Please check out chapter two part A first if you haven't...it's seriously in need of reviews. Like I said before, if you make it through the entire chapter I'll happily return any reviews that you request.
This part's a tad better than the first (mostly because it introduces Darian). However, I'm dissatisfied with my excessive description, and I think I have two "looked in the mirror" description scenes in close proximity. Arrrgh. >_> Also, the whole "six hours earlier" thing is giving me massive fits; I feel that this scene (Nendo meeting Darian) ought to be at the beginning of the chapter, but am unsure because it segues more neatly into the next (Tey-centric) chapter than the Luanna scene. So I don't know what to do.
I get the feeling you'll all be disappointed when I introduce Darian, anyway, since I've been hyping him so much.
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Six hours earlier
Nendo had long given up struggling and tugging against Masudo’s arm. Part of it was because he’d grown weary fighting against the man’s wall-like strength. But most of it was because he was disoriented. And, a tiny, grudging part of him had to admit, awed.
This was the Noble Quarter. It had to be. Where else would be surrounded by a white wall three times Nendo’s height, and more than three paces thick? Where else would have such wide boulevards, such tall kaza trees, such emerald-green harrim bushes? Where else would burdenbeasts with such shiny silver hides and such long trunks trot, bearing on their backs handsome, pale-faced young men with cravats on their throats and pretty, equally pale, women wearing long dresses?
Nendo was so busy staring that he feared his eyes would pop out of his head.
Masudo was dragging Nendo down a wide, shady boulevard flanked with the tallest kaza trees Nendo had ever seen. Their stiff jade green leaves, like knives, blocked the beating glare of the midday sun from Nendo’s head. It took Nendo three long, dry swallows to unblock his throat, and force words out.
“Where…” he croaked. “Where are we…going…?”
“Miria Manor,’ said Masudo. “Lord Darian’s. You’ll like it.”
Maybe I’d like it better if you weren’t kidnapping me, thought a disgruntled part of Nendo, but most of him was still too absorbed in his elegant surroundings to care.
The boulevard curved, graceful as a river, in front of Nendo and Masudo. Masudo quickened his strides, so that Nendo had to break into an awkward jog to keep up with the large man. He had half a mind to snap a retort at Masudo, along the lines of slow down, will you?
But then all the breath was driven from his throat by the manor that loomed into vision.
He first saw a long, low white wall, so white that it almost blinded him. He tore his eyes from the wall, to see a stretch of neatly trimmed jewel-green grounds. Harrim bushes formed elegant lines dividing the grounds into sections, in each of which grew a different sort of plant—one garden boasted an array of brilliantly colored flowers, deep red and pale green and violet blue and sunset orange, while in another a stand of young kaza trees grew, and yet another held a glittering blue pool. The songs of mountain monkeybirds, their voices sweet and high in contrast to the strident screeching of the city monkeybirds Nendo knew, floated through the gardens.
Behind the gardens rose the imposing edifice of the manor house, as blinding white as the wall in front of it. It was large, with rounded-off square corners and a flat roof. All soft lines; no harshness. In fact, the basic shape reminded Nendo of the rectangular mud-brick buildings lining the streets of the Normal Quarter, but this house was much bigger, painted white, and possessed a tall, pointed tower somewhere in the distance. Not to mention, at regular intervals were large windows…not left open to the winds with only window-cloths to block out the sandstorms, but closed with a clear, vaguely shiny, substance—glass, Nendo realized.
“Do you like it?” Masudo said, casting Nendo a wry smile. Nendo couldn’t speak, so he settled for jerking his head in a nod.
Masudo laughed, the peals of his baritone laughter ringing in the clear air. Then, before Nendo could protest, Masudo yanked on Nendo’s arm and dragged him forward. Nendo had to stumble before he regained his footing.
“You—” gasped Nendo, realizing that Masudo was approaching the polished wooden gate set into the white wall, where a guard in a sentry’s red tunic stiffly waited. “You’re actually—you’re going to—to go—”
His words died in a sputtering gasp. Masudo must have grasped his meaning, though, because he threw his head back and unleashed a long laugh dripping with condescending amusement.
“Now, now, my boy—I’m a fellow noble. A peer. No one shall begrudge my arrival.”
Nendo felt a hot flush rise in his cheeks. Of course…he’d been thinking in terms of his life on the street. Street children never even approached the high white wall blocking the Noble Quarter from the Normal; the wall sentries were renowned for their cruelty. And it just felt—wrong. They were mere street children, ragged dirt-stained brats. They didn’t deserve to enter the hidden wonderland of the Noble Quarter.
