Valiant: The Covenant Chronicles

[Covenant #26: The Synners]

Log Date: 10/19/12764

Data Sources: Jayta Jaskolka, Raikaron Syntaritov

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Morningstar: Palace of the Sovereigns

7:56pm SGT

“Yes, attendance is required.” Danya says, wetting a brush and proceeding to comb my hair around in a way that’ll drape ever so slightly over one eye. “It’s not asking much. Lord Syntaritov has allowed you to evade all the other social engagements up to this point. Attending a single mix and mingle is not going to kill you.”

“But we just spent ten hours grinding through damnation demographics and policy debates about regional penance referrals.” I grumble, more or less resigned to my fate at this point. I couldn’t change the fact that I had to go to this event, but I didn’t have to be happy about it. “That was exhausting. Can’t we just relax?”

“This is what the higher Circles do to relax.” Danya says, taking my hair and using her heat chainlink and her finger as an impromptu curling iron to give it some waves and curls. I’ll admit, it’s a pretty clever use of her chainlinks, and I think I might try it out later. “After a day spent handling difficult administrative and governance talks, they relax by socializing with each other. Knowing your fellow Lords on a personal level helps keep down the temperature during debates and discussions in the conference room. And it also presents an opportunity to make backroom deals and handshake agreements that can help ease things along in the conference room.”

“Yeah, but that’s like. His job, right? Not mine.” I say as Danya starts curling the very ends of my hair. “I’ve mostly just sat beside you guys in these meetings while he speaks up every now and then, and you hand him papers that he can review.” I fight the urge to tell her it’s been one of the most boring weeks of my life, but gods, it’s been one of the most boring weeks of my life.

“The only reason it is not your job is because you don’t let it be your job.” Danya says. “The time we spend in the conference room with the other Lords is incredibly valuable. It provides a very rare window into the prerogatives of other Lords, and their dynamics with each other and in a larger group setting. There are many ambitious demons that can only dream of being in the room where the most powerful demons in hell shape and set policy for our chunk of the afterlife. You should pay more attention during those meetings, instead of dozing off.”

“I never get the chance to doze off.” I retort. “You’re constantly reaching across me to hand stuff to Raikar— I mean, to Lord Syntaritov.”

“And a good thing I do, otherwise you’d end up embarrassing your Lord in front of the upper Circles by dozing off during one of the very important meetings that only happens every quarter century.” Danya counters just as sharply. “If you want to be treated with the respect that your rank and position command, then you must actually perform the tasks incumbent in them. Your position as avenger places you third-in command from the Lord of Regret, Jayta; the only reason you are not treated like it is because you do not perform the finer points of the role, the administrative and political aspects of it. You have the enforcement part down pat, but that’s all you do. If you want to be treated like more than just a glorified bodyguard, then you actually need to start taking responsibility in the administration of the House, and learning the politics of Sjelefengsel so you can navigate them on your Lord’s behalf.”

I frown a little at that. I know that Danya’s right, but I don’t like that she’s right. Politics requires socializing with people, and administration requires leading them. I’m not great at either of those things. “Why did Lord Syntaritov give me this position? I can’t be good at the things he wants me to be good at.”

“You most certainly can, otherwise he wouldn’t have given you the position.” Danya says as she finishes curling my hair. “Whether or not you want to be is entirely up to you. I know our Lord, and he does not give his subordinates roles they are not suited to. A year ago, you were quite reluctant to take on the enforcement tasks of an avenger, but you eventually found your appetite for it. I believe you can do the same with politics and administration, and so does Lord Syntaritov. Now let’s take a look at you.”

With that, she turns me towards the mirror in her room. I’m currently wearing one of the dresses that Taylor made for me; the sleeves have little loops at the end that fit over my fingers, and the bottom of the dress splits just above knee height, affording a little maneuverability. It dives a little in the front and back, but nothing too daring, at least compared to many of the other outfits I’ve seen the other demons wearing. The entire thing is on a pale, pink-blue gradient, starting pastel pink at the shoulders and slowly blending into a soft, icy blue by the time it reaches my waist, where a decorative little sash is cinched around it. A pale band around my neck tops it all off, with a small, lily-white flower centered over my throat.

I dig my teeth into my bottom lip a little. I look… well, I look good.

Danya lets out a wistful little sigh beside me. “…it’s been a while since I saw such soft colors in Sjelefengsel.” she says ruefully. “They remind me of some of the nicer things on the mortal plane. And they look good on you.” She reaches up, brushing one of the pale golden locks. “They go well with your hair.”

“Really?” I say, turning back and forth a little to see how I look from the sides.

“One compliment’s all you’re going to get from me. Don’t go fishing for more.” she says, returning to her usual brusque demeanor as she starts straightening out her dark suit and bloodred bowtie. “Bear in mind that your attire might draw attention at the party. Sjelefengsel is accustomed to dolorous palettes and aggressive color designs; you may be a spot of softness in an otherwise harsh fashion scene. Other demons will likely underestimate you because of it — use this to your advantage.”

“To my advantage? Like, how do you mean?” I ask, my nervousness rising again.

“Other avengers and lieutenants to the Lords will be at this social engagement.” Danya says, moving to her dresser to snag a set of earrings. “On the surface, to lesser demons, this is simply a party for the higher Circles. In truth, this is an opportunity to forge connections and glean information about other Houses, and the subordinates of other Lords will be trying to do the same. Make an effort to socialize, instead of spending the evening tucked away in some dark corner nursing a drink — Lord Syntaritov will appreciate the effort if you try to bring him back some information about the other Houses.”

“I thought you said this was a party where we were supposed to relax…” I mumble, my apprehension starting to rise again.

