Source & Soul: A Deckbuilding LitRPG

I wrenched my eyes away from dear old dad and his weird diamond-colored eyes to see Warrick pulling ineffectually on Afi’s arm. He was such a weedy thing that the ramrod straight girl didn’t budge in the slightest. The ruffles of his shirt were stained pink with spilled wine at both neck and wrist and his formal robes gapped open, showing his untucked shirt tails flapping in front of his trousers. Everyone else was frozen in their seats, shocked at the audacity of it all. Personally, I was glad Basil’s buddy had broken in – I wasn’t sure what would have come out of my mouth if I’d spoken directly to the King, and I hadn’t known how to answer his question anyway.

“My seat,” Warrick yelled, pulling harder. “Do we pay the donkey for plowing a field? Praise the stonemason for hefting stones in lieu of the grand architect? Get up!”

Afi flicked a hesitant glance at the King, and when she saw nothing but amused detachment, she pried Warrick’s fingers off her arm. “Your parents specified that I should attend. If you wished to be a part of this gathering, you should have spent less time in the brothels and more on the boards.”

He drew himself upright. “I will not be slandered by some two-clip hired hand –”

Basil hurried to his friend’s side and put a hand under his elbow. “Forgive me, friends, your Majesty. He’s been under a terrible strain –”

“I’m fine,” Warrick snapped, pulling away so hard that he stumbled several feet before catching himself and reaching for a wobbly uprightness. “I belong at the side of the King!”

“Can’t say I’ve noticed the lack,” Hestorus said into his winecup.

Someone snickered, and Warrick stood there at an ashen-faced loss, his mouth hanging in a slack O. I noticed the wait staff in their crisp outfits of white and gold standing in the periphery, each holding a wide, shallow bowl in their hands. Gerad waved them forward, and they swooped toward us in perfectly synchronized movements like dancers, each bowl settling gently onto the table at precisely the same moment. A thick, creamy soup of bright yellow stared up at me, with a spiral shell standing upright in the center and dots of some vibrant purple sauce dotted in curving spirals toward the scalloped china lip of the bowl. It smelled sweet and spicy and hearty all at once. I reached for my spoon, but Esmi flicked me on the knee beneath the table and gave me the tiniest head shake. Scowling, I settled back in my chair. Of course there would some stupid noble rule about when to eat and how. Idiots.

Basil had taken advantage of Warrick’s deflating ego to pull him toward the exit, bowing as he went. “A thousand pardons, my liege. He’s a dear friend, and I really must take care of him. I will return with all haste.”

“Your loss,” my father said, dipping a spoon into his bowl without looking at them. “Tomlil never makes the same soup twice.”

“Perhaps we ought to let the Artisans form a ninth house,” Gerad said, tucking into the food. “The rising generation of nobility here in the city are an embarrassment.”

Hestorus raised an eyebrow at him and said nothing.

The proud fool took it as encouragement. “Look at them. Out of eight Treledyne houses we have but three viable competitors in the top eight.”

“Four,” Esmi corrected. “Your Highness, Losum, Basil, and myself.”

“I said viable,” Gerad said. “The day Hintal takes the battlefield is the day we all die, and I’m not so sure of you, either. You’re more Charbonder than Treledyne these days.”

The others had all started eating and Esmi was flaring her nostrils at the Prince, so I grabbed my spoon and slurped up a mouthful. I lost track of the conversation as the taste of heaven exploded in my mouth and consumed my entire body. Sweet cream swirled with piping hot mashed root tubers and chunks of tender beef, and a pleasantly spicy heat chased it all down. I wasn’t sure why they’d plunked a snail shell into it, but I couldn’t have cared less. If Fate and Fortune had their own cook, he’d make something like this. I finished my bowl far too quickly. I’d have taken Esmi’s, but despite not having touched it, she had clenched fists planted on both sides of the bowl as she traded words with Gerad.

“None of you should be off your mothers’ apron strings,” Lustra interjected. She hadn’t touched her soup either. I wasn’t sure if vampires ate normal food; she just kept sipping at her glass of blood. Will they kick me out if I ask for her bowl? I didn’t think she’d say yes or I’d have risked it.