Yet here Nendo was, and not only was he inside the Noble Quarter, he was apparently going to be living here…
The prospect was too astonishing to handle. He was just Nendo, a humble street boy, he shouldn’t be here, what about Tey—
Masudo jerked to a stop in front of the gate; Nendo collided into Masudo’s side with a gasp. The sentry approached, crossing two blades in front of him.
“Who goes there?”
Masudo sighed in a bored manner, running a hand through his meager silver hair. “Oh, come off it, you. It’s me, Lord Masudo. I’ve come here often enough.”
“Yes—well—” said the sentry, casting a suspicious glance at Nendo. His hard dark eyes narrowed. “But who is that, my lord?”
He infused the word with such disgust that Nendo shuddered, realizing that it was him the guard was referring to. But of course he’d be treated like dirt, a pathetic piece of trash, here; him, Nendo, the street boy with his dirt-streaked bronzed skin and his only clothing a pair of ragged sackcloth pants.
“This,” said Masudo, jerking painfully on Nendo’s arm, “is a present for Lord Darian.”
A present. Just like he was a thing. Nendo shot an acid glare at Masudo, which the lord either didn’t notice or was ignoring.
The sentry cast Nendo a misgiving glance. “Lord Masudo, I highly doubt Lord Darian will appreciate such a…ah, ‘present’.”
“Oh, I rather think he will,” said Masudo, with a laugh on the far side of maniacal. Nendo shuddered inside, wondering if he’d fallen into the grip of a madman. Instinctively, he glanced around his surroundings, trying to seek a path of escape—but there was none. He was like a fish thrown out of the water, left to flop and die in an unfamiliar landscape.
“If you say so, my lord,” said the sentry, though he still sounded doubtful. He strode to the doors, and unlocked them. The well-oiled hinges slipped the doors open without a sound. Nendo had time to register that the design carved on the doors was one of an oval mirror with a spray of wisterias wrapped around the handle, before he and Masudo stepped inside the grounds of Miria Manor.
Masudo never once slowed his pace. Marching with the speed and determination of a soldier, he dragged Nendo behind him, giving the boy barely any time to take in his surroundings. They were striding on a paved pathway of white stone, inlaid with something shiny and iridescent—mother-of-pearl?—in diamond patterns. The gentle songs of the monkeybirds drifted around Nendo, and the sweet smell of the garden—a combination of spicy kaza and honey-sweet flower—floated into his nostrils. He caught a glimpse of a gardener pruning a harrim bush, before Masudo jerked to a stop before the manor house proper.
Nendo tried to crane his neck to get a look at the house, but before he could he was being dragged up red-brick steps, also inlaid with mother-of-pearl. “Ow! Stop!” he gasped as he stubbed a toe against a step, but Masudo didn’t seem to be listening: Eagerness was making him quicken his already long strides.
Again, Masudo stopped suddenly, in front of the manor house’s massive wooden doors. They had to be twice as high as Nendo, and were made of the same polished dark wood as the gate. Again, like the gate, the doors bore the design of a stylized oval mirror. Masudo lifted a fist, and knocked it against the door.
“It is I, Lord Masudo, son of Karano, Fourth Count of Teral! I come to Lord Darian, son of Darvon, Sixth Count of Miria, bearing a gift of goodwill.”
Nendo smarted inside at being reduced to a “gift of goodwill”. He was surprised, though, at the formal stentorian tones Masudo was using—previously Masudo had been speaking more like a trickster than a noble, his speech informal and condescending.
The massive doors slid open, gliding so silently on oiled hinges that Nendo wasn’t even aware they were being opened until after the fact. He tensed, wondering if this “Lord Darian” was going to be on the other side of the door; perhaps he should bow…
But a girl was standing at the door, a girl smaller than Nendo, who appeared around his age. Her skin was paler than his, a shade like softened butter, and her glossy black hair was wound in a tight bun. She wore the sleeveless white dress of a maidservant. The girl glanced back at forth between Masudo and Nendo, her wide, liquid dark eyes surprised.
Then, she dropped into a formal curtsey, lowering her eyes from Masudo. “Lord Masudo, welcome,” she said, her voice quiet but ringing with a hidden strength.
“Miss Cura.” To Nendo’s surprise, Masudo raised a hand to his temple in a gesture that was almost a salute—but why should he salute a servant? “Do me a favor and get me your master, can you?”
