A decade earlier, one of the fads in Valdt had been wedding ceremonies conducted using the customs of the ancients. The popularity of this trend had long since waned, so while a few of these temples still existed, business was scarce. This was fortuitous for Roland, as it meant that he had no problem finding a suitable priest on short notice. The ceremony would be performed entirely in Maydoinet. Roland wrote out all of the words phonetically and rehearsed the ceremony with the priest before they began. He had also gone through it once with Mallory. She could speak Maydoinet, although she couldn’t read or write the language.

In the late afternoon, before they were due attend the tastemaker event, Mallory and Roland met with the priest to perform the ceremony. In words he did not recognize, the priest began.

“Gonswin, Celestial of Fate, allow us an audience so that you may hear the vows of this couple. If you judge their words to be truthful and their love to be sincere, may you intertwine their souls through this life and next, and grant this union the same permanence as your kingdom.”

He looked up from his script to make eye contact with the couple.

“Do you both offer yourselves to each other, without lie or illusion?”

Roland and Mallory both nodded yes.

“Accept the faults and weaknesses of the other as a part of your own being?”

They nodded yes.

“Finally, will you relinquish any selfish desires and secret ambitions?”

Yes.

“Then state the phrase that binds.”

In unison, Roland and Mallory said, “I now know as much as the day I was born but with you I won’t be frightened.”

The priest raised a cup. It contained the reagent that Roland had prepared. The mixture was simple: fresh bolvum milk that had been sweetened with tevia almonds.

“Drink from this cup. May its taste be the last bitterness that you ever share.”

Roland smiled. Before they drank, he uttered the power words, “Swift Light Break.” Like the rest of the ceremony, this phrase was spoken in Maydoinet where it made even less sense.

In turn they both sipped from the cup that the priest gave them.

Normally, this drink should taste quite pleasant, perhaps even saccharine. That was not the case here. Not only did the milk in this cup taste unsweetened but it seemed like it was spoilt. Its sharp, acrid taste made it difficult to swallow, but they both did.

With that, the ceremony was finished.

“What part of the bolvum did that milk come out of?” asked Mallory as they were leaving. She was still trying to get the horrible aftertaste out of her mouth. “That milk tasted like it had been left out in the sun for a week.”

“What were you expecting,” laughed Roland. “The magic makes it bitter. That’s part of ceremony.”

“Is it? It wasn’t in the book. Also, I saw one of these in person when I was kid. It seemed just like a regular wedding except you drink some wine at the end instead of kissing. I was young but the couple didn’t wretch when they shared the drink.”

“Oh? Do you know a lot about this spell? I’ve heard it’s often performed incorrectly. That must have been what you witnessed.”

Mallory looked at Roland trying to figure out how much he knew.

He smiled, “Don’t worry, though. I’m very familiar with soul linking. I have memories of instructions from Gonswin himself. So I did it properly. After all, I wouldn’t want to disappoint my beautiful bride on our wedding day.”

Mallory’s look changed from one of suspicion to that of slight contempt. Out of the side of her mouth she let out a “Wonderful.”

***

As they made their way to the mansion where the gathering was being held, Mallory went on again about her plan for getting Nick’s painting exhibited.

“If this fails, we’ll have to sneak the painting into the art gallery’s great hall. I’m not thrilled about that idea — someone could easily find it and have it removed before the exhibition.” She could tell Roland was not interested. “Anyways, I doubt things will get too crazy tonight. Definitely no water sports. But it also won’t simply be dry humping and heavy petting. Just don’t expect to get your back blown out.”

“Is this how you thought you’d spend your wedding night?” asked Roland.

“At a yuppie sex party? Not really. With the Princess Eliza? Yes.” She seemed pleased with herself. “I always thought that visualization was a complete load of shit. How could you achieve your life’s goals by simply picturing the outcomes? However, when coupled with masturbation, eh, maybe it has some merit.”

“Yeah, you really cracked the code,” said Roland.

