A trio of liveried servants appeared. Each bore a tray with glasses and a bottle of fine wine chilled in enchanted flasks.

  “Refreshment, my lords and ladies,” said the lead servant, bowing low.

  “Just in time,” Quill muttered, accepting a glass. “We need something to rinse away that disgraceful performance.”

  Greaves passed Jack a glass of wine. “You’ve earned this, my boy.” He didn’t offer his nephew a glass.

  “Thank you, my lord.” His memory flashed to some of the times he’d drunk himself into a stupor in his past life. Damn it. I was trying to avoid this. He couldn’t refuse. Just one glass won’t do any harm… he hoped. The wine was cool and rich, but he was more used to cheap ale than fine wine.

  Greaves raised his glass. “To missed opportunities.”

  The older nobles laughed again. The younger ones looked embarrassed.

  Jack raised his glass and drank. It’s only one glass. I’ll be fine.

  The sun filtered through the canopy, gilding the world in soft gold. Birds sang overhead, unbothered by the human drama playing out below. The hunt moved on, horses stepping through leaves and loam.

  Jack rode in silence, listening to the forest and the nobles sharing their secrets with whom they believed was now one of their own.

  A few more hours of uneventful hunt passed before the trail led towards Viscount Tides’ manor house. Through the trees, the first signs of the estate emerged. Thin copper lines coiled around the trunks, pulsing blue beneath bark where aether conduits had been disguised as natural growth. Birds gave the wires a wide berth, instincts protesting at the unnatural thrum.

  The manor itself sat on a low rise, surrounded by trimmed hedges and trees carved into precise shapes. Ivy crept along stonework in choreographed patterns, looping around decorative sigils embedded in the fa?ade. Aether-lanterns hung from wrought-iron stands along the path, their light crystals sleeping in the daylight but primed to awaken at the first shadow.

  The manor’s windows bore etched brass frames, with gears set into each corner. Decorative yet functional, they could seal with a hiss and clamp down in moments. Above, a modest rooftop observatory rotated in increments, tracking the sun. Jack noted it had a tower fitted with a small cannon similar in design to those protecting the capital.

  They dismounted in a gravel courtyard. Steam valves hissed as one of the aether-saddles depressurised. A stable boy detached the brass regulator from beneath a mare’s belly, slotting it into a charging stand built beside the traditional stable block.

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  The nobles ascended marble steps without pause. The automatic door regulator, a copper panel set with blinking rune-glyphs, clicked as it registered each noble’s sigil pin. The main doors parted with mechanical grace, folding inward with the faint hum of hidden gears.

  Inside, the reception hall exuded opulence. Polished dark wood floors inlaid with fine brass filigree reflected the light of overhead aether-chandeliers. Glass globes filled with swirling, pale-blue mist, each tethered by rune-etched copper stems to the ceiling’s intricate rail system. The lights adjusted automatically, growing brighter as the sun dipped towards the horizon.

  Servants moved through side passages, some human, others automata; one shaped like a jointed, wheeled valet bearing a tray of warm linen towels. A servant in livery bowed low to the nobles.

  “Gentlemen and ladies, refreshments await,” the servant intoned. His voice had a modulated undertone, either a class skill or enhanced by a hidden vocal amplifier.

  Greaves wiped his hands and face with a warm, damp cloth, then beckoned a servant closer. “Where are the others?” he asked, tossing the cloth at the man.

  The servant caught it and bowed low. “My lord, Viscount Tides’ party arrived a few minutes ago. They’ve retired to their rooms to await dinner. It will be served in an hour, my lord.”

  Greaves gave a brief nod, and he and the other nobles, along with a handful of older commoners, headed upstairs. Meanwhile, Jack was ushered into a side parlour with roughly thirty other commoners from the hunt. Most were young, though a few older faces remained, like Simon the old huntsman he’d met on the journey from the city.

  A long table was laid out, laden with cold pastries, pickled meats, and spiced root tea. The tea was held in steaming glass carafes, each fitted with a tiny brass timer. At every place was a rune-enchanted napkin designed to collect crumbs and stains.

  Jack’s father had explained how it would work. The nobles and senior commoners would change out of their hunting gear and return within the hour for a formal dinner. The younger commoners, like Jack, would have a quick meal now before being taken home by wagon.

  Less than an hour and I can go home, Jack thought as he sat alone at one of the tables, counting the minutes until freedom. What the hell am I going to do about being a blood mage?

  As he sat worrying about his future while nibbling a walnut tartlet, a young servant approached. A subtle whirr accompanied each swing of his left arm. Jack looked down and noted the servant’s prosthetic arm, brass and leather, with a small gear behind the elbow.

  “Master Jack?” the servant asked, his voice calm and unaccented.

  Jack nodded. “Yes?”

  “Your presence has been requested by Baron Greaves,” the servant explained. “Please follow me.”

  Greaves summoned me. Why? Jack rose from his chair and left his plate on a tray. The automaton beside the buffet clicked in mild protest as it rebalanced the serving tray.

  He followed the servant from the chamber, past walls adorned with oil paintings and trophy heads lit by recessed sconces glowing with soft, aether-fed light. The hallway’s ventilation hissed, perfumed air wafting out from brass valves carved to resemble lion maws. In the distance, a grandfather clock whirred, its pendulum swung in almost hypnotic rhythm.

  What the hell does he want me for? Panic was setting in. Does he know something?