“Erm…” Cura turned her eyes to the red brick beneath her feet and fiddled nervously with the front of her dress. “I don’t—I don’t think that is quite a good idea, my lord. Lord Darian is—ah—taking his afternoon nap…”
“Afternoon nap?” said Masudo, raising an eyebrow. “Rather early for that, isn’t it? Go wake that lazy boy, Cura. It’s important.”
“M-my lord—he’ll be angry—” stammered Cura, not looking up. Nendo felt a sudden sharp pang of sympathy for her.
“Tell him it’s Masudo, and it’s urgent,” said Masudo. “Remind him, if you must, of who comforted him all those long nights when he cried after his father’s death.”
“L-Lord Masudo—that’s really—that’s rather—” Cura had flushed a brilliant red. “That is a rather—low blow, my lord.”
“If it works, I don’t care how low it is,” replied Masudo, his tone light. “Come now, Cura. Wake him up. And at the meantime, let us in, will you?”
“Er—of course—my lord,” said Cura hastily, stepping aside. She swept her arm to the side—showing them in, Nendo realized with an uncomfortable twinge. He glanced at her as he and Masudo passed, entering the house. Cura met his gaze for a second, but then averted her eyes, seemingly embarrassed.
“Wake the sleeping princess up,” said Masudo, gazing at Cura expectantly. She blushed brighter than ever before, before turning heel and running down a hall, disappearing from Nendo’s sight.
“Come, I’ll show you to the parlor,” said Masudo, squeezing Nendo’s arm rather painfully. He began to stride through the halls, with the easy familiarity of someone who had been here many times before.
Nendo, of course, had never seen these halls, and he couldn’t help glancing around, trying to take in his surroundings, though Masudo was walking too quickly for Nendo to absorb any details. The manor house was large; large and airy, with high ceilings, walls painted pastel colors, and windows letting in the white desert sun. He also noted a profusion of mirrors: there seemed to be a mirror on every wall, giving him occasional glimpses of a wide-eyed, disoriented teenage boy with dirt-streaked copper-colored skin and shaggy, shoulder-length black hair.
“There are a lot of mirrors here,” he noted to Masudo, as Masudo stopped in front of two white-painted doors—again engraved with a design of an oval mirror festooned with wisterias.
“Yes, of course,” said Masudo, his tone somewhat distracted, as he pushed the doors open. “The mirror is the House of Miria’s symbol. They believe that mirrors enhance magic by reflecting the true soul.”
Nendo nodded, even though this didn’t make much sense to him. Masudo still had his arm around Nendo’s, and dragged Nendo after him into the parlor.
The instant Nendo stepped in, he jumped back, startled by an unaccustomed softness beneath his bare feet. He glanced down: a sumptuous pale green carpet.
“Ah, you’ve never seen a carpet before?” said Masudo, smiling playfully at Nendo. He led Nendo further into the room, though somewhat slower than before, allowing Nendo to adjust to the strange sensation of walking on substance-less softness that yielded under his feet.
Like water….
Nendo shook his head to clear the sudden stab of fear from it, and looked up to focus on the parlor. It was a large room, easily the largest one that Nendo had been in, though he felt the manor held many rooms large than this one. The walls were painted a delicate lavender shade, and bore several gilt-framed paintings, as well as—though Nendo was not surprised—two mirrors opposite each other. Masudo led Nendo to the wide, lavender-and-green striped couches on the end of the room. Nendo sat down, somewhat gingerly, allowing the softness of the cushion give way beneath his weight. Again, he had to fight the feeling that he was sinking in water, and had to shift several times before he found a pose that felt stable: sitting ramrod straight, his fingers digging into the soft upholstery.
There was a table in front of the couches, made of polished dark wood, and again bearing the stylized mirror design. A woven basket on it held an assortment of colorful fruits—little green kaza fruits, round purple harrim fruits, long orange manso fruits. The tantalizing sweet smells from the basket, as well as a sudden tightness in Nendo’s stomach, reminded him that he hadn’t had a meal yet that day—and, not waiting for permission, he reached out and plucked a medium-sized harrim fruit from the basket.
Masudo noticed Nendo’s gesture, and laughed before reaching for a harrim fruit of his own. He bounced the fruit in his palm, grinning at Nendo, his teeth shockingly white in his dark face. “Wise boy. No sense in starving while waiting for the prince to awaken.”