“I’d rather have the slum dog at my back than you,” Gerad told her, gesturing offhandedly at me. “The undead have no love for us. You think my father will allow you to join our War Camp if you reach the top 5?”

“When I reach the top 5, your father can speak for himself,” Lustra said laconically. “A wise king values competence.” She gave Hestorus a shallow nod of respect, which he ignored.

“Watch your tone,” Losum huffed, gripping his spoon like a dagger.

“Watch your back,” Lustra responded with a slow smile.

The King let his spoon clink into his empty bowl and dabbed his mouth with a napkin. “I do love a vigorous conversation. Yes, I value strength and competence. For all my puissance, I cannot be everywhere all at once. Equally important, though, is loyalty. Strength of character. No single thing is more vital than the others; if you wish to rise in my War Camp and my court, you must have all these qualities. Lack even one and you are of no use to me, whether you are a filthy walking corpse, a child from the gutter, or my own beloved son.”

Gerad stiffened, eating his soup mechanically. I looked back and forth between them. Is he threatening to kick his own son out? I’d seen him lash out carelessly at a crowd of fawning nobles and hangers-on the night before; was he such a madman that he didn’t even care for his heir? I didn’t like feeling even a shred of sympathy for Gerad. He was a walking horse turd of a human.

“Tomlil told me that the fire spice in the soup has to soak into our mouths for no less than ten minutes in order for the braised kestrel to hit just right, so I think I’ll stretch my legs for a moment,” Hestorus said, tossing aside his napkin and floating into an upright position. “Gerad, with me.”

Still looking sullen and sour, the Crown Prince fell in behind his father as he drifted toward the far recesses of the room.

“Hull, you too,” the King called over his shoulder.

I went instantly rigid. Everyone at the table looked at me as if I’d just grown a third arm. “Why does ee ask for yoo?” Plutar asked blankly.

“Go,” Esmi hissed. “Go now.”

I jerked to my feet like a marionette toy, all my limbs feeling loose and uncoordinated. Before I could step away, Esmi clutched at my arm.

“Be polite,” she urged, eyes wide. “This one conversation could change your entire life.”

The conversation with the King that had changed my life happened before I was ever born, but she didn’t know that, so I just nodded and followed after them. I wished I still had a knife up my sleeve. The corner where they waited was dim. Not that I thought I could take down an Epic soul with a table knife, much less a Legendary, but it would have made me feel a little bolder. Everything about me felt stiff. What does he want from me?

Gerad was obviously wondering the same thing as he scowled at me, but Hestorus was wearing the bland smile he’d kept on since he arrived. He hovered a good two hands over both of us, but somehow he kept his legs and feet taut and still, looking as if he were simply standing on an invisible stair.

“By all reports you two exchanged words last night,” the King said pleasantly, “not to mention some mild dueling. I’m fascinated; it’s almost as if you two are opposite ends of a lodestone. As such, I thought it was high time I made formal introductions between my sons.”

I’d thought I was already at peak tension, but at those words I found my muscles winding themselves even tighter. He knows. He knows?!

Gerad, on the other hand, seemed to lose all rigidity. His face sagged, and the handkerchief he’d been holding slipped from his hand. “What?” I’d never heard anyone express so much horror in a single word.

A chuckle slipped from Hestorus, and he shook his head ruefully, his golden curls bouncing. “If everyone could see you right now, the whole world would know. Put shock on your faces and you might as well be twins.”

“Father, how is this possible?” Gerad whispered, turning his back to the table of competitors, at least a few of whom were openly staring at us.

“If I have to tell you that –” the King began, his eyebrows raised.

“He fucked my mother and threw her out when he got bored,” I said, the familiar old rage rising in my chest.

“Your mother was many things,” he said fondly, “but she was never boring. Tell me, how is the old bird?”

My mind raced. Does he truly not know, or is he testing me? “I thought you saw all in your kingdom,” I said, my voice sounding strained.

“Oh, I do,” he said casually, “but she was always a slippery one. I might not have been able to hold onto her even had I wished to.”

