The Hundred Reigns

Chapter 77: The Elf Conspiracy (4)

The traitors' ball opened up with an opera.

Lady Justine had built herself a private theater in her palace, and invited artists from all across the world to entertain her guests. Simon sat through three hours of Fablan masked pantomime, Cocagnian magical ballet, and then a live performance of the famous Gargauth opera showcasing the Second Overlord’s rise and fall from his point of view, where he was portrayed as a paper dragon who received his just comeuppance from Balzam the Just and Saintess Euphemia.

Simon thought he would hate a play based on his father, but it ended up being so absurdly inaccurate—down to portraying Balzam as a hammy warrior torn between his ‘eternal love’ for his dead first wife and his burgeoning affection for ‘kind’ Euphemia—that he couldn’t help but find it darkly comedic. The decision to showcase Gargauth as a dimwitted manchild lizard with an inexplicable obsession with virgin princesses was also both questionable and undoubtedly hilarious. The actors really carried the show on their performance alone.

The only other opera Simon had witnessed in his life was a performance back in Valne, and he had to admit he was starting to grow fond of these performances. Eole was right, perhaps he should try to become a bard one day. Maybe he would live a reign as a minstrel in the future, should necessity allow it.

After the opera, the guests were invited to put on their masks and costumes before mingling with everyone. Simon’s group was one of the last to show up in order to be fashionably late. Both Leonard and Meredith showed up in their Class outfits to act as security. Eole came dressed with a simple golden mask and a white dress that showcased her graceful figure well, whereas Belzemine wore a gown with a pair of false green wings.

They were both splendid, yet it was Simon’s ‘disguise’ that caught the most gazes. Many guests gasped and muttered at his approach. Their disbelief was palpable, but no one had yet to dare approach him to confirm their suspicions.

Reactions from his retinue were mixed. Meredith bit her lips in embarrassment while Eole covered her mouth to suppress her laughter. Even Belzemine seemed a tiny bit amused by the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Leonard eventually cleared his throat behind him. “If I may, Your Highness–”

“Please call me Your Majesty in public, Leonard,” Simon insisted.

“Your Majesty, there is a thin frontier between audacity and insanity,” Leonard said. “Should word of this reach Frightwall–”

“Then they can take their issues to my father,” Simon replied as they approached the ballroom. “Now hush, we have a role to play.”

The ball was said to be hosting a thousand and a half guests, and the palace’s ballroom venue could easily hold that many people. Hundreds of masked men and women wearing the latest imperial fashion were gathered under phantasmal candelabras lit by dancing illusory ghosts and served by a small army of imp waiters. Wine and water fountains provided all the refreshment the guests needed, alongside tables covered in the realm’s finest food.

An orchestra played a symphony on a stage, while Lady Justine dominated the gathering from atop a private dais. She came dressed to this ball with a silver mask covering the upper part of her face and a feathered gown of multicolored feathers, with little masked Henry sitting on her lap. They sat on thrones fanned by two demons, with a small line of courtiers walking up to them to either pay their respect or offer her gifts.

Lady Justine was the first to spot him entering the ballroom, and she clearly struggled to hide her laughter behind her fan. The ballroom otherwise fell eerily silent when he arrived, except for gasps and the sound of the occasional glass hitting the floor.

After all, who would dare show up to a masked ball full of traitors disguised as the Overlord?

He hadn’t been foolish enough to come in the actual Class outfit itself—the risk of discovery would have been too great—but a combination of pilfered knight armor and a ring of Fiendmask crafted by Belzemine turned him into the perfect lookalike of his own Overlord form. None could tell him apart from his father.

The real beauty of it all was that Balzam’s death remained a secret outside of a select few, so as far as most were concerned, the person in front of them might actually be the real Overlord coming to attend the party of the year.

Simon glanced at the silent crowd through his helmet’s slits, his eyes searching for the Flauros and Malphas families. He didn’t see them, but he was sure they were among the crowd. The silence was deafening, and almost unsettling.

What would Balzam do in this situation?

Oh yes, arbitrarily assert his dominance.