He took a loud chomp from the fruit; Nendo bit down more slowly, nibbling on the thick peel and swirling its sour toughness in his tongue. Tey, he thought idly, would have gobbled like a monkeybird, until purplish juice was staining his chin. Nendo forced back a sudden wave of longing. No, he couldn’t think about Tey…about what he’d lost…
Looking up, Nendo saw with a jolt of surprise that he was sitting directly opposite one of the mirrors on the wall. In it, he saw himself—saw the dirt crusting his skin, saw the patches and stains and mud of years on his rough sackcloth pants. Saw the shiny white scars on his chest from when he’d gotten in a fight with a dockworker two years ago. Saw it all, and became filled with a sudden sense of wrongness. This was wrong; him, Nendo, the street boy, sitting in this delicate and immaculate parlor, eating a nobleman’s fruit…his stomach gave a sick jolt, and he bent over, pressing his fingers into the dirt-stained skin, breathing hard.
“What’s the matter?” said Masudo, who had started on a second harrim fruit. “The fruit doesn’t agree with you?”
Nendo gritted his teeth, shaking his head. Not just the fruit…everything. I shouldn’t be here.
Masudo just shrugged, assuming that whatever was affecting Nendo would pass. He took another huge bite from the fruit.
The sound of footsteps distracted Nendo from the pain in his stomach, and he jerked towards the source of the noise—a pair of white-painted doors on the far wall. Masudo sat up straighter as well, watching the doors like a hawk.
The next instant, the doors flung open, and a young man entered the room.
Nendo stared, blinking, at the man. He could be none other than this “Lord Darian”—but he wasn’t anything like Nendo had been expecting. Perhaps Nendo was mistaken when he’d imagined noblemen as being tall, muscular, and golden-haired, because the young man who’d entered the room was slight, smaller than Nendo, with skin so pale that Nendo wondered if blood even flowed beneath it, and dark hair falling into midnight blue eyes currently narrowed in irritation.
This? This was Lord Darian? This slimly-built boy blinking dark hair out of his eyes?
“Masudo,” said Lord Darian, his voice surprisingly high and sweet but currently icy from anger. “Why in the name of the Protector have you disturbed my nap?”
“I’m s-sorry, Lord Darian, he was insistent,” squeaked Cura’s voice from behind Darian. Darian ignored her, striding forward and closer to Masudo.
“Oh, come off it, boy,” said Masudo, his tone bored. He wasn’t looking at Darian, but studying the half-eaten harrim fruit in his hand. “Who takes their afternoon nap at exactly noon? Perhaps you weren’t napping, and had only just slept in…?”
“I am not you, old man. I do not sleep in,” said Darian, still icily. He stopped several paces from the table in front of the couches. “Now, you had better have a damned good reason for rousing me from my sleep.”
Now that Darian had gotten closer, Nendo could begin to see the aristocrat in the boy—in the lazy arrogance to his swift gait, in the way he haughtily held himself, not even bothered by the untucked poet shirt he had clearly thrown on right after getting out of bed. He brushed off Cura’s attempts to tuck the shirt’s trailing tails into his black pants with an imperious wave, and she backed down.
“It is a good reason, my boy,” said Masudo lazily, tossing the fruit up and down in his hand. “Now—”
But before Masudo could speak, Darian noticed Nendo. A cold shiver ran up Nendo’s spine as his eyes locked with the nobleman’s serious dark blue ones. He felt, in that second, that he was being appraised, not just in body but soul, as if Darian had held up a mirror laying bare Nendo’s soul.
“What,” said Darian, rounding on Masudo and shaking in rage, “is this doing here?”
He jabbed an accusing pale finger at Nendo. Something in the gesture made a sick feeling rise within Nendo’s stomach—a feeling he recognized as wrongdoing, as if he’d failed someone important.
Masudo seemed hardly perturbed. “If you’ll have a seat, Lord Darian, I’ll happily tell you.”
“Have a seat?” said Darian, his voice rising and cracking on the final syllable. “You are not about to tell me to have a seat in my manor while you sit there with some random—street boy—”
“He is not a random street boy, Darian,” said Masudo, a smile lifting the corners of his lips. He clapped a heavy hand on Nendo’s bare shoulder, startling Nendo. “This boy is my gift to you.”
Darian stared, uncomprehending—but then threw back his head and laughed. It was an angelic laugh, the high peals ringing throughout the room; yet there was something unpleasant as well to it. Maybe the fact that Darian was laughing at Nendo…?
