Last Life

ABBEVILLE’S DUELYARD was the size of a ball field. The rectangular field was surrounded by a high stone wall flanked by stands, and was divided into several smaller rectangles, each of which was occupied by duelists devotedly clanging iron, panting, and pummeling one another into the ground.

The stands were also divided into several sections. The ones in the middle were the best, intended for the elite; on either side of those were the benches for poorer audience members.

The noble and rich sections from afar looked like perches stuffed full of brightly colored birds. The sheer array of feathers, expensive furs, brocaded fabrics, silks, and jewelry was dazzling.

Bertrand and I worked our way into a less-flashily dressed crowd. There, to my delight, no one recognized me or distracted with stupid conversations. Now, it was crucial to watch closely what was happening in the arena.

After watching a dozen duels in one hour, I realized I’d seen enough, and we headed for the exit. On the way to our buggy, where Jacques was waiting, I asked the taciturn Bertrand:

“Do you know where we can sell my books for a good price?”

All that time, I was thinking that the love stories and poetry collections I had inherited from Max were just useless pulp, but I was wrong.

In fact, a few days ago, after returning from training, I caught Trixie in my room reading one of the poetry collections with a broom tucked beneath her arm. She was so engaged she didn’t even notice me come in. And when she did, she got very scared. I had to explain to her that she hadn’t done anything criminal.

In the end, I decided to gift her the poetry collection, which she found utterly shocking. When I later retold the odd event to Bertrand, I gleaned from his explanation that I had essentially given her around two silver crowns. At the very least, that was exactly how much the little book of, to my eye, middling verses at best had cost Max.

Just imagine — two hundred and fifty thalers! I of course, realized that it was art and all that... But instead of selling a whole winter wardrobe for practically nothing, if I were in Max’s place, the first thing I would have done would be to bring these testaments to graphomania to resellers.

“Yes, monsieur,” Bertrand replied softly. “I’m certain you will get a fair price in the upper quarter book shop.”

I must note, the old man looked slightly beaten down and was answering mechanically. I understood essentially what was wrong. A few of the duels we had seen ended in the death of the duelists, while the others ended in wounds with varying degrees of severity. I’d have bet my hand that Bertrand was picturing every last one of those deaths and wounds happening to his dearly beloved master.

“I see my trusty servant has already as good as buried me,” I chuckled.

“Monsieur!” Bertrand prayed. “Was there really not a way to settle that peacefully? Why did you provoke the viscount?”

I stopped and, setting a hand on the old man’s shoulder, stared directly into his eyes.

“My friend, you must understand one simple truth — the old Max Renard is gone now. You see? I might as well have been reborn there, near death. I became a different man. And when I woke up, the fog that has been obscuring my vision all these years was gone. I saw this world through different eyes. Strange as it may be, losing my memory only improved my understanding. Your tales about my past I find shocking. I’ve never felt so vile before. How did I live like that? What did I achieve in this life? What good am I without my relatives’ support? No, my friend, things cannot go on like this. You asked if I could have settled things peacefully? Of course I could have, but that would have meant humiliation, which I cannot afford as a nobleman. Beyond that, if I show weakness now, everyone will find out straight away. And then, we can forget about peace. Even the stray dogs in this city, nay all Vestonia, will consider it their duty to insult Maximilian Renard. Wouldn’t it be simpler now to trim down a few big insolent noses to avoid having to fight off every moron who wants to get me in the future? This is my new path, you see? My new life...”

And my last one... But I naturally was not going to tell the old man that.

I should note that my speech didn’t make a particular impression on Bertrand. On the contrary, he only looked paler and more sorrowful.

“I heard the viscount won a tournament in his county,” Bertrand kept plying his course.

“I would be more surprised to hear he lost. It is his daddy’s county, after all,” I laughed, and we kept going. “Bertrand, you’re a smart man, and you must understand perfectly well how these tournaments are won.”

“What about armor and weapons?” Bertrand wouldn’t relent. “Did you see the last fight between two barons? Did you see their armor? Well, the Viscount de Angland will have many times better protection. The count has enough money to provide his son with the best armor money can buy. And you don’t even have a sword. You may not believe his victory at the tournament was honest, but that doesn’t overshadow the fact that he’s an excellent swordsman.”