“Firewand, this ball’s mood is too dark,” Simon declared, pointing a finger at the nearest noble with the longest mantle. “Set that peasant’s cloak on fire to lighten it up.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” Belzemine replied before snapping her fingers. The nobleman’s mantle caught fire all of a sudden, and everyone in his vicinity screamed in alarm. The man ran towards the nearest fountain in his panic, much to Simon’s amusement. His helmet turned his laughter into a deep and cavernous sound that echoed into the ballroom. Eole seemed torn between condemning the gesture and being amused in spite of herself, whereas Leonard and Meredith were clearly dying of shame inside.

Well, he had warned them he might need to act the part.

Masked gargoyle guards with pitchforks all looked up to Lady Justine, waiting for her decision on whether to intervene or not… which she did.

“Your Majesty!” Lady Justine declared from atop her throne, a wide smile on her face. “How kind of you to grace us with your presence tonight!”

“A pity you failed to inform your guests that I would be attending this celebration,” Simon replied while struggling to suppress a fit of laughter. He had to give it to her; she knew how to roll with a joke.

“My apologies, I wanted to keep up the surprise and to keep your first dance for myself.” She put Henry aside and walked down her dais up to him and offered him her hand. “Shall we open the ball, Your Majesty?”

“With pleasure,” he replied gallantly. He let go of Eole and Belzemine to take center stage in the middle of the ballroom, taking Lady Justine’s hand into his own as guards pushed guests back to give them space.

Mmm?

Simon sensed a familiar rush coursing through his veins. Huh, I actually got some experience from this farce.Perhaps he should try to impersonate his father in a future reign. Only the assassin knew about his death within the first hour or so of the reigns, so disposing of the body and putting on a Fiendmask would be relatively easy. Simon doubted it would be a good idea until he had identified the actual killer, but he folded the idea into a corner of his mind for later.

“They are terrified of you,” Lady Justine mused once they began to waltz. Dancing in armor was a bit cumbersome, but Simon had grown used to wearing it over the course of his reigns. “They can’t make up their mind whether you are indeed the Overlord they should suck up to or an imposter about to be smote for his insolence, and the uncertainty paralyzes them.”

“Between us, I signed Balzam Magnos in the guestbook,” Simon replied. “It’s only a matter of time before someone notices.”

She actually chuckled at that. “I wonder how you can dance straight with balls that big. Would you have dared to do this if your father weren’t in the ground?”

“Probably not,” Simon admitted. His father might have taken some amusement at the charade, but he would have been more likely to see it as a threat to his authority and react poorly. “I wonder how long it’ll take until the secret of my father’s death stops being one. Patriate cannot keep his tongue tied.”

“You would be surprised. Obviously, he couldn’t keep something so big from me. A war is coming.”

Simon scoffed. “Is there any doubt?”

“To be honest, I would rather avoid one and keep my head on my shoulders, but the tide of events points to its inevitability.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Then again, I might be worrying too much. There is little my niece has to fear with a crafty seer for a husband.”

“I have no idea what you are talking about, Lady Justine.”

“I think otherwise.” She met his gaze. “Those dreams didn’t just cover your father’s death, am I wrong?”

Simon hesitated about how to answer. He had expected such a question when his dreams and hidden Visionary potential came up, but he had to be careful to reveal just enough tidbits to sound like an asset without showing too much of his hand.

“I don’t think half of what I saw will come to pass,” Simon replied. “Or if it does, the dreams have to be metaphorical.”

“They could be. What troubles you, my child?”

“I… I have a vision that keeps coming up,” Simon answered, “Of airships bearing the War Party’s flag raining fire down upon cities and forests, followed by a giant sword slicing a manatree apart while a black comet glows in the sky.”

Lady Justine’s smile faded into a scowl. “A giant sword cutting down a manatree?”

“Do you understand now why I say this has to be a metaphor of some sort?” Simon replied, secretly relishing in the sheer audacity of the gesture. With some luck, this would be eerily similar to whatever prophecy convinced the Oracle that Louis had to be stopped. “It seemed so vivid and yet unbelievable…”

“I wouldn’t exclude any scenario at face value. The world has seen many strange things.” Their waltz came to an end, to the polite applause of a spooked crowd. “My, will there be anyone brave enough to dance with you next?”