“This is relaxing. We spent an entire day doing governance and policy work, and we’ll be capping off the night with a little bit of friendly espionage.” Danya says as she finishes pinning her earrings on. “Now let’s get going. The place we’ll be going to is out in the city proper, and we don’t want to be late.” With that, she heads for the door, and I follow her, doing my best to muster enthusiasm for this little… outing.

I can’t wait for the Congress to be over so we can go back to Hautaholvi.

Event Log: Raikaron Syntaritov

Morningstar: The Apostate’s Lounge

9:34pm SGT

“I didn’t take you for a patron of the arts, Regret.”

I sweep my forefinger over the side of the glass I’m holding. Presently I am standing in front of the curving gallery wall, one of the less-frequented sides of the Lounge; the lights here are set a little dimmer than the rest of the establishment, lending the well-spaced paintings a dusky mystique. The voice beside me is one I recognize, if only faintly so, and as I result I do not turn to look. “If you’re going to lie, Longing, at least put some effort into it.”

Longing lets out an amused hum, and I can sense him turn and clasp his hands behind his back, studying the piece of art I’m lingering on. “I thought it would be forgivable in the interest of starting a conversation. And you do always delight when it comes to conversation.”

“In fairness, it is easy to delight when the competition leaves something to be desired.” I reply, finally glancing aside at him. He is a shorter fellow with dark hair, and though his suit is decidedly lavish, it is, as compared to some of the other Lords, modest. “Were Sorrow and Loneliness failing to provide you with adequate stimulation?”

“I might ask the same of you, Envy, and Spite.” Longing says. “I have not seen you with them all evening. Or much at all since the start of the Congress, for that matter.”

“We may report to Lust, but that does not mean we get along.” I say, returning my attention to the gallery wall. “We are coworkers, not friends.”

“You understand then why I am not with Sorrow or Loneliness.” Longing says. “Just because you work with someone does not mean you want them to be part of your social circle.”

“Fair enough.” I say, glancing at the glass in my hand and debating whether I should keep carrying it around, or finally relinquish it. I’ve had perhaps two sips, and someone’s eventually going to figure out that I’m only holding it for show. “Out of curiosity, has Greed made any progress on trading you to Lust in exchange for Spite?”

He rolls his eyes. “No. And he won’t, if I have anything to say about it. Say what you will about Greed, but he doesn’t play with his food like Lust does.” He sips from his glass before going on. “And we both know damn well that Lust is the one pushing that trade, not Greed.”

My mouth tugs a little at the corner. “She has a flair for the dramatic. Having a themed set of Lesser Lords under her command is precisely the kind of theatrics that she loves, and all she needs is you to round out the set.”

“Like I said, I’ll pass. If I do have to go somewhere, I prefer for it not to be from the frying pan to the fire.” Raising a hand, he motions to the ink painting before us. “You’ve been staring at this piece for quite a while.” Though he doesn’t follow it up with anything, the question is implicit.

“Simply appreciating the quality of the piece.” I reply noncommittally. It’s technically true; I am admiring the skill and talent of the artist that produced it, though my fixation with this piece springs from other motives.

“Mmm.” Longing says, clearly unconvinced when I don’t elaborate further. “Are you considering acquisition, then? I don’t imagine you’d spend this much of the night staring at it unless you had intentions for it.”

“Acquisition would be tempting, assuming the Apostate is willing to part with it.” I say, studying the elegant simplicity of the frame it’s in. “But I don’t think she makes a habit of selling from the gallery wall.” I look to him at this point. “Why do you ask?”

Longing gives an innocent shrug. “Simply curious. The other Lords are enjoying each other’s company while their avengers and lieutenants mix and mingle.” He turns, gesturing out to the rest of the vast lounge, which is a single giant round, with a bar, restaurant, and stage comprising large sections of the circular wall. Part of the round protrudes out from the building as an overhang balcony, offering a premier view of Morningstar from the top of the tower that we’re in. Between the restaurant, bar, and stage, there are luxurious booths half a level above the floor of the lounge itself, with glass walls so that the most elite of the elite can dine and hold private conversations while watching the lounge below. Some of the other Lords are in said booths, watching as their subordinates mix and mingle on the lounge’s floor. All told, it’s a group of about a hundred people, Lords included — enough for the Greater Lords to have booked out the entire establishment for the evening. “And you over here, all on your lonesome. Wouldn’t want you to feel left out, would we now?”

“That’s what he has me for.” comes another familiar voice from my other side. I turn just enough to see Envy joining us in a long, sleeveless black dress that hugs her slim outline. “He prefers the company of peers that are not so vexing with their conversation.”

I snort at that, raising my glass to take a sip. “Fine words coming from someone that set a new standard for vexing during our last social visit.”

Envy reaches up, grabbing the glass and taking it from me before I can take a sip. “Regret, please. We both know you like this stuff as much as you like my tea.” she says, dumping out the drink in a nearby water feature, holding the glass out to Longing as she slips one of her arms through mine. “Be a dear, Longing, and take that back to the bar. Raikaron and I have a few things to catch up on.”

Longing’s none too pleased at being treated like waitstaff, but he takes the glass nonetheless. “Naturally. Far be it from me to interrupt such discussions.” he says with insincere grace. Envy gives him a hollow smile, turning and leading me by the arm along the curving gallery wall.

“Really though, Regret, what is the deal with the painting?” Envy murmurs once we’re out of earshot of Longing. “You’ve paid more attention to it than you have to your pet project this evening, and that’s saying a lot.”

I cannot help but look over my shoulder at the inkwork on the wall again, even as Envy is still leading me away. “It is petty. I will try to put it out of mind.”

