Last Life

QUICKLY GATHERING MY THOUGHTS, I again put on a welcoming smile.

“Madame!” I continued in Vestonian as if nothing had happened. I was not yet willing to display my knowledge of the ancient tongue. “Let me repeat, I beg your forgiveness for any trouble I may have caused you. We will leave your land now, and you will never see me here again. I do not seek trouble.”

The witch, still boring into me with her eyes, tilted her head to one side.

“We had no ill intent in coming here,” I said, smiling all the while. “More the opposite. We were looking for help. My servant needs medicine. We were told to go to the herbalist. Which was you.”

“You are not welcome here, fox,” the “herbalist” hissed in Vestonian.

I saw the mana in her energy system seething. Her nostrils puffed out predatorily while her jawbones ground through her slightly rosy cheeks.

I even clicked my tongue. A real beauty!

Lada’s energy channels meanwhile caught my interest. Or rather, their tips. It was as if someone cut them off and cauterized them. And very long ago. That meant that before me now was a witch who could not make full use of her gift. And that meant we had just switched roles — she was no longer a rival to me. Hm. such potential but she was essentially disabled. Even worse. Much worse...

I actually felt bad for her. For a brief moment. After all, who knew better than me what witches were capable of? Vadoma could have given her foes quite a tough time even without her gift.

“And don’t you dare show your face to me again,” she hissed at my back. “I’ll crush you like a flea.”

I stopped stock still and closed my eyes. She never should have said that. It was one thing for me to wander onto her land, even if by accident. But it was another thing entirely to threaten me with retribution even on neutral territory. After all, Abbeville was not a large city, and it was easily possible for us to cross paths by complete accident.

With a deep breath, I drew some energy from my reservoir and loosed it down the channels, putting my body into fight mode.

I turned around and took the sword off my back in one fluid motion then took a few lightning-fast steps forward. Directing the energy mass into the tip of my blade, I cut a thin dead branch off a short tree that was hanging at the level of the witch’s head. With a bright flash of energy, the branch fell at the “herbalist’s” feet. I saw astonishment and even confusion in her green eyes. That was clearly not the reaction she was expecting.

“Listen to me carefully,” I said, staring placidly into her eyes widening with fear, now in the witching tongue. “I respect the ancient traditions and laws of my adoptive mother. And that is the reason I begged your forgiveness several times. But in fact, I belong to one of the most influential families in Mainland and may freely go wherever I please. Particularly in these gods forsaken slums. You were just a hair away from death, but I decided to take mercy on you because, and I repeat, I honor my mother’s commandments. But if you suddenly decide to threaten me again, my patience will burst.”

Despite the evening chill, little beads of sweat started appearing on the witch’s forehead. Her back straightened up and her little hands clenched into fists. Good lady. She was afraid, but not going to retreat.

“Don’t even think it,” I laughed, and nodded at her hands. “I don’t know what cruel bastard did that to you, but it was a real hatchet job. If anyone like me other than me were in my place, you’d already be dead. Who in their right mind would deny themselves free energy? And your reservoir is full to the brim. Now I see why you’re hiding away here and didn’t leave any warning runes on the way into the neighborhood.”

Lada’s face went pale. Her lower jaw crept down. Her fear and spite were replaced by bewilderment.

“A seer...” she whispered with lips alone and took a step back.

“I hope we have reached an understanding?” I asked and, waiting for her speedy nod, said: “There’s room for all in this town. We don’t have to be hostile. If I get wind that you have failed to heed my warnings, you die.”

After saying that, I took two steps back and, turning around, headed for the buggy. As I walked, I could sense the witch staring at me. Strangely, there was no hostility in her eyes.

In fact, Vadoma had woven her mark into my energy system to ward off incidents like this one. It was a way of telling friends from foes. When other witches sensed the imprint of a “sister,” they would treat me at least neutrally. Things like today were supposed to be the exception. I had entered the witch’s holdings without permission. She of course took that as me encroaching on her property.

It was her fault. She should have put the rune on street signs, then I never would have stuck my nose in here.

Heh... Now I would have to live here with the knowledge there was a witch who was mad at me nearby. Not the nicest prospect. Even despite her problems with her gift, she could still foul things up for me.

* * *

The trip to the pharmacy and back home, preparing Bertrand’s medicine, and the late dinner all came together to give us a bedtime well past midnight. Well, only Bertrand actually went to sleep. I waited for him to doze off, put on Max’s most comfortable clothes, armed myself with the looted daggers from earlier, and slipped out of the annex. I was not going to let my second visit to Paul Lepetit’s office wait. One must strike while the iron is hot, after all.