Their destination was in the centre of Valdt. The structure was incongruous with the dense but classically beautiful urban area that surrounded it. First, its size dwarfed the neighbouring buildings. Second, it had an austere and unwelcoming design. It didn’t look like a private residence at all, just like an administrative building. Or perhaps a prison. One would never have assumed that anyone would want to live here. However, like Mallory had told Roland earlier, there was a giant ankh outside.

There were four masked doorkeepers at the front of the building. They all wore leather armour and had short swords hanging from their belts. They carefully watched Roland and Mallory approach the door.

“We’re here for the tastemaker event,” said Mallory. “This cute little smash piece is my plus one.” She put her arm around Eliza’s shoulders.

“Do you have the password?” asked one of the doorkeepers.

“Bespoke codpiece,” whispered Mallory.

One doorkeeper nodded as another let them in.

Roland and Mallory entered a long foyer. Like the outside of the building, it had a minimalist design, although it wasn’t as unwelcoming. Its main function seemed to be to draw any guests attention to the entrance to the great hall that stood at its far end. From what glimpses Roland and Mallory could see at this distance, it appeared as if the party was already well underway in that room. Music and quiet chatter poured out. There seemed to be many people socializing in there. They were also all wearing the same costume: robes and masks.

A woman wearing a lace cocktail dress with a jacket approached the pair as they were looking around. “Marigold Gadabout?” she asked. “And this, I presume, is your guest?”

“Yeah, sure,” replied Mallory. “We need our own orgy robes and masks for this thing or what?”

“Your cloaks are in there,” said the woman pointing to a side room with a rack of hanging cloaks. “I’ll have your masks ready when you’re done changing.”

As Mallory and Roland were putting on their cloaks, Roland noticed that Mallory was trying to attach a small bag to the inside of hers. It was her bag of holding. She pulled some pins out from inside of the bag and attached it so that it would be hidden when she was wearing the cloak.

“Spear’s in there,” said Mallory. “In case someone that isn’t me decides to get super weird.”

As they left the changing room, the woman returned with an assistant who was carrying a large box.

“The atmosphere in here might be a bit too stodgy for my tastes, but I can’t deny that you guys are pros,” said Mallory. “You do event planning for other sex parties or just gigs for the owners of this eyesore?”

“We work exclusively for the art lords,” replied the woman.

Mallory snorted at that stupid title.

“Here are your masks for tonight,” said the woman. Her demeanour had changed from one of professional indifference to that of snooty contempt. She pulled out two masks from the box and handed them to Mallory and Roland.

“Great — a masquerade ball-theme,” said Mallory looking at the golden-feather mask she was given. “Although, even by those low standards this is some pretty gaudy stuff.”

Roland put on his silver-ornamented mask.

“How are we supposed to know who the curator is if everyone is wearing masks?” asked Roland once the woman and her assistant were out of earshot.

“Easy. She dyed her hair recently. So she should have green streaks. Or was it mauve? I think she was going for a punk mermaid look? You know that type.” Roland didn’t even bother to sigh at this inanity, but Mallory carried on like he did. “Whatever, just look for the girl with daddy issues.” Mallory thought for a moment. “Sorry, that’s not helpful in this crowd. It will be the girl with daddy issues that isn’t into cutting or anal but really enjoys fisting.”

“Thanks for sweating the details,” said Roland as they entered the great hall.

***

The great hall was dimly lit so if there was anything that was impressive about its decoration it was hidden in the shadows. The size wasn’t that immense either. There were only few dozen people in here, yet it felt crowded. A quartet of musicians on string instruments were pushed up against the wall on one side of the room. They were plucking away on some piercing number. It would have been more suitable for a seance than what was ostensibly a poetry-sex party. Fortunately, the acoustics in the hall were so terrible that their noise was easily tuned out.

Naked servants that had only their faces covered by domino masks worked through the crowded room. They ensured that every guest had a glass of wine in their hands. Some of these servants also carried around trays with various hot and cold appetizers.

“Nice dick, pal,” said Mallory to one of the servants as she grabbed a handful of bite-sized flavour bombs from his plate. “I wouldn’t wear a mask if I was walking around with that mace.” She proceeded to stuff all of the flavour bombs that she had taken into her mouth.

