Midsummer! That magical time, when all the houses unite to celebrate our diversity and exchange news. For the next two months, each house opens its doors to the touring visitors from all the others as we participate in the grand traditions of our ancient heritage! Let there be no ill will, as we begin the year anew.

-A Time To Celebrate!

The Midsummer Gala took place in a private arena owned by the Varon Reirn. Tables were hung around the edges of the room, staircases of rainbow light painted on the air leading up and down from them. (Most people eschewed the stairs in favor of simply flying to their chosen table, but the stairs were beautiful.) The center of the hall was for dancing, which took place in four tiers, from the ground level to the pale yellow and faint red at the top.

Varon’s house colours were very much on display, reds prominent, yellows and greens frequent, but all ten powers featured prominently throughout the decorations.

And then there were the people. I’d grown used to the general casual outfits of House Varon, the different power levels declared openly and prominently. But no such convention applied to the gala attendees.

Desten wore an extravagant outfit of deep red in four complementary shades, with gleaming accents of power drawn around the edges between layers in his yellow fire. He very quickly abandoned me, politely dismissing himself to go dance with a woman in a sweeping blue gown held in elaborate drapes by tiny knots of silver light. Desten quickly accented these with his own yellow, to the woman’s obvious pleasure. She traced lines of silver light across the front of his jacket, and they walked off arm in arm.

So this is the person he’s been courting. Hm. Sarosa, almost certainly.

I meandered through the hall, keeping an eye out for any glint of yellow power. It wasn’t rare, but it was less commonplace than others. Thankfully, the gala seemed to encourage as much showing off of one’s power as possible while maintaining polite decorum.

I found three people with yellow power who were not named Desten, whose names were thankfully nothing close. Ever since talking with the reirn, I had a vague disquiet about that. What if I’d mis-heard, and it was a Desrin, or a Destar? In this case, the trend toward naming children Desten to match their yellow power actually helped me. No one I met had a name that was close-but-not-quite. It was either decidedly Desten, or decidedly not.

An hour or so into my search I stumbled upon Desten 3, sitting and debating with an older man in Novarot green and orange.

I turned to leave, but he saw me before I’d taken two steps.

“Astesh! Come over here a moment. I need your insights.”

I reluctantly joined his conversation, in which he seemed to be trying to convince Eirn Veyt Novarot that they must establish stronger assurances between the houses before they inevitably collapsed into petty squabbles, while Eirn Veyt insisted the only possible solution was to insist that any lessening of the incursions must be a deliberate holding-back in precursor to a single, final, devastating future attack for which we must remain ever vigilant. Whether this claim was true or not, it would unite the houses.

Desten was unconvinced by this deception, and I had to side with him. “Any attempt to force an alliance through deception will inevitably be discovered, and things will be even worse for the fact that we lied.”

“It may not be a lie,” Veyt said. “For all we know, that truly is what is happening.”

“It seems more likely we’ve simply killed enough of them that there are fewer left to send, and weaker when they arrive,” Desten insisted.

“Or they’re taking over the rest of the world, while we sit by and do nothing.” Veyt wasn’t backing down. “We have no way to know they aren’t simply establishing a foothold on a distant island before unleashing their full power against us.”

“Hold on,” I interrupted when Veyt finally paused. “I was under the impression these incursions were largely unintelligent or at least non-sentient beasts? Have they displayed any evidence of that sort of long-term planning?”

Desten 3 jumped on my question eagerly. “No, there’s been no indication of a guiding intellect behind any of the incursions. We don’t even know if they’re independent of each other or from the same source, only that an incursion is often preceded by a particularly bright star as it approaches.”

“But they might be.” Veyt wasn’t going to let it go. “It would be just like them to lull us into a false sense of security, watch until we started fighting among ourselves, then descend upon us in an unprecedented slaughter.”

“So you’re in agreement that we need to find a way to prevent the collapse of the alliance,” Desten pressed.

“We need to ensure that we remain strong enough to fight off even an extra large incursion force. Of course, in the interests of such an end, some houses are clearly more essential than others.”

“And, I suppose Novarot is one of the most important ones?”

“Of course. Our animata are unrivaled. Teshron, though, what do they actually offer? Taking all the most fertile areas in that corner of the land, and squandering it on their …” Veyt made a disgusted face, “gardens and mazes and landscaping. We could feed half the alliance with the fields they’ve turned into decorations.”

“What practical use are your animata, again?” I interjected. “I can’t say I’ve seen or heard of them.”

Desten gave me a faint smile, while Veyt narrowed his eyes in disapproval. “And who are you again?”

“Astesh Varon is a fellow scholar,” Desten said at once. "Who has my utmost respect.”

I inadvertently raised my eyebrows at that. I hadn’t realized our previous discussion had that much of an impact on him.