I smiled.

“I’d really like to hope the Viscount de Angland will come to tomorrow’s duel in full armor. And the more expensive the better.”

So, bickering languidly, we made our way back to the parking lot. When we reached the buggy, I said to Jacques’ inquisitive gaze:

“To the upper quarter book shop, then to an armorer. I have a duel tomorrow with a big-nosed gentleman.”

Our driver bared his teeth understandingly, while Bertrand gave a plaintive sigh.

* * *

Much to my surprise, all of Max’s books were a hit in the book shop. As it turned out, my predecessor had bought some great stuff — all the novels and poetry collections were the latest fashion in the capital. In particular, the shop owner was delighted by two opuses written by someone named Charles Harcourt, which had gone on sale at the end of the last winter. Their moderately large releases sold off instantly, making them something of a rarity not only out in the sticks, but even in the capital.

In the end, the books which had cost Max twenty-five crowns I managed to sell for a whole forty. And that left me with almost five hundred thalers at my disposal. By local standards, it was a respectable sum but, sadly, not enough to pay off even a quarter of my total debts. And I still had a conversation with Trebolt coming up. I was afraid to even imagine how much he’d loaned Max. And overall, I suspected that still unknown creditors would start popping up like mushrooms after a rainstorm when they found out the Chevalier Renard had survived his duel.

Both myself and Gaspard Mercier, the owner of the book shop, were left satisfied. I provided him with rare books, for which he paid a good price, and he promised to order from the capital a detailed map of Mainland, which was the name of the continent where I was located, as well as several books on the history of Vestonia and neighboring states.

After leaving the book shop, I headed for the armorer. I had to trust Jacques to choose a good place. Because he had to know all the local armorers as a former soldier and veteran of many battles, plus native of the town.

Jacques couldn’t refuse himself the pleasure of playing a joke on me, though. To me, it seemed like a little act of revenge for the pies. First thing he did was drag me into Abbeville’s central armorer, which was in the upper quarter.

Yep... What could I say...? When I stepped through the door of the shop and looked around, I practically went blind from the variety of shiny metal objects adorned with gemstones, feathers, and carved decorative elements. It was as if I had suddenly wandered into the armory of a duke or king. As an aside, the shop workers were dressed flashily and pompously to match. I continuously caught scornful looks.

“Well, where have you dragged me to now?” I asked Jacques, who was standing next to me and watching my reaction closely while I surveyed the cases and stands crammed full of fancy weaponry of all sorts.

“Is something the matter, monsieur?” he asked with a mocking edge.

“Where did I ask you to take me?” I answered with a question of my own.

“To an armorer,” Jacques shrugged and adjusted his wolfskin hat.

“That’s right,” I nodded. “But you forgot to add — a regular armorer where I can get myself an inexpensive but reliable weapon. So I ask you again — where have you dragged me to now? Here even the most basic dagger with all sorts of gemstones in the hilt will cost as much as a house in the merchant quarter. And those three suits of armor look like carnival costumes.”

I nodded at three mannequins in the middle of the main room and encased in strange looking armor, which was clearly not intended for actual combat. The first suit of scale armor was made of a material very reminiscent of ivory, while the second was leather. Only the third plate armor suit was made of a silvery metal. Honestly though, all the components were paper thin.

“Can I help you with anything?” I heard a rude woman’s voice behind me.

Jacques and I turned. Before us stood a woman of medium height and average build looking around thirty and wearing a dark dress made of basic fabric, which contrasted sharply with the other salesmen’s outfits. Her completely gray hair was put up in a simple ponytail, while her wide slightly squinting green eyes cast an authoritative gaze. She must have been the store owner.

“No, madame,” I made a slight bow. “We’re on our way out.”

I had already turned to leave, but the lady stopped me.

“And yet,” she came coldly. “I’d like to know your name.”

“My name?” I asked in surprise. “What for? Anyhow, whatever you like. Chevalier Maximilian Renard, at your service.”