“No need for manners if no one knows who I am,” she said as she pointed to her mask.

“Uh huh,” replied Roland as he surveyed the room. He saw no signs of a woman with coloured hair like Mallory had described.

The other guests all seemed to be involved in the arts in one way or another. However, because of the masks everyone was wearing, they were all unsure of how much of their personal lives they were supposed to divulge. As a result, most of the discussions that Roland overheard degenerated into uninteresting small talk about the news of the day in Valdt.

Just as Roland was starting to get tired of standing around, a man wearing a bright puffy outfit entered the room. His clothing was garish even by the standards of the ridiculous masks everyone had on.

“This guy definitely jerks off in front of people without their consent,” said Mallory to another guest.

He signalled the musicians to stop playing and then moved towards the centre of the room as he began to speak.

“Greetings, I am the impresario for tonight’s event. Now that you’ve all had a chance to introduce yourselves — well, at least as much as anonymity permits — I’m sure we’re all eager to begin the main event. As you were all directly told, that will involve poetry. Very stimulating. At least, emotionally and intellectually. Indirectly, though, you are all well aware that tonight’s poetry will be paired, or rather followed, with other activities. These will also be quite stimulating.

“Although apologies in advance — I will not be joining you in those activities.”

Mallory started applauding. This befuddled the impresario.

“Excuse me?” he asked, staring at her.

“Oh,” she said. “I was just wondering if those naked servers are coming through again with a second round of appetizers? Or is the kitchen closed?”

“No,” replied the impresario. “I mean yes, the kitchen is closed. No, there will not be more appetizers.”

He shook his head then went back to his prepared remarks.

“So let us begin with a toast: to an evening of rhyme and grind! Word play and ball play! Prose and penetration!”

The impresario smiled and shook his head as he waited for a response to these lines. If his comments were meant to be a humorous attempt to put everyone at ease, it hadn’t worked. There wasn’t so much as an awkward laugh. Just a few scattered whispers.

He took a sip of his wine, then finished his speech.

“Yes, well, if you’ll follow me, we can proceed to the chamber where tonight’s main event will take place.”

***

The group of about twenty people followed the impresario out of the great hall and through a labyrinth of hallways. They then descended a long staircase where the only lighting was a faint violet glow whose source was unclear. The smell of oil and ozone hung in the air. At the bottom of the staircase was a steel door that looked far too heavy for a single person to open by themselves. The impresario pushed a button and, after the noise of gears pulling a taut chain, the door moved to the side.

“Strong murder basement vibes going on here,” muttered Mallory.

The room beyond the steel door was like nothing else in the house. They had walked into what appeared to be the base of a tall cylinder. There was a raised platform at the centre. It was only a few inches off the ground, and three rows of chairs surrounded half of it. Was this the stage for the poetry performance? On the other side of the room there was a single chair that looked like it could be a throne. It currently sat empty. There was an orb to the right of the chair and a small table to the left.

All of this paled in comparison to the most remarkable feature of the room: the walls.

Or rather the wall. There was only one, and it curved around the room in a perfect circle. There were no visible corners. It shimmered like a well-polished gemstone. The colour couldn’t be pinpointed, it seemed to shift between a light blue and a deep green. One moment you were staring at a clear sky, the next you were lost in a deep forest. Roland looked up and could see no ceiling. The cylindrical wall seemed to extend forever. Was this just one continuous piece of thick stained glass? Impossible. It was far too immaculate.

Once everyone was in the room, the impresario moved on to the stage and spoke again.

“If you’ll look on the inside of your right-hand sleeve there is a number, please sit in the chair that matches this.”

This instruction caused a bit of confusion, but eventually everyone found their seats. Roland and Mallory were sitting near the back.

“Perfection,” said the impresario. “We may begin.” He raised his hand.

In the distance Roland heard something slam shut. Then, a damped sound of clanging metal echoed through the room. Weak vibrations shook the floor. Some elaborate machinery must be operating just outside of these walls. Its effect was clear — the room was in motion. The separate noises eventually coalesced into a steady mechanical hum. Eventually, the room stopped accelerating and seemed to maintain a steady speed.