“No, tell me.” she insists, her tone taking on a more pressing and honeyed dimension as her shoulder grazes against my arm. “There’s no need to pull the silent and stoic act; you know it won’t impress any of the women here.”

“I am not looking to impress.”

“So you say, but your unwillingness to admit a trifling matter tells me that you are sensitive to how others perceive you. And this disclosure would change how they see you.”

My gaze flicks aside to Envy, whose earnest, upturned face is betrayed by the hollow green eyes. “Where Lust would give command, you would give supplication; and yet somehow, I am inclined to believe it is no less dangerous.” I remark.

Envy smiles. “But this appeals to you more, does it not? Lust is predisposed to directness and domination, but I know you prefer to dance. It has an elegance to it that I know you enjoy.”

“I recognize flattery when I hear it, Envy.”

“Is it working?”

“I will admit some effect.” After a moment or two of walking in silence, I go on. “I am not sure that inkwork belongs here.”

“Oh? You think it stolen? Or acquired by ill design?”

“Perhaps. How the Apostate came by it is less important than what it represents, though.” I say, giving a glance across the Lounge. “And I suppose she is not here tonight, else I would’ve had a talk with her about it.”

“Just because she owns the establishment does not mean she frequents it.” Envy reminds me. “And what does it represent, anyway? The tragedy of two lady lovers? That’s hardly a reason for offense, and I didn’t take you for the homophobic sort.”

“Those are my great-grandmothers.”

Envy looks at me, then over her shoulder at the now-distant artwork. “…well, I have to hear this now.”

“You would wish a story from me?” I ask as she snags a glass of blackberry bubbly off the platter of a passing waiter.

“If it would entertain me, which I believe it will.” she replies, taking a sip as she leads me up a set of stairs to one of the empty booths along the wall. 

“I would share it but for the time it would take me to tell it.” I say as I follow her up the stairs. “It is not a simple story.”

“It never is with Syntaritovs.” Envy says, opening the door to the booth. “Surely you can summarize.”

“Summary is possible, but it would not capture the nuance.” I say, following her into the glass booth. “It is a story that, if it is told, deserves to be told in its entirety. To tell it in anything less does a disservice to both the story and my ancestors.”

“And this stubborn insistence on the story in full is the reason why you take exception with the fact that your ancestors have been turned into artwork on a lounge wall.” Envy surmises, circling around the table in the booth and pulling out one of the chairs for me. “You feel the instance captured and portrayed is but a moment in time, presented without context and not representative of the greater story it belongs to.”

I walk over to the chair she’s pulled out for me, sitting down as I mull over her assessment. “Yes… yes, I suppose that is the issue in part. Though if I am being fully and truly honest with myself, some part of my grievance stems from a sensation of ownership. A story, once told, does not belong to any single individual; it is the communal property of those who have been willing to hear it from start to finish. Yet the fact that this is a story about my family, or at least those members of my family which came before me, gives me a sense that I should have some say in how it is portrayed, how it is told, how it is represented. To see artwork stemming from that story, art that I did not know existed, hung on the wall in a commercial establishment… I come away from it with a sense of disgruntlement. There is something vexing about seeing the stories of your ancestors turned into a prop for someone else’s commercial enterprise.” I glance through the glass walls towards the Lounge’s gallery wall. “Or as in this case, a framed trophy on someone’s vanity wall.”

Envy pulls out the adjacent chair so she can sit beside me. “You could always offer to buy it off her. Though I’m not sure why you’d want it; you’d just be adding another portrait of suffering to hang on the wall.”

“It’s a meditation on one of the many legacies passed down through the generations of the Syntaritov lineage. To gaze upon it now and again, and be reminded of the risks this name carries, is invaluable for maintaining perspective.” I answer, my eyes wandering across the Lounge and seeking out Jayta’s gently-colored dress in the shifting currents of snazzy demons down on the floor.

“A memento mori, then.” Envy says, sipping from her drink.

“More like memento pati. Memento dolor? I was never much good at that language.” I reply, noticing Lust out and about on the Lounge floor. “I will admit, I find it difficult to focus on much else now that I am aware of that inkwork. Do you think the Apostate will part with it if I offer to buy it?”

“I imagine she would. But you know she will squeeze you on it once you express interest and she realizes she has the leverage to set the price point.” Envy points out.

“Yes, the thought had occurred to me.” I mutter. “Perhaps a more duty-free method of acquisition would be in order…”

“Perhaps.” Envy agrees with a smile. “Set it aside for now, Regret. The night is young, and we’re supposed to be relaxing, not plotting.” She reaches over, resting a hand over the one I’ve got on the table. “Tell me more about your new House. I heard that you benefitted greatly from the Great Realignment, and rumor around Hautaholvi is that you may be hosting pool parties on special occasions…?”

“Is that that what they’ve been saying?” I give a soft chuckle. “Very well. Yes, the new House does have pools, plural. And they’re heated, at that…”

Event Log: Jayta Jaskolka

Morningstar: The Apostate’s Lounge

9:56pm SGT

“So, what’s it like, working for Regret?”

Even if the question comes across casual, the way the chatter at the table lulls for a moment shows it’s anything but. My heart skips a beat; even though I know I shouldn’t show it, the apprehension in my chest won’t go away. Tonight’s been an ordeal, and I just can’t wait to get out of here. The only reason I’ve made it this long is by the grace of the drinks that I’ve been nervously nursing as I’ve drifted around the Lounge, doing my best to try and ‘network’ the way that Danya asked me to.

But to the question I give a shrug, trying to make it equally as casual as the question that prompted it. “It’s work. I could think of better ways to be spending my time, but we’re not here to have fun, are we?”

