Chapter 41
At the Duke's Gala
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Disclaimer: This story is not meant as 'erotica', but dark adventure-fantasy. It may contain material that sensitive readers might find uncomfortable. Please be advised.
It was a tradition for the estate of Duke Stratmore to hold a grand gala party a few days before the annual Grand Arena Grand Melee. The Duke was one of the most prolific supporters for the arena, often donating relative fortunes each month in endorsements and sponsored events. Also, as the governing lord of Solace, below the authority of the Prime Council, the Grand Arena's successes and power only added to his own influence and popularity. The Grand Melee Gala had to be as big an event as the Melee itself.
So, the gala was always full of important guests, composed of the highest of the city's upper class, the most noteworthy of individuals, the owners of the arena houses participating, and any social luminaries whose opinions carried any real weight in politics. It served not only as a social feather in one's cap to be invited, but gave the House owners a chance to mingle and network with people of power and industry, making connections with people who might grant them sponsorship and endorsements.
Only the owners of those Houses who had submitted fighters for the event were officially invited, which commonly would have come out to only around a dozen or less of the eighteen houses currently operating. This year, however, every single house had submitted a pair of fighters. Even the newest ones, whose stables were likely nowhere near able to compete against the caliber of gladiator that the higher houses, had registered fighters this time around.
It wasn't much of a secret as to why this year had such a higher turn-out. Most already knew that Lord Cornelius Venge had been using his influence and money to cajole and convince any owner who wasn't planning to submit fighters to do so. Nor was it much of a secret that he was also offering a special 'prize' of his own money to any House whose gladiator managed to kill House Firebridge's little blonde fighter during the event.
As scandalous as that might seem, it wasn't even very juicy gossip. Gladiators could be instructed to kill other gladiators in an event like this and often were. There was also nothing that prohibited someone from offering others some kind of remuneration for instructing theirs to do the same thing. Only if he'd offered them money to intentionally lose would he have been in any sort of violation and he was encouraging others to win.
Even that he was making no real effort to keep it quiet worked in the man's favor. By letting the details be public knowledge, even if not directly, it meant that no one could accuse him of trying to cook betting house odds. Not that the arena probably would have pursued such claims even if he had kept it a secret. Ultimately, one had to admire the man's brazenness with it.
Not that Oscar Bellock admired anything else about the man. Working his way through the press of guests milling about the large ballroom, he spied Venge seated off to the side of the flow of people, relaxing in a large stuffed chair, feet propped up on the back of a pleasure slave, and with a rather large glass of spirits in his hand. Of course, his stationary position did nothing to hinder his social interactions, as people were more than willing to come to him. Venge occupied a place in society where people wanted his attention and the man loved it.
Oscar, on the other hand, abhorred it and normally preferred to skip parties like this. For all his usually thorny manner when he did attend social events, as an owner of a fairly profitable gladiatorial house, he got his own share of people who gravitated to him. At least, usually. This time, however, most of the other guests were steering rather clear of him.
Oscar Bellock laughed to himself as he considered the various looks he was getting. Or, more specifically, the looks his concubine was getting. It was rare enough to see someone bring a fyera, a beastperson, to a typical high-class social event, but one dressed up in the fineries of the nobles surrounding them and declared an actual concubine was courting absolute scandal. That it was the Grand Melee Gala, the biggest and most important of social events, only made that more so. On top of all that, Oscar had told Zinnia that she was encouraged to freely engage in conversation with anyone that they met and enjoy whatever treats and foods they had out for guests.
As far as Oscar was concerned, she was one of the guests, attending not as his pet or slave, but as his 'plus one'. At least, that was the story he was keeping to, should anyone comment. And he had already been quite prompt in giving that story more than once already. He wanted people to talk about this, to whisper it as gossip in private parlors, so that Zendrich and the Prime would be very loath to want to let it be known they were in bed with him or be too quick to leverage things against him.
And, if he was honest about it, he was rather enjoying Zinnia's company. She'd already made a stuffy and potentially tedious party into something quite fun. He'd never really considered her as anything but just a simple-minded pleasure slave before, but he was starting to realize that she had a lot more charm than he'd ever given her credit for.