My heart thudded in my ears. Hearing him talk so carelessly about ruining my life left me almost paralyzed with anger. I imagined putting my thumbs into his eyes and pushing until they burst.

“Father, how could you bring a bastard to the Tournament?” Gerad asked, aghast.

“I didn’t bring him,” Hestorus said, smiling down at me. “I never gave Hull a word, a clip, or a smile, and he got here all on his own. And if you think he’s my only bastard, son, you’re in for a very bad evening.”

The Prince’s mouth fell open. “Does Mother know?”

He waved a dismissive hand. “You think I would have made her Queen if she were a stupid woman? Just because I was picking from the high-rarity souls doesn’t mean I lacked for choices. Who’s going to say no to a Legendary?”

The Prince chewed on that, looking ill. Were he anyone else, I’d have felt sorry for him. I suddenly realized that not having to deal with my father for my whole life might have been a peculiar sort of kindness. I was beginning to suspect he wasn’t the silly, useless fop I’d always thought, but something crueler and more calculating. His eyes glittered as he watched Gerad wrestle with himself. Hestorus’ mouth was still bent in that pleasant smile, but those eyes were weighing the angry boy, testing him.

“Why are you doing this?” Gerad whispered, very carefully not looking at either of us. “It was supposed to be an enjoyable night.”

“You’ve had too many of those already,” our father said. “I kept waiting for you to grow beyond your childish posturing and petty bullying of the other nobles, but you persist and I grow impatient.”

That was apparently more than Gerad could bear. He glared our father full in the face. “You made the Marquis LaRouche eat horse shit because he laughed too loud!”

Hestorus leaned right into his heir’s face, still floating. “If you haven’t learned to see past the mask I use to keep the squabblers off balance and our enemies in check, I despair of you. Grow up, Gerad. I couldn’t be happier that Hull is here; it gives me the excuse to speak plainly for once. Do you think I ascended the throne because I was born to it? You know I didn’t; I told you those stories as a boy, if you’ve bothered to remember. I rose to the top and stayed there because no one could deny me. When’s the last time you even thought about your next elevation?”

Gerad threw his hands up. “I reached Epic at sixteen, Father! Is that not enough for you?”

The King scoffed. “Nowhere near, you thoughtless child. And reaching Epic when you were born at Rare is not such an achievement. You take the advantage your mother and I provided and you piss it away.”

He straightened, looking every bit the stern, imperious king. “Do better, Gerad. Work harder. We’re having this conversation to help you understand that if you don’t measure up, there are others who could replace you.”

Gerad went white. “Him? He doesn’t even have a soul card, Father! He sleeps in shit and steals what he eats.”

“And yet somehow he’s done nearly as well as you in this Tournament you think is so far beneath you,” the King remarked dryly. “Perhaps you should try sleeping on the streets for a time.”

Gerad’s shot me a look that was pure, distilled hatred. I returned it full force. Then, gathering his battered dignity about himself, the Prince picked up his fallen handkerchief and drew himself upright. “Our guests have been left alone too long, and a prince takes care of his people. Thank you for your time, Father. I will… think on your words.”

I thought I saw the King’s face soften ever so slightly, but it might have been a trick of the dim light. “I sincerely hope you do.”

Head held high, Gerad wheeled around stiffly and returned to the table. A moment later I heard him say something glib and cheerful to Losum about rubbing shoulders with the common folk. I had to admit I was impressed; hearing him, I never would have guessed he’d just been shaken to the core.

“He’ll try to kill you at some point, and I won’t intervene,” the King said to me.

Heat prickled through me again as I thought about what had just happened. “You painted a target on my back and handed him the knife.”

“I did,” he said cheerfully. “I imagine you’ll figure something out.”

I clenched my teeth. “How long have you known about me?”

“From the beginning,” he said. “Your conception was the reason I had to put your mother out. Having her as Queen would have presented complications I wasn’t prepared to confront at the time. I started my sunrise ritual the day you were born. You may not be the only thing I look for, but I always keep an eye out.”

My mind scrolled back through my life in the Lows. “A boy stabbed me in the gut two years ago.”