Roland could feel a warmth cover his body. It didn’t fade, but he quickly became acclimatized to it. Judging by the lack of reaction of the other people in the room, only he seemed to experience this.

“Can you feel that?” he whispered to Mallory.

“Yeah, the room’s moving. Nothing like spicing up sex with the cheap thrill of being nauseous.”

“It’s not just the movement — there’s also a flow of energy in here. I felt its warmth after the room started to move. Almost like being sunburned.”

“Probably just a urinary tract infection. Don’t worry, I can give you something for that later.”

The impresario spoke again.

“Allow me to explain what has happened and what will happen: Over the past several months, our agents scoured Valdt for aspiring artists who had the potential to achieve great things — and who also happened to be young and beautiful. Of course, these agents never revealed themselves as such. They identified your artistic desires and lured all of you here tonight with the promise that they may be fulfilled. Yes, the varying pretenses under which you came here were false, but beyond that there was no deception: if we are pleased with your performance, your aspirations will become reality. We have unlimited means to ensure that.”

Roland noticed that Mallory had tensed up. She then began to grind her teeth, obviously not pleased at being deceived.

“The judges for tonight are the art lords themselves.”

“Dumb name,” mumbled Mallory, as she relaxed a little.

The impresario indicated with his arms that the guests should look up.

Roland saw two figures floating in the air far above them. They circled the chamber in a chaotic motion as they descended towards the floor. If they were suspended by wires, they must have been well trained acrobats as they were moving incredibly fast. This entrance wasn’t that impressive, however. There was no grace in their flight. Instead, it seemed like they might crash into the wall at any moment. As they got closer, Roland could see that the ‘art lords’ were a man and woman. Or rather, he supposed, a lord and a lady.

As they landed, Roland immediately knew there was something very off about these two, although he had no idea what it was. The lord was dressed like a typical aristocrat. Roland must have seen hundreds of people like that during his time in Serene. The lady was dressed very differently. She was wearing light armour that was silver with gold highlights. Underneath she had a white dress. They were both wearing masks.

Roland didn’t see any hooks or wires at any point during their entrance, so he was unsure how they were able to descend. Perhaps this room was specifically designed with this illusion in mind.

The lady took the throne-like seat. The lord went over to a chair that was against the wall of the room, disappearing into the shadows. The lady signalled the impresario to leave the centre stage and began to speak. Although her voice wasn’t loud, it seemed to come from all directions without an echo.

“From the angst-filled teenager to the ponderous sage, the need to express oneself through poetry truly unites all of those who lack talent. A succinct summary of the history of the art form would be this — its low barrier of entry has yielded an unending stream of shit. Are there precious wonders hidden in that deluge? Likely. Should one bother to look? No. Any fool who wades into those excrement filled waters will be baptized a cynic.

“How can one find great poetry in such circumstances? Search elsewhere. And that is our tact this evening. None of you are poets. Nor, thankfully, even aspire to be. How brilliant can the spark of a young outsider burn? We shall see.

“Now to more practical matters: We seek the new avant-garde here. While your poetry may waste our time, we won’t waste yours. If your art is judged to be uninspired — or worse — your humiliation won’t be limited to our critique. I can assure you, though, that this experience will strengthen you as an artist — even if you don’t realize it until long after the moment has passed.

“Since I don’t anticipate anyone volunteering to go first. How about this fine couple.”

The lady raised her hand and pointed to a boy and a girl sitting in the front row. Roland had seen these two in the great hall. Even with their masks and cloaks on, Roland thought they were too young to be here.

The girl stood up without any trepidation. “I will gladly begin.”

The lady signalled with her hands to start. The girl moved into a position on the stage where she could face both the guests and the lady. She then began her poem.

“The title of this is A Prisoner to What Could Have Been.”

“Small explosions move across my skin,

When I think of being with you again.

I see your reflection in every piece of glass,

New memories formed from our past.