“Ursula Hoog,” the lady introduced herself shortly with no bow and added: “I own this place. So, chevalier, in what way did my wares not meet your standards? In particular the three sets of armor you scornfully referred to as ‘carnival costumes?’“

The last two words she squeezed out through her teeth. What was wrong with her? This old lady was clearly not in a good mood. Oh well, I did say that.

“Are you telling me that armor is intended for war?” I arched my right brow in surprise. And meanwhile, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jacques snorting acridly. My guide was clearly playing a joke, and clearly on me.

I should note that our conversation amused not only Jacques, but everyone else in the shop. The salesmen were either smiling openly or whispering to each other and shaking their heads my direction. What the hell was going on here?! My trusty Bertrand had stayed outside to keep watch of the buggy. So I had no one to ask for help or explanations.

Well, if they thought Dodger was so easily embarrassed, they were deeply mistaken.

Ursula Hoog was the only person not in a good mood. On the contrary, the store owner was angry. I was getting the impression that my words had offended her personally. What nonsense...

“What about them bothers you?” she squeezed out between her teeth. “As far as I understand, the chevalier is well-acquainted with war. So, would you care to enlighten me? Do me a favor.”

A strange situation. Were I in my own world right now, I might have thought someone was trying to play a prank on me.

I shrugged and walked up to one of the mannequins. The one encased in silvery plate armor. I decided to give it another careful look. But using true vision — Ursula Hoog and her subordinates had just reacted painfully strangely to my words.

When I switched to true vision, I was in for a shock. I had a hard time not shuddering in surprise. God damn! My eyes refused to believe what they were seeing! A troop of ants beat out a fevered tattoo on my spine.

So that was why the old lady was so outraged! In fact, I couldn’t blame her. The silvery plate armor was not basic armor in the usual sense of the word. It was like an exoskeleton with baroque energy nodes in every component, all interconnected into a single network with an unusual energy reservoir in the very center divided into several segments and located in the chest plate.

The energy channels, reminiscent of a human circulatory system in shape, gave a faint lilac glow, while the reservoir was completely empty.

I turned to look at the other armor suits and saw approximately the same. There were some differences, though. For example, the channels of the bone and leather armor suits were broader and more resilient than the metal ones, while the reservoirs were higher capacity and had larger numbers of segments. Beyond that, their energy systems looked better balanced and more natural somehow. As if the silvery exoskeleton was a pale imitation of the other two.

All three armor suits were in “sleep mode” and the way to awaken them must have been to fill the reservoirs with mana. Whew... It took me a lot of effort to suppress the urge to touch the silvery chest plate containing the exoskeleton’s “heart.”

I was practically stunned, staring at all the beauty.

Ursula Hoog took my silence in her own way.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” she snorted. “Another upstart who thought himself a great warrior and weapons expert but cannot tell the difference between regular armor and a stryker’s magic suit.”

Once finished with her short, accusatory speech, the shop owner turned on her heels and, no longer paying me any attention, or even saying goodbye, left the shop floor with a broad gait. And meanwhile, she said all that in a language which was much coarser sounding than Vestonian or the language of the Foggy Isles. But I, thanks to Max’s knowledge, understood it perfectly.

A minute later, followed by the scornful and mocking gazes of the staff and few visitors, I went outside and, once up in my buggy, calmly turned to Jacques and said:

“Now take me to a regular armorer.”

“I thought a gentleman like you would want armor and weapons befitting his status,” Jacques said, hinting at something.

“No, I don’t,” I responded and casually asked in an even-tempered voice: “You do realize after all, that my patience isn’t infinite, right?”

“Yes, monsieur,” Jacques responded shortly but without a hint of a smile.

Bertrand, who had been listening in all that time, looked puzzled.

When the buggy got moving, I started thinking. The whole day, no matter how much I looked, I hadn’t noticed a single gifted person. And now that I had totally lost hope, it finally happened. Because on my way out, I scanned the store owner to discover that she was a mage. Her energy structure was noticeably different from mine, though. And specifically, Ursula Hoog had no energy reservoir of her own. Or rather, initially I discovered several reservoirs in her body, but then it hit me: they were just batteries or, as the locals here called them — bruts. The very energy crystals that could only be found in the Shadow. As it turned out, Ursula could only take borrowed mana and direct it through her energy system, but she couldn’t accumulate it herself. So in other words, without bruts she would just be a normal person?