“You can’t be serious, Masudo,” said Darian, a smug smirk spreading across his face. “What kind of prank is this? I mean, you actually brought the boy into the manor. That takes—”
He then used a very inappropriate word for a piece of male anatomy. Nendo winced inside; he thought nobles were supposed to be cultured, yet here was the playful Masudo and there was the vulgar Darian. Nendo supposed he’d thought wrong.
Masudo smiled, unperturbed by Darian’s profanity. “I do mean it, Lord Darian. I present this boy—his name is Nendo—to you.” The hand on Nendo’s shoulder pushed forward, almost pitching Nendo over.
Darian gazed from Masudo to Nendo and to Masudo again, uncomprehending. Then, he shook his head a slow, resigned way and signaled to Cura, who approached him from where she’d been standing in the corner of the room. “Let’s leave, Cura. I really can’t believe you’d disturb my nap for this, Lord Masudo…now I’m going to sleep. Good day.”
He turned to leave. Nendo felt a strange sinking sensation in his stomach, though he didn’t know why; he should be happy to have been rejected, because he’d be returning to the streets and Tey. To further remind him of the street life he’d just left behind, he tightened his grip around the piece of wood in his palm.
But somehow, he doubted Masudo would make things that easy.
“Goodness, boy,” Masudo said loudly after the retreating Darian, “how much sleep do you need? You’re only eighteen.”
“Nineteen, in a month,” said Darian, casting a bored glance back at Masudo. “Now, let me sleep.”
Eighteen? And here Nendo had thought Darian couldn’t be any older than fifteen, given his size and the timbre of his voice.
Masudo just sat where he was, still tossing the harrim fruit up and down, smiling as if he didn’t care that Darian had just rejected his “gift”. Nendo cast Masudo an apprehensive glance, wondering what was going on—was Masudo really going to stand for this? He sounded like he’d been adamant on getting his hands on Nendo when he’d heard that Nendo could resist time magic.
Unwillingly, Nendo flashed back to the destroyed street, to the bombs, to the bobel seller and Tey, to the lines of golden magic flaring around Masudo as time froze on the street.
“He can resist time magic.”
Masudo spoke quietly, but his words carried throughout the still air—and had their desired effect. Darian stopped mid-step, a tremor coursing down his back as if he’d just been electrocuted. Then, slowly, he turned around, his face drained of the little color it already had, his expression disbelieving.
“What do you—are you serious?”
“When I am not serious, boy?” said Masudo, with a low chuckle.
“Nobody answer that,” mumbled Darian, seemingly to himself. Cura cracked a smile, however.
Nendo sat stiffly in the couch, clutching even tighter at the upholstery and not caring that he was probably tearing through it. He had no idea what was going to happen now—but somehow he felt it wouldn’t end with his release.
“Demonstrate.” Darian’s order was sharp, imperious. He faced Nendo, his dark eyes narrowed, a commanding finger pointing straight at Nendo’s heart. “Demonstrate this ability, if what Masudo says is true.”
“Er…” Nendo felt heat rise in his face as he remained where he was, stiff and straight-backed as ever before, completely lost. He tried to tell Darian something—perhaps that he couldn’t do anything, he wasn’t special—but his throat felt numb, his tongue heavy.
“He can’t demonstrate it unless someone performs time magic,” said Masudo, his tone becoming condescending. “Here.” He stood, and pointed his staff at Nendo.
Nendo instinctively scooted backwards, trying to evade the golden magic he could already see gathering in the tip of the staff. He clutched tighter into the upholstery, feeling strangely exposed—all eyes were on him, Darian’s and Cura’s in curiosity, Masudo’s in serene concentration.
Masudo had begun swinging his staff through the air, his swooshing movements graceful, as he drew with several powerful flicks of his wrist a circle made of golden fire in the air in front of Nendo. Nendo recognized the circle: it was a smaller version of the one Masudo had created earlier, in the street.
“Hey—wait—” he said, backing off as the circle drifted towards him, prepared to land on Nendo’s skin. “Hold on a second—”
He didn’t know why he was feeling so apprehensive: Just that, well, Masudo was sending magic straight at him. Who knew what would happen?