Veyt seemed to agree with my assessment. “Pah. Some scholar. If you don’t even know what animata are, you hardly deserve the title.”

“I had very limited reference materials to work with until recently. And one would almost think you didn’t want to tell us about your animata after all? If it’s too complicated a subject for you, I can always look them up independently. I’m sure there’s some Novarot scholars who actually know their house’s specialties.”

Veyt gave me the disdainful look of someone who picked up on every bit of my insincerity and false politeness, but was making a point of not mentioning it out of an equal measure of insincere false politeness. Perhaps a greater measure, in his eyes. “Animata is the general term for an independent device that has been animated. Novarot’s specialized animata are constructed for fighting incursions, providing armor and cover for the defenders. Thanks to the constant improvements of our combat animata, casualties from recent incursions have been significantly lower than in previous generations.”

Veyt sketched out a half-bubble mounted over a reclined seat upon a curved platform, a miniature sculpture of green light that overall vaguely resembled a clam shell.

“Complete protection from attacks from above or the front, with open sides to launch counter-attacks, and the back clear to provide an easy escape route should the animata be too damaged to continue flying,” Veyt explained proudly, pointing out the parts of the image.

“Can’t Varon create shields that surround them completely without needing to lug a heavy thing like that around?” I asked.

Veyt’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, Varon does think itself above the rest of us, doesn’t it. No wonder you see no hubris in trying to single-handedly hold the alliance in stasis forever. If you allow no change, you allow no growth.”

“We’ve strayed far from our topic,” Desten said.

“And your topic is one I have no interest in pursuing further.” Veyt stood, the light image fracturing and vanishing as he did so. “I have offered my thoughts on the matter, and you insist on your childish naivete. I won’t waste everyone’s time trying to convince you of your own idiocy any longer. Good day, Varon. Varon.” He gave us each a nod with the exact right amount of deference to not be impolite, then walked firmly away.

“Nice seeing you again,” I said, then turned to depart.

Desten stopped me. “Wait a moment, please.”

I turned back.

“Do you have your itinerary planned already for the tour season?”

“I’ll probably be staying here.”

“No! And waste an intellect like yours? You should come with me! I’ll arrange everything. It would be splendid to have an ally by my side. I admit I am not best suited for this sort of discourse.”

“And I am?”

“Better two together than each alone. What do you say?”

I hesitated. I did rather like Desten 3, but there was still the question of if he might be a secret killer. His ideas for unity didn’t scream ‘murderer’ to me. If he were going to kill anyone, it probably wouldn’t be me, so long as he saw me as an ally. He had no reason to think I was even aware of his existence, if he were the killer.

But I had already been living in the power of one Desten. Did I really want to jump under the jurisdiction of another? Especially one who had no particular reason to shelter me if any hints of my true background were to come to light? At least Desten 1 had the reirn’s command to teach me. Desten 3 had nothing but his own self-interest in mind.

While on the other hand, Desten 1 did only his duty. Desten 3 was offering from his own free desires.

Desten 3 laughed. “I see you need some time to think about it. No need to rush into a decision. We’ve got all week before it’s time to move on. I’ll be visiting Sarosa next and heading around the coast, so if you decide to come along after I leave you’re welcome to catch up halfway.”

We parted, him to immediately enter another debate with a couple in the glittering purple and cyan of Utrenad, myself to continue wandering the party in hopes of spotting someone with the right colour of power. I didn’t hold out much hope that every Desten would be easily located, but it would be foolish to be anything but thorough.

“Desten, don’t be like this,” someone said nearby, and I spun to face them. A group of women sat together at a small table, half-eaten plates before them as the rest of them burst into laughter.

“I just don’t see any point to it,” another woman said, deliberately placing a grape in her mouth.

“Come on, you can tell us,” put in a third.

I frowned at the group, thinking I must have misheard.

“Desteennnn, please?”

Hm. There was no one else near enough to be involved in their conversation, so it must be one of them. Well, I could confidently say that the killer was in fact male, so if one of them is a Desten it’s one fewer to be worried about.

They all wore Varon colours, so I tentatively labeled her as Desten Varon 8, and not a suspect. Progress, of a sort.

I continued my wandering, and no one seemed to notice me. Even my extravagant outfit was cut in Varon tay colours, making it clear that I was low powered. Though the fact that I was one of only a handful of people actually walking instead of flying everywhere also drove home the fact that I was very out of place.

“And they stole his stone!” someone said in a carrying whisper, eliciting gasps from her audience. I wandered closer, curious to see if they were talking about Fylen. I’d have thought that would be old news by now, but it wouldn’t hurt to know what everyone else knew about the whole thing.

“But, that’s cruel!” put in a second woman in Sarosa blue. “How will his family mourn him properly if they don’t have his stone?”

