Published at 26th of April 2026 7:57 am

Chapter pater 147: Games

This chapter is updated by JustRead.pl

I get maybe three hours of sleep. Entirely Marcuss fault. He apparently didnt see the note I left about how late I got back or so he claims. I dont fail to notice that waking me so early allows him more time to fiddle with the outfit I'll be wearing to Cecilia's all important party. He has, fortunately, relented about my cheating with magical form shifting clothes, but still insists that I spend an unreasonable amount of time tweaking them to compensate for something he seems unable or unwilling to articulate.

Hes almost as annoying as Allan about it.

In the end, I go with an arrangement of colours and patterns that are adequate. I suppose it is rather nice looking, but Im simply too tired to pay attention to the details that he spends hours fussing over. Still, I suppose I should trust that he can do the job well enough that I wont stick out, and he does at least bring me enough tea that I dont consider stabbing him at least not seriously.

I take a public carriage to the destination, being a manor of a moderately important noble. Viscount so or so. Ill reread the invitation before going in to refresh the details. Its a nice house, good sized (for a noble, making it gigantic for most) with a well maintained lawn and garden. Really, nothing of particular note compared to the other houses Ive been to recently, though I suppose I would have taken more notice of it a couple of months ago.

I get in without incident, giving the host a moderately priced bottle of wine that Allan recommended, then look around for people I know. The first one I spot being the Marquis Phillip, who gives me an annoyed look when he sees me, and an even more annoyed look when I ignore him in favour of the canapes table.

So, you managed to show up after all, he says irately when he inevitably intercepts me on my way to the garden. Theres a smug superiority to his voice as he times his scorn to a toss of his flowing long hair. You might have mentioned it.

I said I would try to get in, I say indifferently as I continue to the garden.

She instructed you to inform us whether you succeeded.

No, I correct impassively, she instructed me to tell her if I couldnt get in. She gave no instructions for if I succeeded.

It was inferred, he hisses.

It was suggested, at most, I calmly respond. What was inferred was that if I didnt contact her, then I got in. Its called modus

I know what its called. He snaps, trying to pierce me with his brilliant eyes. Stop playing games, Monhal. Do you have any idea how important this is?

No, I state flatly. I dont even know what Im supposed to be doing here.

Show up and be seen. Thats all we asked, yet you decided to be irritating about it.

I shrug. Yes, well, I suppose we can just say that the communication error was both ways and leave it at that. Im assuming Princep Cecilia isnt here?

No, Im here as her representative.

Well, then Ill go about and be seen then. Unless youre going to find objection to that, too?

He looks me up and down with an amused grin. I suppose not. Whoever dressed you was at least halfway competent. At least it matches itself well. But it could use work matching you. Youre moving all wrong for it. It was made for a graceful elk, confident in their belonging. But you move like a wolf, stalking this place, but not native to it. Wolves do have their beauty, but they need to be dressed for it. Either whoever dressed you needs to learn to accentuate that sense of danger, or, preferably, you need to learn how to match your movement to a broader range of outfits.

And if I dont? I ask.

He scrunches his face up in confusion, his head jerking back a half inch, as if it should be obvious. Then you wont look as good as you can. What else? He says as if there is no benefit to appearances beyond the innate.

Indeed, I mutter, controlling my amusement at his response as I make a short bow and excuse myself from his presence. Ill pass along his suggestion to Marcus, but its not something Im worried about. I mean, I doubt anyone will criticize me for failing to achieve his fashion standards.

I quickly find Viscount Monroe, who brightens as she sees me, gesturing towards me to a duo of distinguished looking individuals that shes in conversation with.

Ah, Malichi, great for you to join us You look exhausted. Spent last night gambling, too? She laughs, amused and not chastising.

Of a sort. Though a different game. I mirror her grin, but at about fifty percent intensity.

Oh? So, youve mastered our little sport already and decided to move on to something more exciting? She laughs, fully in jest, though there is a hunger in her eyes.

Hm not exactly. Or rather, its not something that will compete with this interest Have the games started yet?

Not quite, Monroe shrugs. I think theyre waiting for a few more people to arrive. It shouldnt take long, though. Ill take you there.

As we go, I shift the conversation. Ive tried the breathing thing. But I cant manage to release the control. At least not for long.