In the pharmacy, beyond herbal remedies, I also picked up a couple containers of perfume. Their green energy helped refill my reservoir to the brim even despite the action-packed day. My body was ready for new feats not long after the extra dose of pep. Heh... Most important now was not to push myself too far.

I got to the bookmaker’s office fairly quickly. Walking like a wordless shadow through the dark alleyways of Abbeville, I found myself realizing the scale of the problem caused by all the riffraff coming to town. Watching the loud groups of drunken mercenaries rambling through the streets, I was surprised the local authorities had not yet taken care of the problem. It was after all the third largest city in the county. And the count himself was in town today.

Paul Lepetit’s office building was lit by torches only from the main street. Which was why I came around the back.

Tonight, Trebolt’s untouchable status would play a nasty trick on him, and that was not considering my previous visit.

Unlike the other streets in the area, the bookmaker’s office might as well have been in a vacuum. It was quiet and calm outside. Even the out-of-town mercenaries gave this place a wide berth, knowing perfectly well who the building belonged to. Nobody wanted problems with the underworld crime boss.

To be frank, I would have liked to keep my distance as well but, sadly, Max had a talent for getting himself into shady business. He’d made this bed, and now I’d have to lie in it. And pray not to get tangled in the sheets...

I had a few ways of getting into the building. I chose the simplest one — through the chimney above the big, huge fireplace in Paul Lepetit’s office.

I pulled the edges of a dark kerchief folded into a triangle down over my mouth and nose. It wasn’t particularly difficult to climb up the wall made of large crude stones. Trickier to pull off was walking straight on the slanted roof without causing an avalanche. But I managed.

Pulling back the time-ravaged wooden cap keeping precipitation out of the chimney, I sniffed the air. As expected, after today’s stress, Paul had probably gone home to treat his injuries. So nobody bothered to keep the fire going.

Pausing, I listened and then, nodding to myself, quickly tied on the rope I’d brought along and dove down the fairly narrow brick chimney. For the record, my gaunt frame made things a lot easier.

My guesses turned out right — the office was empty. Just like the room before the office. Still, down on the first floors of the building, I could hear muted men’s voices.

Not wasting any valuable time, I walked up to the far wall. Right there, behind a large painting of a rider in full armor I found the first hiding spot. The narrow little door camouflaged with stone facing opened by a clever little mechanism which, thanks to my magic vision, I was able to make out quite quickly. I just had to pull three small levers near a little door in the carved frame of a neighboring painting in the proper order.

I didn’t find any traps or other nasty surprises in the hiding spot. So without particularly even looking, I scraped out all the contents into a canvas sack Bertrand had lent me. The old man used it for making purchases at the market.

Next on my list was a small hiding spot in the opposite corner of the office hidden behind a long wooden skirting board. The little niche, to my eye, was quite odd.

For starters, unlike the first, which had been opened quite frequently, this one seemed very old and even perhaps completely forgotten. I was sure nobody had so much as touched the skirting board in years. Naturally, that only did more to bring out the treasure hunter in me. How amusing it would be if even Paul Lepetit didn’t suspect this stash was here. I had only noticed myself on my third scan. The magic glow of the item contained inside was painfully dim.

The idea that it was an old stash was confirmed by the presence of several untouched layers of old paint. The manor could not have been built by its current owners. As a rule, men like Trebolt didn’t build things. They preferred taking them. I wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that this hiding spot had been abandoned by its former owners.

The skirting board took a bit of work, but I figured it out. But there I was in for a nasty surprise. After I took the board out of its little groove, a hidden mechanism triggered and a small projectile the size of a sewing needle came flying at me from a narrow crack. If I hadn’t been ready, I would now have been lying on the floor with it stuck in my eye. I was only able to dodge at the last second.

Following the dart’s flight path, I headed for the opposite wall. It had stuck into the frame of one of the office’s many paintings. Paul Lepetit was clearly a fan of portraiture. Honestly though, the work of local artists did not impress me all that much.

And when in true vision I saw where the little dart landed, I felt a nasty chill pass between my shoulder blades. Around the razorlike tip, a small spot had formed the size of a chicken egg speckled with thin energy filaments pulsing with a toxic yellow glow. It was clearly something very poisonous. And to top it off, it was magical.

As much as I might have wanted to do the job without leaving a trace, I was not going to touch that arrow. Whoever left that surprise behind was a master of their trade. The trap had lied in wait for all those years, and still worked flawlessly.

Returning to the hiding spot, I scanned it again and, not discovering anything else, took a long envelope from the narrow gap. When I turned it over, I couldn’t hold back a gasp of delight.

It was a dagger with a sixteen-inch double-edged straight blade with quite a wide break, and a pommel shaped like a snake opening its hideous maw. Beyond the dagger itself being a work of art, it was forged of some unusual metal. And I recognized it. It was the same stuff that made up the stryker plate armor I had seen in Ursula Hoog’s shop. In true vision, the dagger looked like an elongated spindle of thin light purple energy channels woven together.