But I can’t pull you close to me,

Nor feel what I cannot see.

Does it matter where you are tonight?

If I know you’ll never be in my sight.

The windows in my room are now smashed,

And I try to —”

“Yes, yes, we get the idea,” interrupted the lady. “Someone broke your heart and now you’re expressing your feelings with a bunch of hackneyed prose.” The lady looked around the room. “What does your partner have to present?”

“Who made her queen bitch?” whispered Mallory to Roland.

Even though she was wearing a mask, there was something familiar about the lady. Did Roland happen to come across her during his time at Serene Castle? She was wearing a pin with a coat of arms on her white dress, but Roland couldn’t make out any of its details from where he was sitting.

The boy stood up. “This is called Untitled Number 34.”

The lady shook her head in disapproval, but the boy began his poem anyways.

“Spring came in, bleak and cruel, neverending

The sea wind was sharp, it cut though my soul, desolating

Final embers of my burning heart, extinguish please, praying

Misery reigned, for only me to see, suffering

Snow swept ice, —”

“Dreadful schlock,” said the lady as she interrupted once more. “I am left wondering if you have ever seen colours. We’ve heard enough from this depressing pair.”

Mallory leaned over to Roland again. “Well they got their tits lit.”

The lady stood up and began to circle the stage. She wasn’t walking, but instead levitating a few inches off the ground.

“This evening you entered a crucible. The merit of your art determines the outcome of the ordeal.” The lady turned towards the boy and girl. “Based on your poor performance, the specifics of that outcome will be set when I draw a card from the deck of learning.”

As she floated past the side of the stage where the guests were sitting, Roland was able to get a better look at the coat of arms pinned to her dress. It was a chalice with wings that had a sword in the middle. There was no mistaking this piece of heraldry. It was the coat of arms of the House of Brandt. Roland also knew that, with one exception, everyone in that house had been purged long ago. Unless she was an impostor, this could only be one woman: Louisia Brandt, powerful white mage and member of the Chosen.

“Education with these cards is delivered through acute experience. You may not appreciate it tonight, but the short-term suffering you’ll endure will improve your art manyfold in the years to come.” Louisia sat back down on her throne. “Humiliation is an endless font of inspiration.”

Sitting on a small table to the right of Louisia was a deck of slightly oversized cards. As everyone watched, eight of the cards floated away from the deck and began spinning in front of Louisia. Was this actual telekinesis or simply a parlour trick? As powerful as the Chosen are, they cannot use magic anymore. This was widely known in Relmgard and was further confirmed to Roland through Christoph’s writing. Perhaps she was using some magical item similar to the amulet that the Hero of Relmgard had?

After some theatrics with cards, seven returned to the deck while the eighth went to Louisia’s right hand. She revealed it to the audience. It contained a painting with the face of a long snouted horned creature.

“The beast,” said Louisia. “A crude but suitable beginning to the evening.”

“Approach the centre stage, girl.”

The girl followed the instruction with an air of defiance.

“Remove your robe and mask. Then get on your hands and knees.”

The girl briefly hesitated but then said “Fine” as she acquiesced.

Louisia then floated over to the girl and handed her a small tin.

“You’ll want to apply this ivole gel as a lubricant,” said Louisia with a smile on her face. “It will ease the penetration.”

The girl, who seemed so confident earlier, reached up and took the tin with her shaking hand.

“The experience won’t be enjoyable, but you should still try to relax.”

Returning to her throne, Louisia used her fingers to trace an ellipse in the air. As she was doing this, she also appeared to be mouthing some words, but Roland couldn’t hear any sound. As she repeated the motion with her hands, he noticed that translucent fibres seemed to be slowly streaming from her fingers. They formed a vortex in the air in front of her. After several feet, the threads stopped and began to weave into a form. What at first looked like an apparition, quickly became more substantial as the skeleton of a bipedal creature became visible. As more threads arrived, muscle and sinew were added on top of this frame. Then, skin and fur. The motionless beast stood awkwardly on two hoofed feet. Like a trophy on display from a great hunt.