Hm... Very curious. I’d have to keep an eye on her. Speaking of which...

“That Ursula... Who is she?” I asked Jacques.

“An artifactor,” he responded shortly.

“Artifactor?” I feigned surprise. “In this neck of the woods? By the way, what language was she speaking?”

“She hails from Astland,” Jacques said. “She settled in Abbeville a year and a half ago. It’s rumored that she quarreled with the head of her guild and that was why she moved to Vestonia.”

“I can believe that,” I snorted. “The lady has quite an abrasive character. And I assume she didn’t settle in our capital city because of the stiff competition. Completely expected. After all, where she’s from, the artisans have probably already divided everything up into territories. And the reason she chose Abbeville is that there are no other artifactors here.”

“And there never were,” Jacques confirmed.

Still it was strange. But I kept those thoughts to myself. Especially given our buggy had just stopped outside a shop with a banner depicting a crossed axe and mace. Considering the fact that such banners were made for the illiterate, and thus less well-off, I had come to exactly the right place.

Interlude 1

Herouxville, capital of Vestonia. The Manor of Count Heinrich de Gramont.

“Well, that’s to be expected!” Heinrich de Gramont snorted, tossing a letter he’d just read on the table. The count’s brief outburst made all the women sitting at the lunch table with him turn their heads.

“What is it, Henri?” inquired his wife, Countess Catherine de Gramont sitting next to him.

“Another ball invitation?” Yveline, the count’s youngest daughter, squeaked out hopefully. Her little cheeks started blushing, while sparkles of mischief flickered in her green eyes. She reminded the count of his sister, the Duchess du Bellay when she was younger. The very duchess who in court was known as the Stone Lady. If he told anyone his sister had once behaved just like the little blonde Yveline, eagerly looking forward to every ball — they’d never have believed it.

“Balls are the only thing on your mind,” snorted Marielle, the count’s oldest daughter. She was an exact copy of her mother. She had inherited from Catherine a sober reason and feisty character. Now she was only starting to carry that weight, practicing on her sister and three cousins, the daughters of Ferdinand, who had been executed for betraying the crown.

Thinking back on his older brother perked Heinrich up a bit. It didn’t matter what people called him in court: fratricide, traitor to his own blood, or someone who had betrayed before, and would certainly betray again. None of those evil tongues could get to him. Heinrich’s position at court had only grown more stable.

As an aside, the thing about betrayal had been said, as far as Heinrich was aware, to the king by none other than his chancellor. And that made His Majesty respond that Heinrich de Gramont, unlike his brother, had never betrayed the king. On the contrary, he told the king in good time about a treacherous conspiracy. Essentially, he had done the chancellor’s job for him.

When Heinrich was recounted His Majesty’s conversation with the crumbling old crouton of a man, Lambert de Vergy, the sheer delight and pride that flooded the count’s mind inspired him to hold a ball, which ended up costing a fortune.

“As if you yourself don’t love them, too!” Yveline answered tit for tat. “I remember perfectly how happily you smiled while dancing with the Marquise de Coligny!”

Marielle shuddered and, red as a beet, stared point blank at her younger sister. Her dark green eyes seemed primed to shoot lightning bolts at Yveline.

The blond fidget, knowing that she was her father’s favorite, just happily ignored the looks, but didn’t forget to stick her tongue out at her older sister.

While Heinrich’s daughters squabbled, their cousins sat in silence, eyes downcast. Over the last few months, Catherine had labored diligently to rein them in. Just one year ago, the daughters of Count Ferdinand de Gramont, one of the wealthiest aristocrats in Vestonia, had glimmered at every capital city ball and social function. They all had the most elite suitors in the kingdom vying for their hands in marriage.