He nodded solemnly. “I saw you the very next day. A close thing.”

My hand traced the thick ridge of scarring on the lower right side of my belly. “I was sick for months. I nearly died. It still hurts sometimes.” I hesitated, searching his face.

“Ask the question, Hull,” he said.

“Would you have let me –”

“Yes,” he interrupted. “I’ve done it to others and I’d do it to you. You might have been the first, but I am even-handed with all.”

“Why?” I hated how much hurt I could hear in my voice. I sounded like Gerad.

“You can’t just stop an experiment in the middle,” he said reproachfully. “You have to wait to see how things fall out.”

“You’re experimenting,” I said flatly. “With your bastards.”

“It’s my responsibility,” he said, looking more open and genuine than ever. “Humanity needs more Legendaries – more leaders – and I’m in the best position to create them. Is it privilege and resources that create strength, or is it hardship? Or something else entirely? By the time I am done, I’ll know for certain.”

I laughed, a bitter sound. “You left me in the Lows to see if it would make me strong?”

He shrugged. “I hadn’t yet formulated this plan of mine when you were born, but the idea appealed to me once I hit on it. The histories don’t include this, so I expect you to keep it to yourself, but I started off in similar circumstances.”

I wasn’t sure whether I believed him. “If you’re hoping I’ll reach Legendary you’re in for a disappointment. It’s a bit of a stretch when you don’t have a soul card.”

“I expect you’ll sort that out too. Or you won’t, and you’ll die somewhere along the way.”

I balled a fist. “Do you not know what she did to me?”

He pursed his lips and shrugged. “I pieced it together after the fact, though I’m still not clear on how she managed the deed. Like I said, she was always slippery.”

He’s always known. He could have reached in and saved you at any moment. He’s experimenting with you and who knows how many other kids besides. He was ten times the monster I’d thought him to be.

“You hate me,” he remarked, unconcerned. “It’s natural, I suppose. I wonder how many of your Nether you were able to cultivate as a direct result of my actions? Hm. I’m sure it could be calculated.” He snapped his fingers in front of my face, bringing my eyes back to him. “This conversation stays between us. I will not acknowledge you as my child until and unless you reach Mythic, and if I hear you’ve been spreading tales, you will disappear. There’s a time for that information to be known, but it is not now. And in the meantime, remember the advice I gave your brother. It holds true for you, too.”

He smiled brilliantly, donning the fey, foolish smile I now knew to be a hollow mask, and swept away on the float, gliding back to the table. “All right, my lovely competitors. We’re well overdue for the kestrel course. Bring it in!”

I watched the wait staff do their dance with fresh dishes as I skulked in the dark corner. My head hurt. My whole life and what it meant was reordering itself inside me, and I wasn’t sure what to make of it yet.

“As added incentive for tomorrow’s matches,” Hestorus announced to the table, “those who make the top 5 will be given their choice of Artisan gear from my personal armory once they arrive at the War Camp. Fifth place gets Common rank, fourth gets Uncommon, and so on up the line. I know you’ve all been weaned on cards and their Fated effects, but the wise warrior widens their arsenal as much as possible. We’ll likely need to accelerate our timetable for this year’s War Camp; I’ve received unsettling reports of late from our borders.”

My hands were shaking. I considered walking out of the restaurant and going back to my room. I didn’t belong with these children of wealth and privilege; Hestorus had ensured that from the beginning. Beyond that, I had no desire to break bread with the madman who’d been watching me like a beetle in a cage my whole life. He might rule for another century or more. He could do this to dozens more kids like me. Hundreds, maybe. I can’t allow it. I’ll be Ticosi’s man and live under his thumb if that’s what it takes. I will never know true rest until my father is dead.

The realization calmed me. Yes, I was in danger – from the Prince now as well as from Ticosi – but I didn’t care what happened to me. I was doomed; so be it. All that mattered now was taking him down with me.

And with that, I suddenly felt hungry again. I pasted on something that felt like a smile and walked back to the table, ignoring Esmi’s questioning glance. This was the best meal I was ever going to eat; a dead man might as well enjoy it while he could.