Hmm, I thought that might be the case with you. You do have such a tight grip on yourself. Its almost frightening sometimes. She laughs.

Yes well, I dont suppose you have any more advice you can give me.

Of course. I even have a few things I wanted you to try in todays game. Itll be good practice.

I nod gratefully, and we go over various techniques ranging from posture to focusing on sounds to distract myself. All minor things, but things she promises will add up to make it impossible to discern my true ability level. At least for those who are not trained in the methods. Best to switch things up for them, just in case.

The game, or rather games, is in a courtyard garden surrounded by a balcony where spectators gather. It seems like itll be something of a tournament, with six tables each with spots for six players arranged in the centre. All the players are obviously nobles or very wealthy merchants, ranging in age from mine to maybe thirty. At any rate, it seems to be a very youthful competition.

Soon, all the players arrive and the rules are explained. The ante starts at a large silver piece, and will work its way up until reaching a whole coin. Once any given player has lost a certain amount of coin, everyone will shuffle around to different tables based on how well they did, then everything starts over and repeats.

It seems designed to prolong play as much as possible so that nobody will win or lose too much too soon. Since nobody wants to be so dominant early on that they get sent to the top table, and those who lose early will get put at the lower tables, where they will at least have a chance to reclaim their coin.

In fact, what ensues seems more like a social gathering than a real game, which I find somewhat annoying, even if it is a good opportunity to make contacts. Its irksome that the real gambling seems to be going on above us by the spectators who are betting on which table certain players will end up on. At least, thats where Monroe is enjoying herself.

Still, its not wholly unpleasant. The courtyard is sunny but cool, and it is good practice for my small talk, even if it does make the rounds painfully slow. I dont think I make a significant impression on anyone, especially as Im forced to just deflect questions about the Empresss dagger until they seem bored of me.

So, I focus on the game, positioning myself right where I want to be. I spend most of the game behind my starting point, until I spot an opportunity to pounce on someone, putting them past the threshold to stop the game while putting me into third place for the table, having won a total of about a hundred raem.

The next table is much more skilled than the previous, an I suspect they might be the best of the tournament, making my manoeuvre a potentially costly mistake, but one we all shared. Clearly, no one wanted to end up at the highest table so early, but they also didnt want to lose. So, to avoid the best players, we all aimed at the third best table, which ironically is now full of the best players or so I hope.

What ensues is a metaphorical knife fight. No more small talk. Just silently gauging each other and looking for the faintest hint of weakness. None of us can afford to aim for a lower table this time, so we all try our hardest to beat the others, while ignoring the irritating laughter from above by those expert players who doubtlessly predicted this circumstance but neglected to mention it to their sponsored players. Likely for their own amusement and profit.

I end up in third again, though the spread of wins and losses is much narrower than the previous table, with the top player only winning a hundred raem and the bottom player having only lost the same. I only win thirty-six.

As hoped, the next game is much easier, and small talk quickly resumes. Its almost funny how surprised the person who came from the top table seems at the skill level doubtlessly being higher than those she just played. Almost as funny as how much lower the skill level is from my perspective.

Im tempted to just keep on getting third while steadily accruing small gains for the rest of the day, but Monroe didnt bring me here for small gains. Im here for practice, and for that I need better players. Still, itd be foolish to jump at them straight away, so I take second place instead.

Unfortunately, the timing is wrong. The players whom I faced in game two do indeed seem to be the best. So, the one sent to the first table on game three stays for game four, and everyone else from the second game also wins their table and so go to the first table. Meaning that no one at table two stands a chance against me, so I easily win the fourth game, gaining nearly half a thousand raem as I fail to see a point in holding back.

So now Im back in the knife fight. I lose some of my games, sometimes getting sent down to as low as table five, though Im always back at the top for the next one. Most games, I win a little and get sent to table two or three. A third of the games, though, I come out on top and take in larger and larger piles of coins.

I feel like I could do even better, but Im distracted with the situation in the low section, not to mention fatigue. Im still monitoring things remotely, in particular, the beast kin building, though I dont see anyone come in or out all day. Fortunately, I dont need to chant to change which token Im connected to for either the remote sense or beast talk spell, but it doubtlessly costs me several hands from missed tells. I think I might even have been able to stay at the top table the whole time if I were playing at my best.