Of course, her general excitement at just being at a party was amusing all on its own. She was all jubilant smiles and energy, practically bouncing around looking at things and cheerily greeting people. Very few had responded with anything other than contempt or effrontery, but she'd not really noticed and Oscar was happy to have them being mostly avoided by the other guests.
Venge himself had even scowled at the sight of them a few times, though Oscar felt sure that was as much due to their previous talk at the arena as to Zinnia's presence. He'd noticed that Cornelius hadn't bothered to visit him with the offer to snuff Lady Marlowe's 'little blonde wonder'. His own fighters were more than capable and willing to play butcher and he didn't have much care one way or the other. Still, he thought it probably better that he not been offered the little 'off-the-record' prize. He didn't really want anything from Venge, money or attention.
All of a sudden, from out of the milling guests emerged a man that Oscar found just as tedious and bothersome as Venge. Baron Tophias Wessincott. He was very rich, if only mildly influential among government and the social strata of the city, which allowed him to be a strong supporter and endorser of the Grand Arena. He often offered sponsorship arrangements with gladiatorial Houses, especially newer ones trying to get off the ground. This was mostly due to his arrogant belief that he knew the business of running a gladiatorial house better than someone who actually owned one.
His sponsorship and donations always came with the cost of him butting into the owners' businesses and trying to control how they ran their Houses. He believed he was an authority on gladiators and how to manage them, despite having never directly owned so much as a single gladiator himself. In his mind, however, the money he gave out as endorsements made him like a (not-so) silent partner in any House he gave support.
The ones who had been around long enough to not need the Baron's money and the meddling that came with it always politely declined any endorsement from him. So, he usually targeted the smaller and less stable House owners, who often found themselves forced to seek out support and funding to get established. Oscar himself had made the mistake of accepting some money from the Baron when he was first trying to get House Bloodwalker on its legs.
He'd regretted it almost within the first hour.
"Lord Bellock." Wessincott intoned as he strode up, an almost blisteringly beautiful woman on his arm. The woman wore something that miraculously managed to be both explicitly revealing and elegantly tasteful at the same time. She bore an expression floating somewhere between amusement and revulsion as she took in Zinnia on his lead chain. "I'm a touch surprised to find you at a party of this level of sophistication. As I remember it, you did not particularly care for this level of pageantry."
"I don't, Baron." Oscar said cordially. "However, it had been too long since I had a night out to socialize."
"Frankly, I'm equally amazed you were even given an invitation, registered to the event or not." Wessincott retorted dryly. "Your House isn't well known for its class and you've become quite infamous with your disregard for proper etiquette at late." He gave the fyera the briefest of glances, but his expression was much the same as his slave's was. "As well as your taste in pleasurable company."
Oscar could feel his face tightening, but fought to keep a diplomatic air by forcing a brief laugh. "I do like to stay controversial, Baron. I like to think of it as a way of setting myself apart from the crowd."
Wessincott gave his own laugh, but his was sardonic. "Well, you are most definitely 'apart' around here." He gave an exaggerated look around at the many guests who were keeping their distance from him and Zinnia. "For someone who says he's here to 'socialize', you're not really being all that social."
"It isn't my fault that no one wants to meet my new concubine, Baron." Oscar replied wryly, looking to Zinnia and giving her fuzzy face a brush. "Funny how fyera are so expensive because of their demand among this very class of people, yet it is so taboo for you have one. I assume people just don't like to admit they have such an affection for something that is so clearly not human."
The Baron shot him a dubious expression, as if to say that it was ridiculous for anyone to find a fyera attractive. "It is not the upper class who seek them out, Lord Bellock. I accept they may be popular among the degenerate peasantry, but no self-respecting aristocrat would lower themselves--"
"No, is true." Zinnia said, interrupting him, her expressions suggesting that she was trying to be helpful by correcting him, not so much out of taking any sort of offense. "Zinnia raised in brothels. Fyera most expensive to hire there. Only rich johns hire. Peasants not able afford fyera."
Wessincott glared at her as though she'd insulted him. "How dare you speak to me without invitation!" He barked at her. "A common slave is expected to be silent when their better is speaking. Some beastperson slave all the more."