One of the other avengers around the table snorts; I think she’s the avenger for the Lord of Loneliness. It’s been hard to keep track of who’s who around here; I hadn’t realized there were so many Lords in Sjelefengsel. “Are you saying here, as in this party, or here, as in hell? ‘Cause I can think of plenty fun stuff to do at this party. And after.”

“Like you.” quips one of the other avengers, smirking behind her drink.

“This is definitely funtimes compared to the usual grind.” agrees the demon beside me. “I love it when the Congress rolls around, even if it’s only once a quarter century. It’s basically a monthlong paid vacation to the capital of hell. The meetings are a slog to get through, but the parties afterwards are great. There’s a different one every night. Plus a lot of the places they’re hosted at give away goodies to try and get a foot in the door with the Lords.”

“Oh, ew. Your Lord makes you go to the meetings?” one of the female demons says, making a face. “I could never. I’d die of boredom before the second hour.”

Another demon rolls his eyes. “Well of course you don’t go to the meetings; your Lord is Sloth. What do you even do during the day while the rest of us are working?”

“Shopping.”

“Figured you’d be working for Greed, with an answer like that…”

“Who knows, maybe I am. Sloth works me like a slave most days…”

“A sex slave, maybe…”

“Oh ha ha, very funny.”

“Speaking of working like a slave, new girl, what gives?” the demon beside me asks. “This is the first time we’ve seen you at any of the afterparties. I’m guessing Regret’s kept you busy even after the day meetings are done?”

My brain goes into panic mode. I don’t want to admit that I’ve just been holing up in my room at the end of the day; it won’t look cool with a group like this. Strike that; it would look pathetic to these kinds of people. “Work, yeah.” I lie quickly. “Lining up tasks to be completed once the Congress is over.”

One of the demons across the table raises an eyebrow. “…he’s got you scheduling.”

I give a shrug, hints of heat starting to rise to my face as I feel my lie starting to crumble mere seconds after being told. “Yeah.”

“Every night, though?” one of the other demons says. “Figure you’d have it all mapped out after two or three nights. Does he have you scheduling for the entire House or something?”

“Nah, that can’t be right. Most Lords have House managers for something like that, if their House is large enough.” the avenger for Sloth says. “And I know an excuse when I see one. She isn’t really doing his scheduling.”

“And how would you know?” I challenge her.

“Honey, I work for Sloth.” she cuckles. “It’s nothing but apathy and excuses in my House. Trust me, I know it when I see it. You’re not workin’ nights; you’re looking for an excuse to avoid these parties.”

“Well that is a crying shame.” the demon beside me says. “A cute little thing like you would be a hit at some of these parties. And trust me, there would be plenty of people willing to show you a good time.” Without warning, he reaches over to trace a pair of fingers down my lower back and my ass. “You’d be a smash hit, in more ways than one.”

I stiffen on reflex, fighting the impulse to grab the back of his neck and slam his face into the table. For a moment I’m so flustered I can’t manage a response; the other demons notice and chuckle among themselves as I swat away the hand touching me.

“Aw, look at that, she’s almost as pink as the top half of her dress.” the avenger for Loneliness snickers. “You’ve not been on this scene very long, have you?”

“Nah, she’s fresh meat. You won’t get a blush like that out of a sinner.” the avenger for Sloth drawls. “Any demonette worth their salt would know better than to get frazzled over a little ass grab.”

The demon beside me snorts. “Wasn’t even that. A proper ass grab requires you get a good handful, y’know?” he says, holding up a hand to demonstrate, then reaching for me again. My hand tightens around my glass as I mentally wind up to splash my drink over him.

But before he can touch me, a massive black hand with leathery scales lands on the back of his neck, the thick thumb and fingers eclipsing his shoulders. “What’s all this now? Is my little buddy Jayta makin’ new friends?”

I turn around as everyone at the table follows the massive arm up to the familiar hulking, eight-foot frame of a horned, reptilian demon. It’s Brian, the demon that runs the Exchange in Hautaholvi, the one I regularly talk with whenever Raikaron sends me on errands to acquire and sell rarities and antiques — and he’s squeezed into a tuxedo that’s about two sizes too small for him, putting his brick shithouse physique into sharp relief beneath the strained fabric.

“Brian!” I stutter. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, Greed wanted me along to talk to some of our suppliers here in Morningstar.” Brian says, waving his free hand. “I managed to get our inventory backlog of sex slaves cleared out early this year, so he’s letting me attend some of the parties at the Congress as a reward!”

“That’s nice and all, but personal space, dude.” the demon beside me says, reaching up and trying to remove Brian’s hand from his shoulders.

Brian lets out a boisterous laugh at that. “That’s funny, man! You don’t like people touching you without permission? Because I could’ve sworn you were just about to do the same thing to my little buddy here.”

“It was just a joke.” he grumbles, still fighting to get Brian’s hand off his shoulders.

“Ah, so you thought it would’ve been funny.” Brian says, his fingers tightening around the demon’s neck. “You know what I think is funny?” He leans a little lower, his voice coming down an octave. “Skinny little necks like these. It’s like snapping a celery stick. It’s pretty easy, and you get a nice, wet crunch out of it.”

The demon goes still, dropping his hands. “Alright, alright. I get it. The girl’s off limits.”

“Good.” Brian says, letting go of the demon’s neck. “Because I’d hate to have to tell Regret you were giving his new avenger a hard time. It’s not easy to make him mad, but once you get him to that point, it’s quite something to behold.” Brian turns to me. “You got a moment, little demon? I got this sassy pink little goddess that said you ran a favor for her and now she’s ready to pay you back.”

