's humanitarian request.
Alfrenzo came in, his cloak of forest green swirling about him, the battered mask of an old man still perched on his youthful face. Behind him strode Thalanar, calm as the woods in winter, and Hunter, his massive frame a brooding presence, threatening without noise.
Varin took a seat at the Marquis's right hand, his gaze still wary. Alfrenzo settled down into the chair across from the Marquis, the mask's empty gaze matching his across the table.
The quiet grew long and awkward as Alfrenzo finally spoke up in his still soft voice. "How are you doing, Marquis?" he asked gently, and there was just the slightest hint of a smile in the question. "Based on the... wreckage I saw, it feels safe to say that you're in a desperate situation."
The Marquis clenched his jaw. "I do not need your help."
Alfrenzo nodded slowly. "So you say. I have been hearing a number of rumors. That the capital has no plans to reimburse your reconstruction of your port. And that the Duke is kindly only offering you scraps."
The Marquis shot up in his seat and his eyes turned to slits as he cut Varin's gaze. "Who told him this?"
Varin's mouth parted, a confused expression visible over his whole face. "My lord, I- "
"Don't bother finding your weak little link partner, Marquis." Alfrenzo said. "You will not find them. I have my own ways, that has nothing to do with your own halls."
A silence fell across the table. Then Alfrenzo leaned back, the mask tilting slightly. "I did not come for insults and shadows, Marquis. I came to offer help, if no one else will."
The Marquis's breath caught. "Why?" he demanded. "Why help me? What do you want in exchange, Alfrenzo?"
The mask inclined just slightly, and Alfrenzo's voice was as soothing as a summer breeze. "Your friendship," he said. "And the mana cores you picked up from the gate."
The Marquis gave a short, bitter laugh. "Your friendship? You blackmail my vassals—Como, Ronney. You control the black market of their lands and the flow of mana stones. What do you want with me?"
His hand slipped down and settled on his sword hilt, fingers tap-tap-tapping the worn leather. "Why shouldn't I just kill you where you sit, Alfrenzo?"
The silence that hung fell like a blanket, the only noise the faint crackling of the hearth and the hurried footsteps of the cooks in the kitchens beyond.
Then Alfrenzo laughed, a light, dry sound. "Because, Marquis," he said, "you and I both know that Duskwatch's army is crippled. Your docks are wrecked. Your wealth is gone. And if I wanted to break you—force you to your knees—now would be the time to do it."
He leaned in, his voice soft. "But I will not. Not now—so many have died... not with the gate destroying your world. I am not a demon, Marquis. I am a man—like you. And I know what it is to lose it all."
For a moment, the mask he wore as a lord of the forest slipped away, and beneath that mask was a child—even weary.
"I want to offer you my hand." Alfrenzo said. "As a friend. You may or may not take it—it is up to you."
The Marquis sat back in his chair heavily, his stare trained across the small table. His gaze moved between Alfrenzo and Varin, the looming Hunter and the calm Thalanar.
The distant shouts of the injured, the chiming of hammers, as everything began to come together again in the first light, made their way into his ears. The port—his port—lay in tatters, and the future was a question mark in blood.
He said nothing as the first plates were brought in—plenty of meat snaked around in steaming sauces could fill half a dozen platters, a loaf of perfectly baked bread, and steaming cups of spiced wine. Alfrenzo lifted his fork, slow and methodical, and began to eat. Thalanar and Hunter joined him, and though it was rather quiet, the act of eating was made to symbolize the strange lull that halted time's flow.
The Marquis's eyes flickered coldly as he weighed Alfrenzo's words. Silence was heavy, infused with the scent of roasted meats and fresh bread. Thalanar and Hunter watched him closely and silently, and Varin sat nearby with coiled tense muscles, waiting for the decision that would determine Duskwatch's fate.
The Marquis opened his mouth to speak—
Then the doors to the dining hall flew open with a crash that shook the air.
A young man rushed though the door, longsword drawn, gleaming in the lamplight. Unlike the Marquis, who had the pale blond hair of Duskwatch, this young man had his own flash of anger in eyes. Dressed in Duskwatch livery, his cloak was still dusted with snow and dirt from the roads.
"Father!" he shouted, his voice tense and tight with fury. "How can you sit and eat with this... this criminal? This blackmailer?"
Thalanar had dropped his hand to his hilt and Hunter's massive arm had shifted in preparation. But Alfrenzo continued calmly carving into his portion of roast meat, moving slowly with all the time in the world.
Argen Duskwatch glared, and his young face was flushed with proper anger. "You're breaking bread with the man that steals from our vassal—blackmails them, threatens our holdings! I won't let you!" He lifted the sword marginally, his hands shaking with rage. "I will cut him down myself if you won't!"
Varin stood from his chair, hands extended with alarm. "Argen, you will not do this! You do not understand the burden of your father."
Argen did not take pause, but instead took a step forward, the tip of his sword now trembling at Alfrenzo. "Get up and face me!" he shouted, his voice raw. "Coward—thief—get up and face me!"
Hunter's dark eyes flashed with a threat about to boil over, as he tensed. Thalanar's calm demeanor shifted to cold readiness, fingers gripping tight onto the hilt of his blade.