[Omen of the Witchblade] Chapter 111 – Arriving in Style

The carriage exploded, raining burning debris across the expansive courtyard filled with the carriages of countless nobles and wealthy patrons.

Even as Mel tucked and rolled, keeping her precious cargo (Hush) safe, she mentally noted the reaction between Poison and Fire aspects.

That knowledge totally won’t put me on a terror watch list.

Gwen was left sitting on the smoldering remains of the carriage’s seat. She blinked rapidly, covered head to toe in soot, then coughed out some smoke.

Heath was laid out on the ground, groaning.

Mel rolled and popped up to her feet, sliding Hush into her armor as strobes of light flashed like an ADHD underground rave.

It was hard to blame them. Mel stood undamaged and unburnt, backlit by a powerful explosion just as she arrived. All eyes were drawn to her, away from dozens of other Champions.

Oh, did I ruin your fifteen seconds of fame? Mel thought as she shouldered her way forward without waiting for Elian to catch up.

“Guess I’ll just let myself out,” Gwen said, getting up and stepping over where the door used to be.

Elian helped Heath up and reenacted his bubble, hurrying up to catch Gwen in it as well.

Meanwhile, Mel did what she did best: rub people the wrong way.

She shouldered aside other Champions who were standing and gawking instead of keeping the red carpet clear. When the reporters and paparazzi came too close, Mel pushed their faces away until they toppled backward into their coworkers.

Rather than scare them off, it only emboldened them.

By the time Mel was tossing people like rag dolls who got too close, Elian had caught up to her and reestablished the bubble. He was sweaty and streaked with soot, but with a single swipe of his monogrammed handkerchief, the dirt was gone.

“I need to get me one of those,” Mel said.

Hush rattled his twin tails excitedly from somewhere in her [Heathen’s Cuirass].

Elian looked thoughtfully at her. “I could order some for you and your party if you want. Monogrammed, of course.”

“If you could expand that a bit to all the Magi, I would appreciate it.”

Elian looked a little concerned. Mel guessed that magical cleaning hankies weren’t very cheap.

Gwen smiled brightly at that. Something moved so fast behind her that it blurred.

Mel glanced at it, then back at Elian. “I would consider it a personal favor.”

Those were the magic words. Elian brightened considerably. “I’ll get right on it as soon as you’re settled. Did you…still want the entire tower?”

Mel shook her head. “No, but I do want the entire top floor. And if you could do me one more solid, I would like you to personally invite every name Gwen is about to give you to the top floor to stay with us.”

Heath peeked behind Gwen, then got smacked in the head by the blurring shape. “Ow…”

They went up the polished and gilded steps to the crystalline doors fronting the Starling Tower. It looked like a Babylonian garden. Colorful flowers hanging from verdant vines trailed their way along the building’s facade. Hanging gardens burst with color and scent that Mel could smell from the entrance.

Elian nodded along nervously as Gwen went through the names of each of the thirteen Magi. Some Mel knew personally.

Some she didn’t.

Elian rushed ahead to open the doors for them, but the staff of the inn beat him to the punch. Dressed in clean cut suits of red and gold, the attendants whisked the party through the opulent lobby and straight to a bank of portals.

In no time at all, Mel was on the top floor, gazing out at the bountiful beauty of the Seabrim Crater lake.

Somehow, the view was even better than in the flying carriage.

Elian hung by the door to converse with the attendants.

A few moments later, six more red and gold clad attendants were rushed around the airy room. They picked up doors as if they were picture frames hung on the wall and rearranged them as Mel desired.

Heath watched it all with wide-eyed wonder.

Mel looked at Gwen and grinned. “Are you able to change the paneling that easily?” she asked an attendant.

“Yes, First Champion. What would you like it to be?”

“I like the white polished stone for this room to stay the same. It’s very open and airy, but for that room over there.” She pointed to a room she intended to give to Thomas. “I’d like it to be wood paneled. Are you familiar with dark academia? Good. Just like that, but with more wood tones than black.”

He bobbed his head and hurried out of the room.

Gwen smiled softly. “Thanks Mel, for looking after Thomas. Also, for saving me in the Hall of Martyrs. It’s sweet that you care about me.”

Mel winked at her, then rattled off more orders for other rooms, shaping and decorating them to the desires of the Magi she knew. For those she didn’t, Mel relied on Gwen’s knowledge to guide her.

Pelting your would-be allies with gifts so they’re likely to follow you instead of your witch hat rival was gauche. However, making sure they were comfortable in familiar territory would put them at ease.

They would be expecting Mel to ask them to “bend the knee” and likely be beaten over the head with goodies and amenities.

Mel was at a clear disadvantage with her missing memories. Memories she knew, deep down, would never come back.

However, she knew herself. And everybody would expect her to act the way she just did to all those reporters.

Heath was still acting out the scene of one particular reporter she had thrown nearly 30 feet. He sailed his arm through the air. “She must have caught a gust or something because the poor man just soared away!” Heath said, regaling the tale to one of the attendants.

The upside of being known as a bitch was that you could surprise people by not being yourself for a few moments. Really, it was all about setting the expectations so low that when you did something moderately nice, it felt like you were an angel.

“Are there accommodations for training?” Gwen asked an attendant, who nodded.

That caught Mel’s interest. Some training dummies would have been fairly ordinary, except the attendant mentioned something called a dreamlight chamber.

A sophisticated, prohibitively expensive style of runic magic that not even First Champions could request on demand. It could manifest all sorts of challenging scenarios.