When I grasped the hilt, I felt a slight energy effect. The dagger seemed to come to life and immediately requested a bit of energy. I shuddered in surprise and the dagger fell out of my hand.

“Holy crap...” I whispered and gulped with a dry throat.

Quickly folding it up in a cloth, I tossed it into the sack and breathed a sigh of relief.

Wiping the sweat off my forehead and catching my breath, I again whispered:

“What was that?”

Before I could finish, I heard footsteps and men’s voices outside the door.

Hurriedly replacing the skirting board and cursing the night owls under my breath, I took a couple hops and made it back near the fireplace then, a moment before the doors opened, ducked inside.

The door creaked and light flickered off the walls. I wanted to start climbing, but I recognized one of the voices, which compelled me to stop and listen.

“Boss is going to be mighty angry,” the rough voice I didn’t recognize rasped.

“Don’t even think of pinning all the responsibility on me, Fang,” Beetle’s surprisingly flat voice responded.

“The only senior officer here other than the sissy Lepetit was you,” the man Beetle called Fang objected.

“Precisely,” Beetle chuckled angrily.

“What are you hinting at?” I heard a threat in his rasping voice.

“Hinting?” Beetle laughed. “I’m telling you in plain Vestonian that you, as head of security, will bear full responsibility for what happened. It was your men that couldn’t stop a pampered twenty-year-old from walking straight in like he owned the place.”

“How is that possible, Beetle?!” I heard notes of confusion and incomprehension in Fang’s voice. “I was told he only had to hit each of them once or twice. Are you sure it was Max Renard? The same count’s bastard our boss used loans to back into a corner like a hound after a hare? I was told Trebolt already sent you to his place not long ago. I believe you had Crab and Block with you.”

“Yes, we went to his place... But he wasn’t home.”

Beetle’s voice didn’t even quiver. I meanwhile was smiling. Clever. He must have convinced his less intelligent companions to keep quiet about our run-in. Now the trick would not be uncovered because I had killed Crab and Block... Well, not a lot of questions there.

“I don’t know what to say,” Beetle continued calmly. “You should have been here today but, as always, you weren’t...”

“I was running an errand for boss!” Fang barked out.

“Try telling him that,” Beetle said in a disinterested voice. He clearly didn’t buy Fang’s excuses. “Providing security to the office is your job. Not mine. You’re the one who hired all the men. I meanwhile warned Paul not to touch Renard’s servant. He wouldn’t listen. It was your buddy Lash meanwhile, who kept egging Lepetit on. But he got away with just a bruise. Trebolt is most likely going to tear your head off.”

“What should I do, Beetle?” Fang rasped out plaintively after a pause.

He seemed to have been waiting for just that question.

“You have only one option. Get out of Abbeville and never come back. After all, you know how Trebolt can be when he’s mad. He’ll be looking for a scapegoat. And sadly, it’s going to be you, Fang.”

He didn’t have to think for long. Just a minute later, I heard heavy footsteps gradually fading down the stairs.

“Idiot,” I heard Beetle give a quiet malevolent laugh. “One more down. At this rate, boss, it’s just gonna be you and me soon. And then you’ll pay for everything you’ve done to me.”

I just shook my head. Seemingly, my friend here had old scores to settle with his boss. Now, I could partially understand why he was so flexible with me. I would have more time to consider that in the future.

But after waiting for Beetle to leave the office, I started climbing. Time to go home. Sleep this off. I got the sense I wouldn’t be able to rest much for the next few days. I had a meeting with my top creditor on the docket. I would have to make thorough preparations.

Interlude 3

Château de Tourу. County de Marbot.

“He’s done it again, milady,” came a slightly shaky voice belonging to Géraldine, personal maid to Viscountess Aurélie de Marbot.

The viscountess, sitting in her favorite armchair by the fireplace, set her book down with a heavy sigh and closed her eyes. A thin wrinkle crossed her big forehead, and her cheeks went pale. Biting her lower lip, Aurélie prayed under her breath for the Most Luminous Mother to care for the innocent murder victim. The many times she’d repeated that prayer over the past twenty years had imprinted it into her memory.

The maid, knowing her master’s character, froze stock still at the front door.

Finally, Aurélie raised her eyelids and looked at Géraldine. A look of sorrow and pain was frozen in her wide eyes the color of an azure sky. Tears streamed down her pale cheeks.

“Where did it happen?” she asked softly, nearly in a whisper.

“The girls’ bodies were found in the Winter Ravine, milady.”