With a snarl that caused most in the guests to recoil, the construction became very real. There was now a seven-foot-tall creature standing before everyone. It was covered in thin brown fur and, like the depiction on the card, it had horns and a long snout. It also had a huge phallus.

The girl at the centre of the stage saw all of this and was now trembling.

Louisia spoke again. “Girl please turn a bit to your left so that the audience will have a better viewing angle. It would be nice if you could give them at least one decent performance tonight.”

Louisia then mouthed a phrase but made no sound. This seemed to be instructions that only the beast understood as it immediately began to move. With a clumsy gait, it walked around the girl and approached her from behind. The room went dark except for a spotlight on the girl and the beast. The beast then knelt behind her and forced itself inside. The girl screamed, then wept. After less than a minute of thrusting, the beast was finished. It pulled out and then walked back to spot where it was created. There, it stood still once again.

Although the punishment was brief, it was brutal. The girl lay sobbing in a pool of blood, fur, and ejaculate.

The lights in the room returned to normal and the boy who was her companion ran over to help her. He covered her with the cloak she had taken off and lifted her up. They started to move towards the door where they had entered the room, perhaps hoping they could now leave.

“Where are you going?” Louisia laughed as she stood up. “Did you think your only punishment was to watch? We all did that, you silly thing. Oh, I know, poor cuckolded you! No, that’s not degrading enough, is it? Not after what came out of your mouth.” She shook her head. “Do the Celestials issue separate justice based on sex? Of course not!” She returned to her throne. “After all, what’s good for the gollock is good for the gallack.

“Now disrobe and get on all fours. No need for the gel this time, the lantaur should still be lubricated from before.”

The boy put the girl down on her chair but didn’t know what to do after that.

His voice cracked as he spoke. “I just want to go home.” He began to cry.

Louisia had no time for such pleas. She raised her hands like someone who was controlling a marionette. As she moved her fingers, the boy took off his robe and mask. He then walked to the centre of the stage where he got down on his hands and knees.

The lights in the room went down again. The audience watched the grotesque scene of the beast sodomizing the boy. When it over, he had to be dragged off of the stage by two servants as he had passed out.

“The lantaur can perform multiple times in one night,” said Louisia. “No wonder their scrotums are prized aphrodisiacs. Bestiality, while a curiosity, becomes tiresome quickly. So let us all pray that this card doesn’t show up again.”

Louisia put the card back in the deck. Then, she moved her fingers as if she was playing an invisible harp. The beast began to unwind into the threads that had formed it. They quickly returned to the tips of Louisia’s fingers. In a matter of seconds, the beast was no more.

As servants were cleaning the stage, Roland noticed Mallory had one of her hands inside her robe. She was likely reaching inside the bag of holding. Was she getting ready to try and strike down Louisia? Even if she didn’t know who the lady was, didn’t she realize that what they had just witnessed was not a series of illusions?

“That’s Louisia Brandt,” whispered Roland.

“Slothfucker,” muttered Mallory under her breath. She took her hand out of her robe. It was empty. She knew they were trapped.

“Now who’s next?” asked Louisia. She turned her head back and forth. After examining all of the masked faces sitting in audience a few times, her gaze stopped in the direction of Roland and Mallory. They stared across the chamber into her deep blue eyes.

Louisia Brandt. The virtuous incantatrix. She came from a powerful house of war mages that embraced the dark arts to maintain their rule. Her pure spirit allowed her to break free from that lineage. Rejecting the belief that immorality was a necessary means to hold power, she rebelled against a bleak and cynical outlook on life. The tension between her faith that the potential for goodness existed in all beings and the cruelty of her upbringing allowed her to harness a powerful, but extremely volatile, type of magic. It was said she could alter reality itself. Forging a path not guided by her heritage, she flourished as a white mage and became one of the most powerful spell casters in the history of Relmgard.

Roland questioned if that backstory was even true. If it was, then power and time can truly rot the noblest soul. The woman standing here, pointing at him and Mallory seemed to embody everything that she once would have stood against.

“Why don’t we hear from this couple? Aren’t they picture of cuteness.”