It would take some strings being pulled to get one.

Without needing to ask, a buffet of food was carted into the room. Mel sat down at the long table and tucked in. The only one more ravenous than her was Gwen, whereas Heath had some serious trouble just deciding what to eat first.

Mel doubted hospitals and the Holy See, but people who wanted to suck up to her and keep her here to boost their own profits were safe in her books.

You can always trust a man who wants profit. You know where his motivations lie. Religion…now that’s where things get murky.

Making a First Champion sick was definitely not in their best interests.

It was why Mel would be able to get away with acting like a prima donna. With Mel’s party here, the Starling Tower could attract more clients for the rooms they had left. And when Mel was gone, they could proudly announce that the Starling Tower is the “first choice for First Champions” or some such drivel.

It practically writes itself.

Unsurprisingly, the food was excellent. They had everything Mel could ever want. Tacos, steak, burgers, pizza, parfaits, ice cream towers the size of a small child, roasts of various beasts Mel had never heard of, and so much more.

The chef was humbled when Gwen requested his recipes. However, Mel quickly discovered the limitations of their generosity.

Most accommodations were handled, but things like training manuals, advancement materials, and equipment still cost rune coins.

An attendant made an offhand comment about ritual scrolls, but it seemed that they were some of the pricier items on the market. Hard to find, too.

I’ll see about that.

Pretty much anything used to get a solid advantage over another competitor was locked out. They would have to pay or find somebody to provide it for them.

An interesting stance, Mel thought. By not offering ways to increase strength, they stay neutral.

“This just arrived, First Champion,” an attendant said, carrying a large wicker basket filled with goodies. A black card was stuck up at an angle in front where it would be impossible to miss.

It read, “The Syndicate” in gold letters.

“Points for style,” Mel said, setting the basket down on one of the countless tables in the penthouse.

Gwen looked over and wrinkled her nose. “What’s that?”

“It looks like a black pineapple,” Heath pointed out, picking up the object and hefting it in his palm. “Heavy, too.”

Mel picked up the card and flipped it over. Embedded in it was a crystal similar to the one that Sae’mir had given her.

Elian was off to the side with the attendants as they put the finishing touches on each of the Magi chambers. He looked over. “So soon?”

In a flash, he had crossed the distance and was at Mel’s shoulder.

Mel tucked a strand of blonde hair out of her face and looked over at him. She held up the card. “I’m guessing this spread wasn’t cheap. Look, there are some embers and pearls in there.”

Heath reached his hand for one, but Mel smacked it. “Hands to yourself,” she chided.

He hissed and rubbed the back of his hand. “Damn, did you just sting me?”

Mel mentally cursed. Stupid title.

Now that everything wasn’t life or death, she would need to be more careful. If she wanted to tap somebody, it could feel like she was aiming to hurt them. And if she wanted to hurt somebody, it would really hurt thanks to [Vessel of Anguish].

That’s going to be a problem with my dating life. Here’s hoping I don’t find somebody who’s into pain play. She paused for a moment. Or maybe that’d be a good thing?

For now, her love life was the farthest thing from her mind. At least, she tried to tell herself that as an image of a certain Necromancer flitted across her mind’s eye.

She looked up to see the crystalline screen that Heath was fiddling with flicker on. It seemed the reporters had more of a direct purpose other than hassling Champions and Challengers.

The view showed a fight taking place in one of the various streets of the Seabrim Crater. It seemed nearby. A bearded Archer was clashing swords with an icy blue dragon-like man’s fists. His swords were coated in a flash of ice, forcing him to back off.

Mel frowned. Are those dragonfolk?

Gwen shifted in her seat, staring at the screen with obvious recognition, forgetting about her food. Reporters were calling out details about the brawl. Another dragonfolk Mage moved into view. Her scaled hands were moving through the motions of magic until she got completely buried up to the neck by the emerging stones of Charlie’s [Gravestone Upheaval].

“Why isn’t anybody stopping that?” Mel asked, noting the guards who were forming a security cordon to keep bystanders out of harm’s way but were otherwise not interfering.

Elian looked at her, then the viewscreen. “Normally, I enjoy introducing people to the viewscreen, but clearly you all are different from the rest of your cohort.” He pointed at the guards. “They’re waiting until one of them is killed or the fighting stops. Competitors in the Convocation are subject to…different laws. I was hoping to give you the rundown of this when Thomas was here.”

Charlie gracefully stepped across the top of the gravestones to the mage’s head. Her blue eyes scanned the gathered crowd before falling on a decorated dragonfolk man who seemed to be their leader.

His bare chest glowed with vibrant icy blue energy, reminding Mel of a dragon preparing to breathe fire. He seemed furious, but wasn’t intervening for some reason.

With a smirk, Charlie spun her staff lazily and knocked the Mage out, then joined the Archer in defeating the Monk.

“Give us the short version,” Mel said.

“Very well.” Elian straightened his jacket. “Even when you are out of a Convocation, you are still technically competing. Unless there is a clear and present danger to the lives or livelihoods of a nation’s peoples, nobody can interfere with a battle between competitors.”

“Wait,” Heath said, hopping off the couch and turning to face Elian. “Are you saying that at any time another competitor with a grudge could just walk up and kill us and nobody would stop them?”

Elian looked at each of them for a beat. “That is precisely what I am saying.”

Well, shit.

It just became more important than ever to circle the wagons with people she could trust.