A sudden warmth at Nendo’s chest alerted him to the circle finding its mark. He stared down, as the lines of golden fire flared brighter than ever before, sending spikes of heat through his chest—
But then the lines began to fade, the fire dulling, until the circle disappeared entirely. Nendo stared at the unmarked skin of his chest, his heart pounding, blood singing through his ears. Hesitantly, he reached out and ran his fingers over his chest: The skin felt slightly warmer than before, but otherwise, there was no sign any magic had been performed.
Masudo, Darian, and Cura stared at him, all three of them silent, all three bearing identical expressions of surprise.
But then a smile spread across Masudo’s face, and he laughed and clapped Nendo—painfully—on the shoulder again. “Bravo! Excellent, boy! So it wasn’t a one-off…brilliant, absolutely brilliant!”
Darian swallowed, hard, his throat convulsing. He glanced between Masudo and Nendo, before meeting Nendo’s eyes—and then clasped his hands together and lowered his head to Nendo.
Nendo’s heart froze. If he wasn’t mistaken, Darian was giving him the traditional magician’s bow, the greeting mages always used to acknowledge another’s greater strength.
But I’m not—I’m not—you’re a noble, I’m a street boy, I haven’t got any strength-- Wild thoughts flitted through Nendo’s mind, but they remained trapped in his throat.
“Nendo, of Theratolia,” said Darian, not lifting his head. “You truly must be one for whom the Protector is watching over…or the Traveler. Whichever one applies in this situation.”
His old arrogance had slipped back into his voice, to Nendo’s surprised relief. Darian then straightened, a quiet smile on his face. He turned to Masudo, and the two exchanged brief nods: Comrades-in-arms, confirming tactics.
“Your power will be of great use to us, Nendo,” said Darian, his tone soft, as he faced Nendo again. Nendo felt he should reply, but all of his muscles felt frozen. Darian didn’t seem bothered by Nendo’s lack of response, for he turned around and snapped his fingers, calling Cura’s attention.
“Yes, my lord?” Cura was by his side in a heartbeat.
“Nendo is to join Miria Manor’s household staff,” said Darian, his tone authoritative—in stark contrast to the soft respect he’d been paying Nendo earlier. “You will show him his quarters, the areas which he may visit, and acquaint him with the other household staff.”
“Yes, my lord,” said Cura, curtseying to him. He nodded in acknowledgment, before throwing one last glance towards Nendo and Masudo.
“Before you do that—show Lord Masudo out,” said Darian, gesturing towards the door from which Nendo and Masudo had entered the parlor.
“Yes, my lord.” Another curtsey, and Cura was by Masudo’s side, taking his massive arm in her much smaller hand. Masudo smiled paternally at her.
“Well, if Lord Darian wants me out the way, I won’t protest,” although he shot a pointed look at Darian, which Darian pretended to ignore. Nendo watched their interaction, bemused.
“Go, Lord Masudo,” said Darian, waving dismissively at Masudo. “Our business is done for today.” He yawned and stretched, as if trying to impress on Masudo just what Masudo had interrupted. “Once you leave, I’m going back to my nap.”
“It’s unhealthy to sleep so much, Lord Darian!” called Masudo over his shoulder as Cura led him to the door. Darian made no response.
That left Nendo sitting on the couch, at a loss for what to do except to sit and—wait for orders, he supposed. Now that he was a servant, all he’d be doing was bowing and scraping and obeying his lord’s orders.
Tey, he thought faintly. If only you knew…what are you doing now, Tey, how are you holding up without me?
Nendo’s thoughts were dragged from Tey, however, by the sound of Darian’s voice calling after the departing Masudo and Cura. “One more thing—Cura, before you show Nendo the manor, make sure he gets a proper uniform. And,” he added, wrinkling his nose, “a bath.”
Nendo flushed bright red and immersed himself in the carpet beneath him. Surely, he thought grimly, whatever Tey was doing had to be ten times better than Nendo’s current situation.
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...I think I started abusing adverbs at the end.
So yeah, this is a chapter I both love and hate. Love it because the Masudo and Darian banter is so fun, but hate it because I go on and on with my descriptions and the chronology is completely frakked up. Again, take care to rip this up for word economy...
After you review the first part of the chapter, of course. >_> Again, I reitierate that I'll return reviews for anyone who finishes the entire chapter.
I find your verb choice here odd. Immersed himself in the carpet? I assume you mean, 'looked at intently'. Maybe consider tweaking this.
So. I do like Darian. 
I also know his secret, hehe, which I kind of wish I didn't-- it sort of gives the reader and unfair advantage in the story, knowing a character's secret that isn't meant to be revealed until later. But, whatever. xD