Riven Shadowleaf's Arc

Chapter 2 of 2

Riven had the noble's habits and the noble's floor plan. What he lacked was a door. The man moved only among nobles, and Riven owned no title to open that world. Garrett laid it out plain at the tavern the next night. "He trains at the fencing hall three mornings a week," the guard said, clipped as always. "Nobles only. You don't get past the steps without one of them vouching for you." Riven turned his mug and thought. A vouch. He needed a noble who hated the mark enough to lend his name. Elsie supplied it before he asked. She dropped onto the bench, already talking. "You want the younger Ashford," she said. "Exiled by his own brother, living on debts and charm. He'd sponsor a stray dog into that hall if it embarrassed a rival." She grinned. "And our master beat him at cards last winter. He hasn't forgotten." Riven found Damien Ashford in a rented room with a good coat and a bored woman. Damien didn't rise. "Elsie sent you," he said. "So you want something." "A vouch," Riven said. "Into the fencing academy. I mean to make a fool of a man you already hate." Damien studied him. "Which man." Riven named the mark. Something cold moved behind Damien's eyes. "He called me a parasite once. In front of my brother." He poured a glass and didn't offer one. "I'll get you in. But you'll need a name in there. Titles carry papers." He crossed to a drawer and drew out a ring. The crest was fine work, ornate, official at a glance. "Had this made when I still thought I'd claw back the estate. It won't survive a second look. It'll survive a first." He tossed it. Riven caught it. "Present it at the door. You're a cousin of a northern line. Nobody checks the north." Riven turned the ring. Fine metal, but a hairline crack ran through the crest. "You're trusting a thief with your forged crest." "I'm not trusting you," Damien said. "I'm spending you." Three mornings later, Riven climbed the academy steps. He wore borrowed silk and the ring on his hand. The doorman blocked him. Riven raised the crest and named the northern line, bored, like a man who'd done this a hundred times. The doorman glanced at the ring. He glanced too long. Riven's pulse dropped. Then the man stepped aside. Inside, blades rang on the practice floor. The noble stood at the center, fencing, laughing at his own reach. Riven leaned on the rail and watched. He was in. The mark hadn't seen him yet. But a man at the far wall had. An older noble, frowning, staring at Riven's hand. He turned and murmured to a servant, who left at a fast walk. Riven felt the crack in the ring like a crack in the floor. He was inside now. Someone had already started asking who he was.