Chapter 9: THE NOBLE GAME
Valdo Marx stood in the great hall like he owned it.
I stopped just inside the entrance, my carefully constructed calm cracking at the edges. He was dressed in silk and velvet, a lute at his hip, surrounded by admirers who laughed at something he'd just said.
His eyes found mine across the room. His smile widened into something that made my Evasion Instinct twitch.
Of course. Of course he's here.
Baron Vetter appeared at my elbow, a broad-shouldered man with a politician's smile. "Ah, the famous Jaskier! Welcome to my humble estate. I hope the journey wasn't too arduous?"
"Quite comfortable, my lord. Your hospitality begins before one even arrives."
"Excellent, excellent." The Baron's eyes flicked between me and Valdo. "I'm sure you know Master Marx. His family has been patrons of the arts for generations. When Lady Kessler suggested he might provide some variety to the evening's entertainment, I couldn't refuse."
Lady Kessler. One of Valdo's family connections, probably.
"The more music, the merrier," I said, because what else could I say?
Valdo approached, every step calculated for maximum elegance. "Jaskier. What a pleasant surprise. I had no idea you'd graduated from tavern performances to noble entertainment."
"The road of artistic growth leads in unexpected directions." I matched his smile tooth for tooth. "I look forward to hearing your work. I've heard such... interesting things about it."
Something flickered behind his eyes. Anger, maybe, or satisfaction at having rattled me. Possibly both.
"My lords and ladies!" Baron Vetter raised his voice, addressing the assembled guests. "Tonight we celebrate my daughter Vera's sixteenth nameday with the finest entertainment the realm has to offer. Master Marx shall perform first, followed by our special guest from Oxenfurt!"
The evening had become a competition. I could see it in the way certain nobles exchanged glances, in the satisfied expressions of those who'd arranged this confrontation. We were entertainment in more ways than one.
Fine. Let's play.
Valdo took the stage first—a raised platform at one end of the great hall, backed by tapestries that cost more than everything I'd ever owned combined.
He was good. I could admit that much. His voice was rich and controlled, his fingers nimble on the strings. He performed a ballad about a knight's devotion to his lady, technically brilliant and emotionally precise.
Cold.
The song was perfect in the way a painting of food was perfect—all the right colors and shapes, but nothing that would actually nourish you. Valdo hit every note, conveyed every sentiment, and I watched the nobles respond with polite appreciation.
But no one wept. No one's breath caught. The song was craft without soul.
You can beat that.
When my turn came, I took the stage with my heart pounding and my Evasion awareness scanning the room. Valdo watched from a position near Lady Kessler, his expression smug.
I found Baron Vetter in the crowd. Beside him sat a young woman who must be Lady Vera—his daughter, the reason for tonight's celebration. She looked bored, the way teenagers look when forced to attend events in their honor.
And next to her, the Baron's wife. The Baroness. Her face bore the particular weariness of a woman who'd spent decades managing a household and a husband's ambitions.
A father's hope for his daughter.
The song formed in my mind—not one I'd practiced, but one I'd carry. True emotion finding true words.
I began playing. A simple melody, nothing that would compete with Valdo's technical fireworks. And I pushed.
"When first I held you, small and new, the world seemed bright with possibility..."
I sang about fatherhood. About watching a child grow, about the hopes and fears that came with loving someone so completely. I sang about time passing too quickly, about wanting to protect and having to let go.
Every word was aimed at Baron Vetter, but it was true—true in a way I could feel the power accepting and amplifying.
I'd never been a father. Wouldn't have been, in my old life, dying as I did before I'd built anything lasting. But I understood the emotion. I believed in it.
That was enough.
The Baron's eyes glistened. His hand found his wife's, and they held each other while their daughter suddenly looked at them with something other than teenage annoyance.
Across the room, other parents reached for their children. An elderly lord wiped his eyes with a handkerchief. A mother pulled her young son closer.
Valdo's jaw tightened.
I finished the song to silence—the good kind, the kind that meant people needed a moment before they could respond.
Then the applause came. Enthusiastic, genuine, the sound of an audience that had been moved rather than merely entertained.
Baron Vetter approached me as the noise died down. "Master Jaskier. That was... that was remarkable." His voice was rough. "I shall remember that song for the rest of my days."
"Thank you, my lord. Your daughter is fortunate to have a father who loves her so."
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of congratulations and wine. Valdo disappeared early, his expression murderous. I made polite conversation with nobles who wanted to know where else I'd be performing, whether I might attend their own celebrations, whether I was available for private commissions.
This is how reputation builds. One genuine moment at a time.
Late in the night, after most guests had retired, a servant pressed a folded note into my hand.
The Marx family has ears here. Leave early.
No signature. No indication of who had sent it.
My Evasion Instinct, which had been on low alert all evening, suddenly screamed.
Something's wrong. Leave now.
I made gracious excuses to the Baron—artistic temperament, early morning inspiration, profound gratitude for his hospitality. He seemed disappointed but understanding. The payment he pressed into my hands was substantial.
The carriage was waiting in the courtyard. I climbed in, told the driver to depart immediately, and watched the estate shrink behind us through the window.
Who sent that note? Who else knows Valdo is dangerous?
An hour into the journey, the carriage lurched. A grinding sound, then a crack. The driver shouted something, pulling hard on the reins.
We stopped.
"Wheel's come loose." The driver climbed down, lantern in hand. "How in the... the bolt's been half-pulled. Someone sabotaged—"
Of course they did.
I climbed out after him, examining the damage. The wheel had nearly come off entirely. If we'd been going faster, if the road had been rougher...
"Can you fix it?"
"Need tools. Got some in the box, but it'll take time."
"I'll help."
We worked by lanternlight, mud soaking into my fine clothes as I held pieces steady while the driver reattached the wheel. My hands got filthy with grease. My back ached from crouching in the cold.
But we got it done.
When the carriage was roadworthy again, I stood in the darkness and laughed. The absurdity of it—surviving political games and assassination attempts, only to end up muddy and cold on a back road in the middle of the night.
At least I'm alive.
The driver gave me a strange look but said nothing.
We continued toward Vizima. I sat in the carriage with mud drying on my skin and thought about what I'd learned.
Noble courts could wait. The power I was building, the reputation I was crafting—they'd opened a door I wasn't ready to walk through. Valdo Marx had allies who could arrange sabotage at noble estates. If I stayed in that world too long, the attacks would escalate.
I need to grow stronger. Get out of Valdo's reach. Find safer ground to build from.
The countryside rolled past outside my window. Somewhere out there, Geralt of Rivia was hunting monsters alone. Somewhere, Ciri was growing up in a palace that would fall. Somewhere, the future I half-remembered was unfolding in ways I couldn't predict.
I still had time. Nearly two years before Posada.
But I needed to spend that time getting stronger, not playing politics with people who solved problems through assassination.
Back to the roads. Back to true stories. Back to building power the right way.
The mud on my hands had dried by the time we reached the city. I climbed out of the carriage, paid the driver extra for his trouble, and walked toward my lodgings.
Tomorrow, I'd leave Vizima. Head somewhere Valdo's family didn't have influence. Find new stories, new audiences, new ways to grow.
Tonight, I needed a bath. And possibly to burn these clothes.
But first—first I smiled. Because despite everything, I'd won the song duel. I'd moved a room full of nobles to tears with nothing but truth and music.
The power was real. The path was clear.
All I had to do was walk it.
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