No wonder then that the young viscountesses tried to show their mettle. But they were very quickly informed that they were now mere wards of their uncle, and their dowries had shrunk significantly. Not to mention the fact they should have been glad they weren’t sent to the chopping block alongside their father and brothers. And that, in addition to being branded daughters of a traitor, had significantly lowered their value as brides.

Catherine started breaking them on day one after they moved to their uncle’s capital city manor. The countess’ first order of business was getting rid of Ferdinand’s wife, their batty mother, sending her to an abode for the mentally ill, which was linked to the temple of the Most Luminous Mother.

After that, the girls spent a few months locked away, reading and memorizing devotional texts from the sacred books of the Forefather, subsisting all the while almost exclusively on water and bread.

The oldest nieces were the first to relent. They turned against their father and mother, swore allegiance to their uncle and put themselves at his discretion. Ferdinand’s youngest daughter, Valerie, held out the longest. She resembled her father most of all. Catherine had to at first even cut her daily food ration, then even keep her to just water for several days. In the end, though, she did submit and swear an oath of loyalty.

However, Heinrich was certain the little devil hadn’t truly relented. For example, just then, all three of the girls were sitting at the table according to his instructions dressed in vibrant outfits even though, under different circumstances, they would have had to wear black mourning dresses for several more months. But because they had disavowed their traitor father, it would have been improper for them to mourn him. Meanwhile, one of his niece’s servant girls reported to Heinrich that Valerie kept a black ribbon tied around her elbow, a sign that she still honored the memory of her father and brothers. But Valerie strove to display obedience and a willingness to carry out her uncle’s every order.

Despite the daily reports from his informants occasionally mentioning Valerie’s disobedience, Heinrich caught himself thinking that he actually appreciated her character.

Unlike her older sisters and cousins, Valerie had a sharp intellect for her twenty-two years, as well as astonishing composure and restraint. Heinrich understood now why his brother had so often said he regretted that Valerie had not been born a man. Both of Heinrich’s sons were stupid, spoiled brats compared to young Valerie, even though they were both several years older than her.

“No, my dear, it isn’t a ball invitation,” Heinrich decided to snuff out the bickering before it went too far. “It’s a letter from an attorney about a land dispute case with our neighbor the Count de Marbot.”

Heinrich, keeping a close eye on his nieces, noticed that all three shuddered at the mention of that count’s name.

“But, Henri,” Catherine came, her brows slightly knitted. “I remember all our neighbor’s names perfectly well... And the Count de Marbot is not among them.”

“Oh, madame, it’s no wonder,” Heinrich chuckled. “The Count de Marbot only became our neighbor recently. All thanks to my traitor brother.”

The countess’ eyebrows shot into her forehead and, an instant later, a malevolent smirk appeared on her face. She never refused herself the pleasure of casting a triumphant gaze at her husband’s nieces. They in their turn sat with their heads low and, whereas the older two Nadine and Patricia looked despondent, Valerie’s pale face held no expression whatsoever.

“Daddy,” the restless Yveline couldn’t resist. “Could you please explain to us what that means? How is that possible? We get a new neighbor, and we’re already in a land dispute?”

Heinrich noticed a condescending smile appear on Valerie’s face for a short moment only to disappear quickly.

“You know,” the count snorted. “Why don’t you ask your cousins. I’m sure they can tell you in great detail.”

Surprise could be read on Yveline’s cute, naive little face.

“Valerie!” she instantly turned to her youngest cousin, which made Heinrich again chuckle. He was not the only one in the house to appreciate her abilities. “Care to explain?”

“My pleasure, dear cousin,” Valerie was obedience and benevolence personified.

Heinrich laughed to himself just like a snake before it strikes. Could he still strangle her quietly before it was too late? No. He immediately drove off those thoughts. She had the blood of the ancients flowing through her veins just like everyone else here. In her time, she would become part of a profitable deal, which de Gramont would sign with another influential house when he gave her away for marriage.

“Uncle, may I?” Valerie asked to which Heinrich nodded in silence.