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“There are,” Simon said upon turning to Eole and addressing her in elven. “Do you dance, Eole?”

“I do,” she confirmed upon joining him.

Lady Justine picked another noble to be her partner, and soon other confident couples took over the dance floor. The shock of the disguised Overlord had now somewhat passed, though others gave him a wide berth.

Simon found himself guiding Eole through the waltz, his hand pressed on her back. She seemed a little clumsier than usual and largely left him to take the lead. “Is something wrong, Eole?”

“My people’s dances are less… regimented than this one,” Eole admitted. “I am learning, though.”

“So long as you’re having fun.”

“I am,” she said with a wide, genuine smile. “You should open up a theater.”

“We could do that one day.” That would give Simon something to look forward to after preventing the civil war, the Zodiac Parade, and all the assassination attempts on his person. “Elaine told me she asked you to sing the closing melody?”

“She did.” Eole bit her lip. “You were right, the Malphas’ are more than what they seem. They have asked me too many questions about Vouivre, Telluria, and shifter politics for it to merely be innocent curiosity. I think they are planning something here at this party.”

“I think so as well,” Simon replied as he sensed a presence brushing against his mind.

“Your Majesty,” Belzemine contacted him through telepathy. “A man matching Lord Robert Flauros’ description invited me to dance with him. How should I react?”

“Hesitantly accept,” Simon replied mentally. He had suspected that a Flauros would be the one to approach her, since she would recognize Patriate’s voice and distrust it. “He will likely lead you to a private area and then remove your Brands. Proceed with the plan after we lose contact.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

If Simon was correct, then his next dancing partner should approach him the moment he finished his waltz with Eole and keep him busy while the Flauros scion isolated Belzemine away from onlookers.

And he was right.

True to her earlier promise, Elaine Malphas came wearing a black dress adorned with fake wings to match Eole’s real ones. Simon easily recognized her allure in spite of her porcelain mask covering the upper part of her face, and the flamboyant courtier in red and black next to her was likely her father.

“A dance, Your Majesty?” Elaine asked, her voice clear.

“With pleasure,” Simon replied before surrendering Eole to Patriate and sharing a dance with his fiancée. “I was looking for you.”

“Did you fear another noble would steal me away?” Elaine mused once they began to waltz. Simon spotted Belzemine with Lord Robert Flauros on the other side of the ballroom. “I still can’t believe you came dressed like this. It is so brazen it borders on foolish.”

“This may be the one and only time I can pull something like this,” Simon replied as the song changed. Did it serve as some sort of signal for the various traitors to organize? For now, he pretended not to notice anything. “I would rather dance on my father’s grave, but I will settle on besmirching his name.”

“It worked,” Elaine replied. “Quite a few guests actually believe you are Balzam himself.”

“Are you unhappy with it?”

“I love a practical joke,” she said, though Simon couldn’t tell whether she was truthful or not, “But my father wasn’t as amused as my aunt. You spooked many people.”

Which was the goal, Simon thought. The conspiracy was now forced to show its hand, whether by involving him or forcing him to unmask at the ball’s end, because the fear that Balzam Magnos might still be alive and among them would be enough to cow many potential supporters. “And here I hoped it would help you loosen up.”

She chuckled. “Truly?”

“Don’t take it personally, but I’ve grown up surrounded by backstabbers and madmen,” Simon said. “I can sense you’re keeping your true self close to your chest and aren’t honest with me. I would rather know you, you understand?”

“Yes, I do.” Elaine took a deep breath and, for the first time since he met her, Simon had the feeling he could truly catch a glimpse of the real person behind the facade. “To be blunt, I was afraid you would be just another Magnos prince.”

Simon scoffed behind his helmet. “I’m not sure how I should take that.”

“As a compliment,” Elaine replied bluntly. “Prince Louis is mad, Prince Thalas is a petty bully, and even Prince Dassein shipped Eole to Frightwall to serve as a slave concubine. Cruelty runs deep in your house.”