“And worse, with his body all torn apart like that. It’s utterly distasteful. If stupid idiots have to go around killing each other, can’t they at least do it with some civility?”

Murmurs of agreement.

I frowned. They seemed more concerned by the treatment of the body than the fact that someone was dead.

“Children and their duels,” muttered someone else, a man in Teshron teal and pink. “You should ban death fights if you don’t want them killing each other.”

A woman in Leetan yellow and green tittered. “Oh, no, that would be a terrible solution. Then they’d lose and grow bitter and drag everyone down into their petty squabbles. No, far better to have a simple winner and loser.”

“Spoken like someone who never cared for anyone but herself,” the Teshron man murmured.

“I care a great deal for my people,” the Leetan woman replied haughtily. “Typical Teshron, resorting to personal attacks whenever anyone disagrees with you.” She waved a hand. “You, Varon, you agree with me, don’t you?”

It took a moment to realize she was talking to me. “What?”

“It’s far better to settle serious conflicts with a permanent outcome, rather than let them build up into idiocy.”

“I, don’t, um,” I fumbled, trying to put my thoughts in order. “Killing each other seems excessive and pointless. Not that it’ll stop people from doing it, but why encourage it?”

“Tch, so Varon is finally giving in to that weak-willed nonsense? How are we supposed to make the next generation stronger if we don’t let them do anything that matters?”

“Killing other children over stupid slights is hardly something that matters,” the Teshron man replied. “Far better to teach them how to deal with their emotions and move on rather than encouraging them to flare up at the slightest provocation. If we encouraged more civil discussion over disagreements, they wouldn’t escalate to such an extent that the winner saw fit to desecrate the loser so disgracefully.”

They seemed to have forgotten me, so I slowly backed away.

“Nonsense. We simply need to put clearer boundaries in place. Eltas fought well, if the arena is any indication, but he had obviously underestimated his opponent.”

I stopped short. Eltas? So they weren’t talking about Fylen? Was this kind of thing commonplace?

“If that were all it was, why is this happening?”

“Once news got out about Arish, everyone wanted to get in on it,” said the first speaker derisively.

“Yes, it’s become one of those stupid copycat fads. It’s honestly sickening. You’d think someone should put a stop to it.”

I couldn’t agree more.

How many people had been killed and desecrated? Was it really just some stupid kids getting up to no good?

One more question to ask killer Desten when I finally caught up to him.

I ventured back toward them. “Who were Arish and Eltas? I hadn’t heard about them.”

“Oh, haven’t you?” The Leetan woman asked. “I thought everyone would have. Well, Eltas, may he rest lightly, was some disgruntled offspring of that ill-conceived Utrenad-Leetan trend that was so popular in the ‘60s. Thank the heights my own children were too young to be caught up in that idiocy, it had imploded on itself well before they could get involved.”

“Which side?” asked another woman.

“Eltas? He was Utrenad, naturally. If he were in my circles, this would never have been allowed.”

“Then how do you know about it?”

“Well, it’s not as though a couple hours is enough to stop news like this from getting around. He may not be family but he’s still related. And to hear he got himself in too far and butchered like that is simply shocking.”

I began to doubt the sincerity of these protests. It felt almost like they were trying to sensationalize the story as much as possible, at this point. The crowd around them had certainly continued to grow, and I doubted I’d get any clear answers out of them at this point.

I excused myself and went to find a nice balcony to stand on away from everyone else. Which was harder than it sounded, since climbing a lot of steps was no deterrent to those who could simply fly. So really, the best spots for avoiding others were closer to the ground floor.

I tucked myself away and spent a long time just breathing. I wasn’t built for this kind of people-everywhere politics and mingling and gossiping and what have you. I felt like I needed to retreat to a library for a week to recover, but these parties would be going on every evening for the rest of the week and if I wanted to find other Destens I should try to attend as many as possible. Desten 1 would be at all of them, as close line to the reirn he had little choice in the matter, even if he’d chosen a life of military service over playing the political games.

At times like these, I found myself more empathetic toward Desten 1. He may be stern, gruff, and have an erratic temper, but for the most part he was calm and steady and got things done. If I’d asked him what was going on with these killings, I’m sure his answer would have been straightforward and not part of an elaborate attempt to put down another house and show off how great he was.

Hmm. There’s a thought. Now that it wasn’t just the political time bomb that was the Sarosa heir’s murder, now that there were other deaths with the same method going on, apparently pretty widespread in geography as well, there was no reason to assume he’d be suspicious of my inquiry.

Would it be a risk? Perhaps. Well, definitely yes. He was still terrifying, even if he wasn’t a killer. But if I wanted a straight answer, clearly gossiping with the visitors wasn’t the ideal way to go about obtaining it.

I had to take some risks, or I’d never learn anything. Tonight, then. After the party was over, when we returned home, I’d find out what he had to say.