“Sassy pink little…?” I repeat, confused. Brian lifts a hand to point across the lounge floor to a half-circle couch where Wicked Wolf is chilling, sipping on a drink while chatting with a couple of the Greater Lords. “Oh my god. She’s still here? I thought she left Sjelefengsel after the opening ceremony!”

The other avengers turn to look, some of them murmuring and glancing back to me.

“What? You’ve been running errands for the Wicked Wolf? Seriously?”

“Bitch got connections, man.”

“There’s no way a timid little thing like her is on a goddess’s shortlist…”

“So, whaddya say, little buddy?” Brian asks me. “You just gonna stand there looking funny, or are you gonna go talk to her? It’s rude to keep a goddess waiting, and it’ll probably be more fun than hanging with these posers.”

“Up yours, Brian.” the avenger for Loneliness growls, giving him a middle finger.

“Sorry sweetie, I’m not into pegging.” Brian replies to her, stepping back so I have room to step away from the table I was at. “If you’re in the market for a plaything, though, drop by the Exchange in Hautaholvi. I’ll be happy to show you around our selection.”

I step away, taking my drink with me as I start moving in the direction of the couch where Wolf is lounging. Only one avenger at the table gives me a parting wave; the others just watch me go, some with glares and others with neutral looks. Brian ambles along with me, bringing a hand up to give me a couple of light pats on the back — even when being gentle, his hands are so big it’s like being thumped on the back with a canoe paddle.

“Thanks for bailing me out there.” I murmur to him as we move away from the table.

“Don’t mention it.” Brian says, waving it off. “I remember what you’re like at parties, I figured you could use a friend. I was actually kinda surprised that you weren’t in a corner somewhere trying to fly under the radar.”

“I mean, I want to…” I mutter as we wind through the tables on the floor. “Danya told me that I need to start being social and networking in order to be a proper avenger. So I’m… trying. It’s not going great.”

“Yeah, I hear you. Getting a foot into some of these groups is like trying to pry a wet clam open.” Brian agrees, sipping from his drink. “If we’re being honest, people around here are only interested in you if you’ve got something they want, something they think will be useful. Like getting them a connection with a certain Lord or a foot in the door with another. They don’t make friends for the sake of socializing or hanging out.”

“It’s why I hate these parties.” I gripe. “I hate playing those games. It’s just a bunch of people fake-smiling at each other.”

“Well, not quite.” Brian equivocates. “There are some that truly enjoy this. They play the games, and they enjoy playing them. Sometimes they might actually make real friends. But you are right; there’s a lot of ulterior motives lurking beneath the surface at these kinds of functions.” He shakes a finger at me. “Luckily for you, you’ve got a couple things going for you. Such as being on talking terms with a goddess. That’s the kind of clout that you can’t shake a stick at, and other demons will notice and assume you’ve got some status that can’t be ignored.”

I give him a flat look. “You’re basically telling me that since I’m friends with the popular girl, everyone else is going to want to be friends with me.”

He shrugs. “A little juvenile, I know, but it’s true.”

“Yeah, I’ll take a hard pass on that. I had enough of that in my high school days.” I say, taking a swig from my drink. “Everyone wanted to be friends with the witchling’s sister. I was just a stepping stone on the way to my brother, and after I graduated, I told myself I wasn’t going to be a stepping stone anymore. I deserve to have friends that are friends with me because they want to be my friends.”

“You do you, little buddy.” Brian says as we near the area that Wolf’s at. “But if I’m being honest, this is how we do things in the upper Circles. You don’t get to know people because you enjoy their company. You get to know them because they’ve got something you want.”

“Yeah?” I say. “And what do you want from me?”

“Someone to talk to that doesn’t have it out for me.” he nods to me. “And a drinking buddy at the Iron Liver.”

I grunt at that. “I’m not doin’ that again this year.”

Brian chuckles at that. “Never say never, little buddy! Besides, you almost won last year. Maybe you can take the title this year! But at any rate, this is where I leave ya.”

“Hey, it’s the cute little demon!” Wolf crows, noticing me and waving me over with one hand, patting the couch beside her. She’s still wearing the plugsuit she was wearing during the opening ceremony, showing off her sleek, petite physique, and I wonder if that’s just her default attire. “C’mon, c’mon over! You’re lookin’ just darling tonight.”

I give a last glance at Brian, then move over nervously. Two other Lords are standing near, facing her as if they were in the middle of a conversation; I can’t tell if they’re Lesser Lords or Greater Lords, but they’re both staring at me like a pet that’s strayed into a social visit, and I can’t help but feel self-conscious. “I, uh… hello. Thank you for having me.” I say to Wolf.

“C’mon girl, don’t be shy!” Wolf says, patting the couch cushion beside her. “Sit down, you and I need to have a talk here in jussa min.”

“Oh. Uhm. Okay.” I say, edging a little closer and sitting down on the edge of the couch, next to Wolf. One of the Lords snorts, looking amused at how gingerly I sit down.

“Perfect.” Wolf says, turning her attention back to the two Lords. “So anyway, Pride and Greed — that’s my take on the current music industry. So if any of those label execs show up down here, I want you to show them a good time. And by a good time, what I mean is make them suffer for every credit they siphoned away from artists and into their yearly bonus checks. I’ll give you a miracle for every music industry exec you do that to, you just gotta send me their damnation file as proof. We got a deal?”

“Certainly.” one of them replies. “We couldn’t pass up a deal like that.”

“Lovely, darlings. I’m looking forward to it.” Wolf says, sipping from her drink and then making a little shooing moving with her free hand. “Now if you don’t mind scooting along, I’ve got a private chat I’d like to have here.”

“Of course. We’ll let you to it.” the other Lord says, and the two turn and drift away. In their absence, Wolf turns to me and rests an arm across the back of the couch behind me.