“At issue are the eastern lands, which have belonged to house de Gramont since time immemorial,” Valerie started. “After my father betrayed His Majesty, which was why he was executed, those lands came into the possession of our uncle, your father. But along with those lands, your dad took on a wealth of problems my father left behind. One such problem is the land dispute with the Count de Marbot. If I may be so bold, I might suggest the Count de Marbot refused to back down from his plan to purchase a disputed title to the heart of the Forest of Thiliez.”

“Exactly right,” Heinrich nodded. “Furthermore, he is threatening to turn to the crown for help. Maybe that’s the problem.”

“Over some forest?” Yveline asked in surprise. “After all, isn’t there a peaceful way we can coexist? At the end of the day, we could just cede the patch of forest to our neighbors. We already have plenty of land.”

Heinrich shook his head immediately. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted Valerie shooting a look at her cousin. In her gray eyes, he could read unhidden scorn and mockery. Just then, the black-haired woman looked more like her father than ever before. Oh, how many times in his life had Heinrich caught that same look from his older brother. And how he detested that scorn.

“It is not merely a forest, dear cousin,” Valerie came. “It is the Forest of Thiliez. Several thousand acres of highly valuable yew trees. That forest alone brings your daddy tens of thousands of crowns per year.”

“Then what should be done?” Yveline asked, her eyes wide.

“You needn’t worry about that, my dear,” the countess said with a calm smile. “Your father will surely think something up. And solve the issue that plagued his wayward brother for so long.”

Heinrich tossed a quick glance at his niece — and again the same reaction.

“As a matter of fact, I already have an idea,” he smiled, still tracking Valerie’s reaction. “The Count de Marbot suggested it last month.”

Yveline clapped her hands together and pleaded:

“Well, daddy, don’t leave me hanging! You’re always so smart!”

His brother’s daughters looked like marble statues.

Heinrich rewarded his youngest daughter with a warm smile, and said:

“The count himself suggested a peaceful settlement. And to quash any future disputes which are, for the record, quite costly he wants to join our families in marriage.”

A silence fell over the table, which was broken by Yveline a minute later.

“Daddy, do you want me or Marielle to serve as a bargaining chip in this tiresome dispute with a count nobody has ever heard of over a forest?” she asked with horror in her eyes. “Or will our brothers have to? After all, Gabriel and François have such promising futures in court!”

“Well, first of all, the de Marbots are one of the most ancient and wealthy families in Vestonia, and the fact the count has been absent from court for ages doesn’t mean a thing. Practicing politics isn’t suited to his age. His son meanwhile is preparing to present himself to the king soon. And now, His Majesty needs strong and wealthy supporters. And well, second, you have forgotten that other than you and your brothers you have another three cousins in this family.”

Heinrich saw his nieces shudder. Valerie also looked frightened.

“Is something the matter?” the count asked. “You all just went pale.”

Nadine and Patricia bolted up out of their seats and fell to their knees at Heinrich’s feet, which embarrassed him greatly.

“Dear uncle, I beg you!” Nadine exclaimed with tears in her eyes. “Do not give us to that monster!”

“Anyone but him!” Patricia echoed her sentiment.

Both of the girls resembled their mother in their facial features and physiques. They also behaved just like her. Heinrich curled his lips in scorn. The de Fiennes, the family Ferdinand took his wife from, were always such sniveling cowards.

The count looked up at Valerie, who also got up from her seat but did not fall to her knees. She was standing one step away from her sister with her head bowed obediently. Only the jawbones grinding through her thin cheeks, and hands balled up into white-knuckle fists, betrayed her true opinion.

“Valerie!” the count addressed her strictly. “How am I to take this?”

His niece breathed a deep sigh and looked up. The fear was gone from her gray eyes.

“The Viscount de Marbot, the Count de Marbot’s oldest son, has a nickname — Émile the Toad,” Valerie started to explain, her voice shaky with tension.

“Yuck!” Yveline cringed straight away. “I can’t stand toads!”

“Quiet!” the countess admonished. “But you keep going!”

“It is a nickname he earned fair and square,” Valerie obeyed. “Not only has the viscount been very ugly since birth, he is also unusually cruel. He is a true sadist and murderer. Everyone in the area knows that he adores torturing serfs to death. And the young women suffer worst of all...”