Still, I manage to win more than six thousand raem by the time I hear Jacks voice through the token I left with him.

Boss, the mage got back to us. Said she found something big, but will only tell you personally. Dont know how she found out about you, or how much she knows. Just that shell only talk to our patron.

Sighing, I put all my focus into winning the current game, getting me another cool thousand, then make a show of talking to a servant about a nothing question that is hopefully interpreted as receiving a message about an outside event. The other top players all look disappointed, but everyone else sighs in relief.

You played distracted, Monroe states as she intercepts me on the way out. Im assuming about whatever is making you leave early?

I shrug. I suppose. Sorry if it cost you a wager.

Hm, no worries. I accounted for it. Though do tell me if you have something on your mind going into things next time, so I can do so sooner.

Will do, I say, giving her a side eye, then freeze slightly as I spot the Marquise Phillip glaring at me from the end of a corridor.

Ah, yes, well, I suppose I should get back to the game. She says, glancing at him with a strangely nervous expression. Do they know each other?

That wasnt exactly what I meant by being seen, he complains.

Again, you didnt specify. Besides, whats the problem? There were thirty-six players who all know me now, plus a number of spectators. I doubt I could have gathered more attention at the main party.

The problem is that the people we want to see you are at the main party, he says through gritted teeth.

Then say so next time, I say, feeling very smug. If Im right about my tending to not understand things that other people seem to know instinctively, then I might as well weaponize it against those who annoy me. Or, no, not weaponize exactly, since that would require knowing when Im doing it ahead of time. But at least find satisfaction when it happens to annoy those who annoy me.

Besides, I say, playing the game was the reason why I was invited. It would have been strange if I didnt. In fact, it was actually the main reason I even attended.

Our princep will not be happy to learn that you put her second. He scowls, though manages to do so fabulously.

Your princep, you mean. If any princep can be said to be mine, then surely it would be either Theodore or Talia, with Cecelia coming in distant third. Besides, if she wanted to be considered first, then she should have sent her instructions before I received my invitation.

What? he stops suddenly, forcing me no, I deign to do likewise. You mean you received an invitation before Cecelia instructed you to? Why didnt you say so?

I shrug. Why do you think? Lets just say the point is ruined now, and that Im only telling you because how annoying youre being.

Theres only a twitch of an eyebrow to indicate what happens next. All I see is a blur as Im dragged into a recessed corner and pinned to a wall, my cloaks hood shooting up automatically to cushion the blow to the back of my head, though I still feel a brief pain from the impact.

You Arkothan nobles all think youre better than me, dont you. Imagine, some nobody barons son looking down on a landed Marquis just because Im from a client state that held out from being fully assimilated. How absurd.

I dont look down on you for that, I say with a grin, finding the irony of his statement hilarious, though that might just be from the blow to my head being worse than I thought. I look down on you because youre a yipping lapdog.

A lapdog? Ha! Maybe. But a lapdog to one of the most powerful people in the world. To the one who will become the most powerful person in the world. A lapdog whose owner would quash the consequences for killing you.

If you can, you mean. How much of yourself did you put in your mount, anyways? I dont see any likely candidates around. How much weaker are you without it?

Still strong enough to rip your head off, he half spits.

Almost certainly, I concede, but with my grin not slipping. But hows your healing? Good enough to survive afterwards?

His own ferocious snarl slips at this, replaced by confusion. A moment later, he thinks to look down to where one of my wrist knives is pressing against his femoral artery, drawing blood to accentuate my statement. The other knife is under his left armpit, ready to plunge into his heart from the side.

I will not let a Vincent situation happen again. I wont let some oafish knight pin me to a wall as they all seem so wont to. I need him to know that he cant cower me I need to let myself know

He stares at this, blank faced for several seconds, then laughs, full belly, and drops me unceremoniously as he backs away. Oh, you do amuse, Malichi Mongrel, you do amuse. Theres a brief instant as a shadow passes over his face, where it seems to shift into that of Princep Cecilia before returning to normal.

The, without giving me a chance to respond or process the fleeting image, he walks away, still laughing uproariously and leaving me to ponder the encounter.

Share