Lindon would have traveled from the Akura guest tower with Yerin, but Eithan had insisted they meet at the restaurant. He still wasn’t sure why.

At least Eithan had provided reasonable clothes. They were elaborate multi-layered robes in a style Eithan liked to wear, more suitable for greeting a respected visitor than for fighting, but they weren’t in the bright colors Eithan preferred.

They were primarily black, highlighted with decorative red scripts that glowed scarlet. On the back, where Lindon had expected the symbol of the Akura family, was a snarling dragon-turtle that also glowed red and orange.

They had clearly been designed for Lindon, and he hadn’t questioned why Eithan had them. Or why they fit perfectly.

Sometimes he just didn’t want to know.

Lindon’s hair had been brushed and oiled, and a team of Akura servants had applied some kind of cream to his face. He felt like he had layers of paint caked on his cheeks, but he only looked impossibly clean.

He was keeping his spiritual perception tightly restrained, trying to avoid sensations from everyone and everything on the street, so he didn’t notice Yerin had arrived until he heard her low whistle.

“Look at you, all polished and shiny! Have to pay my thanks to Eithan. Thought he might send you here wearing six peacocks.”

Yerin wore something like what Mercy had when she had been presented to the entire Akura family: formal layers of black, violet, and silver, but sleeker and slimmer than Lindon’s outfit.

Her hair was pinned up by silver sticks, though they left enough free to fall down past her shoulders. Her skin was bright, her lips red, and her eyes bigger than usual. And she wasn’t wearing a sword.

Lindon had prepared for this.

He had thought of a number of compliments as he waited, but he was unprepared for the impact of actually seeing her. It was such a contrast to her normal appearance, ready for battle at any second, that the sight of her clubbed him over the head.

She spread her arms, gripping her wide sleeves as she did. “How about Mercy’s work? Do we let her live?”

Lindon chose his favorite of the compliments he’d readied in advance.

“You look wonderful,” he said, “but I knew you would.”

She flushed slightly and dropped her sleeves, brushing at something on the front of her robes. “Yeah, well, she…Mercy’s sharp enough, when it comes to this.”

[I don’t think he was talking about Mercy, I think he was talking about you. Unless I’m wrong! I’m not wrong.]

“Dross,” Lindon muttered, “apologies, but can you act like you’re not here for a while?”

[Oh, I see. Yes. I will pretend I’m not watching you both at every second.]

The streets were packed, thanks to the tournament, and there was a line to get into the restaurant. They chatted as they waited; about Mercy’s fight from earlier in the day, about the matches to come, and about who was likely to fill in the remaining spots of the Uncrowned.

When they finally reached a gray-haired man behind a podium wearing what seemed to be one intricate wrap, Lindon bowed and handed over a scripted plate with the Akura symbol on it.

The man checked it, handed it back, and was about to speak when he looked from Lindon to Yerin. His eyes grew wide.

“My sincerest apologies, young miss, young sir, but we…were not aware that you were our Akura guests tonight.”

Lindon became uncomfortably aware of other people in line and in the restaurant turning and looking at them. He caught snatches of their names and tried to pull his white hand further into his sleeve.

The man looked like he wanted to run inside and attend to something, but he stopped only an inch away as though tethered to the table. “We have made an embarrassing error, and I apologize on behalf of the entire Sundown Pavilion. You see, Sha Siris—the son of our establishment’s owner—arrived only minutes ago and demanded the Twilight Room that you requested.

“If he had known that it was you who reserved the table, I’m certain that he would never have done so. If you wouldn’t mind waiting, I will go and tell him to finish his meal in another—”

A voice bellowed down from upstairs, cutting through the noise of the crowd. “I heard my name!”

The man behind the podium winced and looked around as though for rescue before shouting back. “Master Sha, may I speak to you private—”

“Tell them to come on up!” Sha Siris shouted, and there came a round of raucous laughter.

Lindon acutely felt every eye on them, and he wanted nothing more than to leave. It wasn’t entirely fair, but he felt a moment of irritation toward Mercy.

This was why he hadn’t wanted too expensive of a restaurant. He didn’t know how things worked in Ninecloud City. He didn’t know how to handle this.

“If you’ll excuse me a moment,” the man behind the podium said to Lindon and Yerin, “I will go and speak to our young master.”

“What for?” Yerin asked, giving him a feral smile. “He asked us up.”

“Send them up here!” Sha Siris shouted again. “I need to be entertained!”

“Not going to be as fun as he thinks,” Yerin muttered to Lindon.

A server led them through a maze of packed tables and up some stairs, never meeting their eyes. Everyone else stared at them.

Lindon wondered if there was a polite way to escape.

Sha Siris sat in a dimly lit open room with stars of Forged madra floating a few feet overhead. A sign over the entrance displayed the word “Twilight.”

Siris was only a few years into his twenties, with blood-red hair that reminded Lindon of Sha Miara, and his face was filled with so much color that it almost matched his hair. He sat at the lone table in the room, a massive circle groaning under the weight of a feast.

There were eleven other people at the table, all shouting or laughing, most of them visibly drunk. Siris took a swig from a clay mug and cheered as he saw them.

Lindon took a quick sweep with his spiritual perception. Siris himself was an Underlord, and not a weak one, though from the feel of his spirit, Lindon doubted he practiced the Path of Celestial Radiance. Most of those around the table were Underlords too, though some were Truegold and one might have been Highgold.

Upon seeing Lindon and Yerin, one young woman to Siris’ left immediately shut her mouth and paled. She straightened her clothes and patted Siris on the shoulder, but he didn’t notice.

A couple of the other guests looked confused, but no one commented on their arrival.

Except Siris himself. “Good, you made it! Underlords, the both of you! Perfect!” He gestured to the door with his cup. “There’s a dueling room in the back. You show us what you’ve got, and if you do well enough, you can join our party! What do you say?”

Lindon’s discomfort at the situation was easily transferred to Sha Siris.

He surveyed the table. “Would you like to test us yourself, Master Sha, or would you prefer us to face your friends first?”

Yerin snorted a laugh, and a few of Siris’ friends snickered.

But not all of them.

The girl to his left patted him more urgently, and two or three of the others went pale as something dawned on them.

Sha Siris looked like he was considering a difficult puzzle. “There are two of you, aren’t there? Why don’t you fight each other?”