“I count myself fortunate for my mother keeping me away from them for years,” Simon replied earnestly once their dance came to an end. “Another round?”

“I was about to ask,” Elaine said. Simon noticed both Eole and Belzemine’s dancing duos were gone when the song quickly resumed. “I won’t lie, I’m pleasantly surprised. I regret not talking to you earlier back in Frightwall. You’re unlike the other Magnos children.”

“Because I don’t look down on you?”

“For a start, and you’re earnest.” The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on Simon, who was thankful his helmet hid his expression. “This empire is built on so many lies, and truthful people are a rare breed.”

“Now you understand why I was so determined to leave it,” Simon replied. “Honestly, this ball just solidified my opinion. So many worms here would kill their parents if the Overlord ordered them to.”

Elaine smiled mysteriously. “People are more resilient than you think, Simon.”

Playing coy, are we? “Hardly. I doubt they’ll even think about rising up when my father’s death becomes public,” Simon replied. “Louis frightens them too much, and Euphemia holds Frightwall. The Warrior and the Judge scare them almost as much as the Overlord.”

“Maybe… but they’re not the Overlord either.” Elaine didn’t give him time to breathe once the song reached its end. “Another dance?”

“Again?”

“Don’t tell me you’re tired, especially now that we’re finally making a breakthrough,” Elaine teased him lightly.

“Fine,” Simon replied as the two whirled together again for the third time in a row. Leonard and Meredith had loosened up enough to join the dance floor by now, though Belzemine and Eole were still missing.

Simon quickly learned why when he sensed the bond connecting him to Belzemine shatter in the back of his mind. Having mentally prepared himself for it, he continued to dance without showing any reaction.

It begins, Simon thought before addressing Elaine outloud. “You truly think people will rebel once they think my father’s dead?”

“I do,” Elaine agreed. “The situation would have been different if another Magnos had inherited the throne to keep the empire united, but the new Overlord is a stranger and unaccounted for.”

Hence why your father murdered me when the High Council tried to turn me into a puppet ruler. “True… until a Magnos kills the new one and takes the Class. That Casval’s days are numbered.”

“Would it work even if they kill him?” Elaine pointed out. “If a testament can indeed allow an Overlord to pick a successor and if the Class doesn’t transfer to their killer, then everything we assumed about how it works is wrong. Maybe the Crimson Throne found the Magnos line unworthy and passed them over.”

She’s not wrong, Simon thought. He had already reached the conclusion that the testament barely affected the Overlord Class transfer, if at all. He strongly suspected it simply went to whoever had killed the last Overlord the most. Which would be Vouivre or Casval in my case… another dragon with the Class is not a pleasant thought.

Elaine took his silence for thoughtfulness. “I just blew your mind, didn't I?”

“I didn’t think of it,” Simon lied. “But now that I do… if the Overlord is crushed under a rock, would the rock become the new Overlord?”

For once, Elaine’s laughter sounded genuine and rang out until the song’s end. An imp walked up to them once the dance reached its conclusion.

“Your Majesty, Lady Justine calls for you and your dancing companion,” the demonic creature said. “A gathering most selective you must attend.”

“A gathering?” Simon asked, though his heart skipped a beat in anticipation. All was going as he predicted. “Do you know anything about this, Elaine?”

“Yes,” she replied warily, though she quickly corrected her expression. “We shouldn’t make my aunt wait.”

I am either going to be disposed of if I’m considered too high a risk, or introduced into the conspiracy. Simon glanced at Leonard and Meredith, who had stopped dancing and observed them with a hint of concern. “Enjoy yourselves,” he reassured them, “I will be back shortly.”

He and Elaine walked after the imp, leaving his two retainers behind. A few nobles almost immediately swarmed them the moment Simon left. Those two would be extensively grilled by the nobility to check whether or not their master was indeed the Overlord.

The imp guided them to a heavily guarded lounge on the upper floor. Lady Justine personally arrived to greet them on the threshold alongside a cadre of demonesses. Her ogre bodyguard carried a thick scroll in his hands.