“So, I figure you know by now that your Lord turned me down.” she sighs. “Wasn’t for lack of trying. I offered him a pretty good package, but he said he felt he still had work to do here.”

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that.” I say carefully, gripping my glass nervously.

“Shit, girl. If you’re gonna lie, put some spine into it.” Wolf says. “You ain’t sorry, you’re happy you get to keep him. He did agree to write a song for me, so I’m looking forward to that. I couldn’t pass up a chance to collab with a Syntaritov.”

“Oh, uh. I didn’t know he wrote songs.” I say, half lifting my glass for a sip, then thinking better of it.

“I didn’t know either until I asked him. Turns out he does.” she says, tossing her head to get her long pink twintails to go where she wants them to. “At any rate, I’m pretty sure I owe you a small miracle for giving him my number.” Reaching up, she unclips one of the bracelets she’s wearing, and holds it out to me. “Here you are.”

I reach up and take it with my free hand, looking it over — it’s a braided bracelet, with a single marble in the center that looks like it has pink sparkle gas swirling around within it. “That’s a miracle, I guess? The marble with the gas in it?”

“Yeah, you just smash it on something, then make a wish.” Wolf says, flapping a hand. “Pretty standard stuff, no complicated invocations. How you use it is up to you, but my advice is to save it for a rainy day.”

I set my glass down on the floor so I can tie the bracelet around my wrist. “Thanks. I don’t know when I’ll use it, but I’m sure I’ll find a use for it somewhere along the line.”

“I’m sure you will.” she says, sipping from her glass as her eyes roam around the Lounge, then return to me. “So sock it to me, kiddo. What’s the story with you and the redhead?”

“What?” I say, looking at her. “Me and… what do you mean?”

“You and the Syntaritov. Are you his girl or what?” Wolf says, popping a grape in her mouth and munching on it. “He says you’re just an employee, but I don’t buy it. He gets a little too cool whenever you get brought up.”

I shake my head. “I’m just his avenger. I told him a while ago I wasn’t interested in demon Lords.”

“What?!” Wolf says incredulously. “Seriously? You shut him down? Like… why?”

“I mean, I just said I wasn’t interested in demon Lords…” I mumble.

She stares at me. “That’s it? That’s the whole reason? Because he’s a demon Lord?”

“Well… yeah…”

Wolf shakes her head, sipping from her glass. “…okay, fine. Suit yourself.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I demand, feeling annoyed now.

“Oh, nothing. It’s just that, as far as Syntaritovs go, he is really well-adjusted.” Wolf shrugs, swirling her drink. “A little eccentric, I’ll grant that, but I’ve met my share of Syntaritovs and he’s pretty tame compared to a lot of them. If you want to pass him up, though, I know a few people that are waiting in the wings to take their shot.”

I snort at that. “You want me to believe that there are people chomping at the bit to try their luck with Raikaron.”

Wolf smirks. “I don’t need you to believe it.” she says, flicking a finger towards one of the glass booths around the edge of the Lounge. “The proof’s sitting up there.”

I follow her finger to the booth she’s pointing at, and freeze. Sitting inside is Raikaron, gesticulating as he talks, and beside him — close beside him — is Envy, leaned in and listening avidly. Her shoulder is touching his arm, and he’s turned towards her, ever so slightly, in a way that suggests he’s engaged in the conversation they’re having. From this distance, and behind glass, I can’t hear anything they’re saying, but the body language from both of them says all that needs to be said.

After a moment, I shrug fiercely and take a swig of my drink. “There’s nothing weird about them hanging out together. They’re just coworkers.”

“Mhmm.” Wolf says, popping another grape in her mouth. “Just like you’re just an employee.”

My fingers tighten around my glass as I look at her, reading the smug look on her face for exactly what it is. “You’re trying to stir up trouble.”

Wolf shrugs. “I’m on your side, girl. We’re in hell, you look miserable, and I’m a romantic. Unlike most of the malcontents down here, I’m a sucker for happy endings, and I’d like to see you get one. I’m a goddess; I can tell you’re not down here because you’re doin’ time. You’re a contract demon, and as far as I’m concerned, contracts deserve a happy ending more than the damned ones do. So are you gonna sit here and argue with me, or are you gonna go get your man?”

I look back up to the booth where Raikaron and Envy are talking. “But she’s a Lord.” I mumble. “How am I supposed to compete with that?”

“So what if she’s a Lord?” Wolf scoffs. “You literally live in the same House as him, right? You see him every day. You have the home field advantage. Put it to work. Don’t let some green-eyed tramp waltz in and snatch your chance away from you.” She makes a shooing motion with her free hand. “Go on, go get him, tiger. If I give you any more of a pep talk, I’ll have to put on a cheerleader uniform and grab some pom-poms.”

I take a deep breath, gathering myself and standing up. When I start to turn back to Wolf, she puts a hand up and shakes a finger. “Ah ah ah. No second-guessing, no doubts, no last-minute reconsiderations. Get your little tush over there and put a wrench in that green-eyed bitch’s plans. You don’t even have to make any advances right now; you just have to show up. Remind him that you still exist and remind her that it’s not gonna be the clean sweep she thinks it’ll be. Now go on, go!”

I huff at that, then down the last of my drink and start back across the Lounge floor, passing off the glass to one of the waiters as I go. I make sure to build up a stride as I go; the faster I’m walking, the less time I’ll have to change my mind or second-guess myself. Reaching the stairs, I start to crest them, taking care to avoid tripping over my dress, and knock once I arrive to the booth’s door — then open it up, and step in anyway.