The countess and her daughters breathed a simultaneous sigh, while Valerie’s sisters started sniveling even louder.

Heinrich was angry and gloomy when he heard what his niece said. And not because he felt bad for some peasants being tormented by the Count de Marbot’s son. His nieces’ tears also hadn’t moved him in the slightest — he didn’t give a damn about such stupid things.

The very fact de Marbot had tried to trick him by slipping him an ugly son-in-law with an abhorrent past and tarnished reputation drove him to madness. And the fact he would have to give up not daughters, but just one of his nieces didn’t matter. Ferdinand’s daughters belonged to an ancient house. Even if they were children of a traitor, they had not ceased to come from ancient blood. The de Gramonts could not tolerate relation to a monster and murderer.

“Now I see why de Marbot’s heir has not yet presented himself at court,” the countess said. “The king is too squeamish. He prefers to surround himself with beautiful people and things.”

“At any rate, Valerie is right,” Heinrich said thoughtfully. “The Forest of Thiliez with its yews is one of our house’s most valuable assets. We simply cannot afford to let it go. And there will be no peaceful settlement with de Marbot. We’ll have to write a response complaint to the king.”

“I know how we could settle things peacefully,” Valerie spoke up unexpectedly.

Everyone turned their heads to face her.

“And how might that be?” Heinrich asked in surprise.

“You could form a marital alliance with house de Marbot anyway,” she replied.

“Are you suggesting I sacrifice you or one of your sisters to Émile the Toad?” Heinrich laughed. “Or perhaps one of my daughters?”

“Father!” Yveline squeaked. The countess had to put a hand on her back to calm her down. As if to say, “daddy isn’t being serious.”

“No,” Valerie shook her head. “Let me remind you that the Count de Marbot has both a son, and an adult daughter. Truthfully though, she isn’t exactly perfect, either.”

“What’s wrong with her?” Heinrich looked like a hound that had just smelled prey. His niece was suggesting a solution. And he seemingly had already guessed exactly what it would be. “How old is she?”

“Henri!” the duchess exclaimed. “Gabriel and François deserve a better future!”

“She is twenty-eight,” Valerie continued, paying no attention to her aunt’s outburst.

“Why is such a well-positioned bride not yet married?” Heinrich asked sharply. “Is she just as nasty as her brother?”

“On the contrary!” Valerie objected. “Aurélie de Marbot is a rare beauty. And as far as I am aware, she has no sadistic inclinations. But she does have one flaw. She is infertile. Many years ago, on a hunt, a boar wounded her severely. A group of healers saved her life and treated the wound, but they couldn’t do anymore.”

“Gabriel and François are the only unmarried men in house de Gramont,” Heinrich said. “But as you understand, my sons will have to carry on the family line.”

“You are mistaken, uncle,” Valerie laughed. “You have one more man in the house. And he will do perfectly well to secure a peace treaty with the Count de Marbot.”

“To whom are you referring?” Yveline asked in surprise.

“Your cousin,” Valerie gave a wry smile. “Maximilian Renard, my father’s bastard.”

Heinrich sat back in his chair and frowned.

“Didn’t he die in a duel?” the countess asked. “We just recently got word from Abbeville.”

“He survived,” Heinrich replied. “Creditors keep showering me with letters requesting I pay his debts. And they also told me the details of the duel.”

“How interesting!” Yveline squeaked. “And what was the duel about?”

“That moron managed to challenge a professional duelist over some hack actress,” the count replied disparagingly. “He also managed to rack up debts with every aristocrat in Abbeville. And if he thinks I’m about to pay them off, he’s deeply mistaken.”

“Just like my storybooks!” Yveline clapped her hands in delight.

Heinrich, ignoring his younger daughter’s elation, got up from the table and said:

“Well, I will have to think everything through. But now, I must set it aside. I have urgent business to attend to.”

With a kiss on the countess’ hand, paying no attention to his nieces standing to their feet, Heinrich de Gramont left the dining hall. In the doorway, he made a half turn and caught a tense look from Valerie. Once again, he found himself considering strangling the little snake quietly now before it was too late.