“My niece, Lord Simon,” she said upon seeing them, dropping the charade. “The next room is a mask-off area, for security purposes. You’ll have to leave your helmet and mask behind.”

“Security?” Simon asked, feigning slight surprise. “Elaine… what’s going on here?”

Elaine’s gaze went from him to her aunt. “Did my father agree to let him in?”

“Yes. She insisted he be involved, because he was kind and sympathetic to her during her stay in Frightwall.” Lady Justine flapped her fan, and her ogre bodyguard presented Simon with a document. “Nonetheless, I insisted that he sign the pact for everyone’s safety.”

Simon glanced at the document, which was some sort of contract written in both Endymian and abyssal runes. It was written in blood, like all demonic documents, and signed by dozens of people… including Eole.

“Other esteemed guests have vouched for you, but we require… guarantees,” Lady Justine explained. “This is a devil’s contract that will bind your soul the moment you sign. It will strike you with powerful penalties should you violate its contents.”

“A devil’s contract?” Simon asked as he read the document. The text was relatively short and to the point, preventing him from sharing anything of what he learned inside the lounge under the pain of being immediately struck mute, magically slain, and being hounded by demons if he somehow survived. “Am I being blackmailed?”

“You need to sign it out of your own free-will for the effect to work, so you cannot be coerced. I promise your safety and that there will be no personal consequences to your person should you refuse, though obviously we’ll keep an eye on you so you don’t speak of this to anyone.” Lady Justine flapped her fan at him. “Don’t tell me you will chicken out at the last minute after the stunt you just pulled in my ballroom?”

“You wanted proof that things can change in Endymion,” Elaine said. She had fully dropped all of her earlier courtesy. “Beyond this threshold is the proof, and your chance to make a difference. Don’t waste it, Simon.”

“I would have you sign with your blood, but we moved on to ink a while back,” Lady Justine quipped. “Sign with your real name this time.”

Simon feigned hesitation. Truth be told, he was already set on signing, but he was wise enough not to look too eager. No one in their right mind would be eager to magically contract with such dubious people, especially when surrounded by demonic guards. He said nothing for a good minute, his eyes traveling from one person to another before fixating on Eole’s name signed on the registry as if it were the decisive factor.

“I want to see her first,” he demanded warily.

“Concerned for your retainer? You might have competition for his heart, Elaine.” Lady Justine turned to one of the guards. “Bring the kish.”

A minute later, Eole stepped out of the lounge with a wide smile on her face. “Simon, it’s amazing,” she said in elvish, her voice brimming with enthusiasm. “Beyond anything I expected.”

“I’m relieved to see you safe,” Simon said, glaring at Justine. “Did she threaten you?”

“No, no. Firewand and I insisted that you come. We–” She held her breath for a second, perhaps because the contract sent her a mental warning not to say too much. “I cannot say more until you sign, but I swear to you you will not regret it.”

It was as you predicted, went unsaid. Simon pretended to hesitate a moment before signing with a quill provided by an imp majordomo. He felt the contract’s power take hold the moment he wrote down his full name. Such a contract made for a rather effective defense to protect a spy ring.

A pity his Treacherous Title would let him violate the terms without any penalties, but Simon gave them points for trying.

This is going well. Showing up dressed as the Overlord had alleviated most suspicions about himself, because no one in their right mind would wear that armor to a traitor’s ball, and no loyal thrall of Endymion would dare disrespect their tyrant of a leader by assuming his identity. Audacity opens so many doors.

“Now, tell me what’s going on,” Simon all but ordered Elaine. “This party is just a cover, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Elaine replied with a sigh of relief. Had she feared he would refuse and need to be executed? “You’ll understand the moment you step inside.”

“Come,” Eole said upon taking his hand. Her enthusiasm was palpable. “Come and see.”

Simon removed his helmet, left it in an imp’s hand, and followed his allies inside the lounge. It was a large, windowless plush salon where dozens of people had gathered to sit on comfortable sofas, including Lord Robert Flauros, Patriate, Belzemine, and a few others he didn’t recognize. A certain, familiar banner sat atop the burning fireplace.

The white on blue flag of the White Unicorn.

He was in.