That move gets both Raikaron and Envy’s attention — they’re likely accustomed to lower demons waiting to be invited in. Both of them instantly break off their conversation, looking at me, with Raikaron looking surprised. “Jayta. Is something the matter?” he asks.

I open my mouth, realize that I didn’t really think about what I was going to say when I got here, and say the first thing that comes to mind. “Do you mind if I snap off another demon’s hand at the wrist?”

His brows furrow. “Ah… well, that’s… is there any context for this?”

“Yeah, one of the other avengers tried to get a handful of my ass, and if Brian hadn’t stepped in, I probably would’ve sent the fool.” I say, rolling with this line of attack. “I just wanted to know for the future, since it’d probably create a bit of a scene.”

“Well. Ideally we wouldn’t want to make a scene, but if boundaries need to be established, then do what you have to.” he says. “Which avenger was it? I can speak to their Lord, if needed.”

“Don’t know. I was too flustered to catch who he worked for, and I wasn’t going to stay at the table to find out after that.” I mutter, starting to notice how Envy’s staring at me. She hasn’t said anything, but her gaze is fixed on me like a laser, like I’d interrupted quality time. Even with alcohol in my system, that hollow green gaze sends shivers up my spine — it speaks to a hunger too deep, an appetite that can never be satisfied.

“Well, if you find out, let me know.” Raikaron says. “I’ll have a word with them and set boundaries if need be.”

“Thanks.” I say, feeling my courage start to melt under Envy’s unrelenting stare. So I try to keep things rolling, keep the momentum going. “Well, since I’m here, can I get either of you anything? A drink, snack platter…? I can ask one of the waitstaff to come up if needed.”

“Oh. That’s very… proactive of you.” Raikaron says, confused by my uncharacteristic helpfulness. “I’m fine, thank you; I had a good dinner and I’m not fond of mortal alcohols.”

I nod, then look to Envy. “My Lord. You look like you could use a refill?” I say, nodding to her empty glass.

“I will be fine, thank you.” Envy says politely, though her smile is tinged with ice. “I think we can take care of ourselves. You can go enjoy the party.”

It’s a clear dismissal, one that’s calculated to give me no room to maneuver — a barely-veiled order that I would be unwise to ignore, unless Raikaron gave me a countermanding order. I look to him, hoping that he’ll give me an opening, but he just gives me a nod, indicating that I can follow Envy’s invitation — the exact thing I don’t want to do.

Fighting the impulse to let out a disappointed sigh, I give him a tight, uneasy smile and back out of the booth, pulling the door shut behind me. Turning about, I start down the stairs, the dejection weighting heavy in my chest and on every step down. Maybe I’d been expecting too much — after all, Wolf had told me that all I needed to do was show up and contest the hold that Envy had on his attention, and I’d clearly done that — but deep down, I’d been hoping for more. Hoping to be invited to stay, or to monopolize his attention to the point that Envy couldn’t keep making her overtures.

“That was absolutely adorable.”

I’d been looking at the ground, so the voice catches me by surprise; looking up, my breath hitches in my throat, and I stagger back a step when I see who it is:

Lust.

I immediately turn to look back towards the booth, to see if I can get Raikaron’s attention, but Lust snaps her fingers. “Don’t even think about it.” she warns. “I might not be able to do anything to you, but I can make his life miserable, and I will, if you try to go hide under his wing.”

I swallow hard at that, staring longingly at the safety of the booth before looking back to her. “What do you want?… my Lord. Apologies.”

She smirks at that, tossing her head so as to get some of her voluminous crimson hair out of her eyes. “Conversation. And you will provide it. Walk with me, little lamb.”

With that, she turns and starts walking, and I have no choice but to follow. I fight the urge to wrap my arms around myself as I follow her; tonight she’s dressed in a classic red dress that’s just a shade brighter than her hair, with the usual low cut in the front and the high slits along the side. The path she’s taking looks like it’ll lead us around the side of the Lounge, the portion that looks like a gallery wall for art.

“I didn’t realize you were interested in the Dreamer.” Lust remarks as she goes, reaching over and snatching a glass off the platter of a passing waiter. “That has to be a recent development. Those first few months you were here, you hated him. Everything about you screamed it. The only thing that spoke louder than that was how much you hated me.”

“I’m not interested in him.” I say quickly. Even if it’s a lie, I know that Lust is dangerous, and if I can shut her out of the internal politics of the House of Regret, then I should. The less she knows about our House, the less power she has over us.

“Oh, is that so?” she says, with only the barest glance over her shoulder. “Good for you, then. Syntaritovs are notoriously dangerous people to love.”

That response leaves me at a loss. I was expecting she’d try to call out my lie, but instead she rolled with it and replied with something that dared me to contradict her. All my social instincts go on high alert as I realize that Lust is a sly conversant, and I’ll need to have my guard up for this entire conversation. “What do you mean, they’re dangerous?” I ask carefully.

“Oh, you don’t know?” Lust says, sipping from her champagne flute. “It’s well-known among the supernatural community that Syntaritovs are tempestuous things. Creatures of madness and mischief, and nearly always make for a dangerous dalliance. Courting them is always a thrill, but it isn’t for everyone.”

“Raikar— Lord Syntaritov is dangerous, but he isn’t mad or mischievous.” I reply. “He’s stable. Wicked Wolf even called him well-adjusted compared to his relatives.”

“Oh, so you had a talk with the diva, did you?” Lust says as we reach the start of the gallery wall. “She doesn’t know him as well as she thinks she does.”

“I mean, she’s a goddess.” I point out. “I figure she knows what she’s talking about.”

Lust stops and turns to me. “A young goddess.” she says sharply. “Barely more than thirteen thousand years old. Trust me, she’s little more than a toddler by the measure of hypernaturals, and you should take her counsel with a grain of salt.”

I don’t say anything to that, intimidated by Lust’s fiery gaze and her terse takedown of Wolf. She turns back around and starts walking again, and I quietly continue to follow after her.

“Bear in mind that I am not doing this for my own benefit.” Lust continues as framed artworks slowly pass us by on the right. “I’m warning you for your sake. From the very start of their lineage, Syntaritovs have had a history of wild, twisted, and epic love stories. They put themselves and their lovers through a lot, and a good chunk of those breathless romances end in tragedy. If you were here to be punished for your mortal crimes, I’d say you’d deserve something like that, but you’re contract. I figure you should at least get a warning.”

The reply I want to make gets a moment of hesitation, but I say it anyway. “You’re making a lot of claims for someone that doesn’t have any proof to back it up.”

Lust snorts. “Proof. Anyone that knows anything about the Syntaritovs could recite the proof to you. The proof starts with the progenitors of their line, who were constantly trying to kill each other during the early years of their courtship. Murder dates, I heard they were called.”

I scoff at that. “You can’t be serious.”

“I’m not the only one that’s heard the story. It’s been well-circulated.”

“As part of the rumor mill.” I mutter.

She glances back at me. “If you doubt my word, why don’t you ask your precious Lord?” she retorts. “Either he’ll confirm the truth of it and share his family history with you, or he’ll evade the question without managing to lie, as he so often does.” Looking forward again, she starts to slow down and turn as we come up on one of the framed works. “But if you need further corroboration, consider the proof captured within art. You may not have noticed, but your Lord spent a considerable amount of time contemplating this piece earlier this evening. That is for a reason.”

She motions to to the piece we’ve stopped beside. I look to see that it’s a framed inkwork, about four feet tall, depicting one woman holding another that appears to be recently deceased, the stain of blood seeping from her lips — polluting her armor and the long-sleeved shirt beneath. The woman holding her is drawn in a rictus of teary grief, her long black hair draping over the dead woman, as she clutches a stained blade in the hand that is not looped around her companion.

“The name of this piece is The Synners, spelled with a Y — I suppose the artist just couldn’t pass up an easy pun.” Lust says, sipping from her glass. “It portrays your Lord’s ancestors, his great-grandmothers, in the aftermath of their tempestuous affair. Two souls, diametrically opposed, magnetically drawn, unwilling to compromise or yield the convictions that defined them. So often this is the story of Syntaritovs — their hubris, their ambition, their pride, becomes their grief and costs them the things which they love the most.” She looks to me at this point. “And it is often the people around them which pay the price.”

I fold my arms as I study the inkwork, how clean the lines are, the careful use of shaded ink to bring lifelike shadows to the monochrome composition. “Seems like you should be warning Envy about this.”

Lust smirks. “Envy is not seeking a sentimental arrangement. She has other reasons for pursuing a flirtation with Regret.”

“I don’t suppose you’re gonna tell me what those reasons are.”

“You’re a smart little thing. You can figure it out.”

“A lot of people think I’m smarter than I am.”

“Ah. So you’re the dumb blonde that all those jokes are about.”

I purse my lips; I don’t want to admit it, but she nailed me good on that one. She probably knew I was playing dumb to fish for information, and decided to roast me instead of taking the bait. “I suppose she thinks he’ll be useful if she can get between his sheets.”

“Useful. Yes, I suppose that’s one way to describe having a Syntaritov wrapped around your finger.” Lust says, mulling that over. “I would get a kick out of it if you beat her to his bed, though. She throws such fits when she doesn’t get what she wants.”

I glance at her. “You’re not on her side?” This is news to me.

“I’m on no one’s side.” Lust says, waving off the suggestion. “Unlike your sentimental master, I don’t play favorites. I’m an equal-opportunity sadist, and I like seeing my subordinates squirm. Watching you and Envy duke it out over Regret…” She rolls her head and shoulders, like it was giving her shivers. “…that’s primetime entertainment. Like a couple of hissing hellcats fighting over a tom.”

Rather than respond, I turn my attention back to the inkwork. I don’t want to encourage her because she clearly feeds off the drama like plants feed off sunlight. Instead, I study the art on the wall, the drifting flower petals in the work and the stunning detail with which they’re rendered. As I watch how they trail across the canvas from left to right, my gaze lights on the dead woman’s face, eyes closed and serene in death — she could be sleeping if it weren’t for the blood staining her lips and the corner of her mouth.

“I suppose the only question is, which one will you be at the end of it all?” Lust says, reaching out to give the glass a tap, right over the two women. “The casualty, or the one that’s cleaning it up?”

“Did you need anything else, or can I go now?” I ask, trying to keep as civil a tone as possible. I’ve got a feeling that the longer I’m in this situation, the higher the risk I’ll say something that I really shouldn’t. The sooner I can get away from Lust, the better.

“I didn’t need anything but entertainment.” Lust simpers, turning from the framed art on the wall. “It’s a real shame Raikaron wouldn’t trade you away to me; I’m pretty sure I would’ve gotten my money’s worth out of a fresh little thing like you, and all the drama you would’ve gotten into. I suppose I can’t fault him for knowing a good catch when he sees one.” She starts heading back the way we came, but leans in to whisper in my ear as she passes by. “No offense, but my money’s on Envy. A little lamb like you isn’t cut out for handling a wolf like him.”

And then she’s sauntering off, her heels clicking on the hardwood floor. I’m burning with indignation over her parting comment, but I don’t dare turn and shout at her. All the anger roiling in my chest has nowhere to go, and I ball my hands into fists as I look back to the inkwork of Raikaron’s ancestors, then at Lust’s retreating back.

I’m gonna make her eat those words.