Despite the fact that Géraldine was no less frightened and upset than her master, she still tried to keep confident. It was her sacred duty. Once, very long ago, when Aurélie had lost her mother as a baby, Géraldine swore to herself that she would defend and care for the poor girl, who with time had transformed from a quiet gray mouse into a blindingly beautiful woman.

“Girls?” Aurélie asked with a shudder. “So there were several of them?”

“Yes, milady,” the maid replied and looked away.

“Sweet Géraldine,” the viscountess pleaded and, tossing a long thick braid over her back, got up from her seat suddenly. Her light hair with pearly undertones glimmered in the rays of the midday sun streaming down through the narrow loophole windows. “We agreed that you would not hide the truth from me no matter how horrible and vile it may be! Look at me, Géraldine...”

The maid raised her head and breathed a heavy sigh.

“Tell me...” Aurélie more asked than demanded. “I must know.”

“When your father’s hunters came upon the scene, they first thought it was a pack of wolves. But upon closer inspection, they concluded that... That it was him...”

“Oh, Most Luminous Mother!” Aurélie exhaled and covered her face with her fine little hands. “Every year he grows more bloodthirsty.”

Géraldine quickly crossed the room and pressed the sobbing, shaking girl to her chest. Passing a hand over her soft, herbal scented hair, she started to whisper words of reassurance into her ear.

The hurried sound of clanking spurs outside made the women freeze in fear. The footsteps were drawing nearer.

“It’s him...” Aurélie whispered and started hurriedly drying her tears. Her older brother, Viscount Émile de Marbot, whose footsteps she recognized unmistakably, was known as Émile the Toad or Émile the Lizard in common parlance and despised when his little sister cried in front of him.

But just then, Aurélie wasn’t so worried for herself as she was for her servant. At one point, Géraldine had told her that every time Émile saw his sister crying, he took out his rage on servants and serfs. So the second the viscount opened the door and came bolting her direction, a happy smile started playing on Aurélie’s face. The Viscountess de Marbot’s acting chops could have made even capital city actresses envy her with how cheerily she received the viscount.

“Émile!” Aurélie exclaimed happily and hurried across the room to find herself in her brother’s embrace. “You’re back!”

“Aurie!” the viscount said affectionately and stroked her hair tenderly. Her wide nearly lipless mouth stretched out into a shapeless smile. “You’re like a ray of sunshine in this dark and ugly world!”

Géraldine, standing nearby like a wordless shadow, snorted to herself. Émile the Toad was one to talk about ugliness. Cursed monster! She sincerely wished he had died that fateful day, along with his whore mother!

The story of the Count de Marbot’s eldest son’s birth was shrouded in mystery. Only the most senior servants knew what happened that fateful winter night.

Émile’s mother, Countess Gabrielle de Marbot, born the Viscountess de Thiliez was widely reviled for her quarrelsome and repugnant nature. She often ordered her serfs whipped even for the most minor mistakes and slip-ups. And meanwhile, the countess did her best never to miss a public execution. It was from her that her son inherited his sadistic tendencies, which in recent times had grown to unprecedented scale.

The countess’ unhealthy pastime in the end blew up in her face. One day, after she was pregnant, the countess stopped to spend the night in a hamlet on a coach ride home from the capital.

As usual, Gabrielle de Marbot got annoyed by the ride and took out her anger on the wife of a farmer, ordering her flogged to death in his backyard. The next morning, after paying compensation to the farm owner, she left but the story did not end there.

Few were aware, but the farmer’s wife was the younger sister of a witch. When she found out about her sister’s death, she came to the count’s castle dressed as a midwife and, while the countess was giving birth, spilled too much mana out of a crimson brut. The magic in the crystal burned her from the inside, killing her, and disfiguring the count’s firstborn son, who somehow managed to survive.

With her revenge secured, the witch disappeared without a trace.

As a result, the count invited Mainland’s best healers to his house several times. But they just threw up their hands and admitted defeat. The magic burn that had maimed the little viscount was not responsive to treatment. They said that once, in the Imperial Age, there were mages who could “see” the essence of a disease which put their healing arts on a whole other level. But sadly, no seers had been born for several centuries.

But that was not the end of the Count de Marbot’s suffering. Seemingly, the gods had decided to come for him. A no less ugly soul was found to match the little Viscount de Marbot’s mutilated body. And magic had nothing to do with it.

Émile’s sadistic nature formed gradually because he was raised essentially in isolation due to his off-putting appearance. It started with killing small animals. The kid enjoyed watching the life go out them as he killed them slowly. At first, it was cutting worms in half after rainstorms. After that, it was tearing the limbs off grasshoppers. Then, young Émile progressed to flooding anthills with lamp oil and setting them alight.

A particular turning point in the young viscount’s life was when his father first took him hunting. It was a new unchartered world of pain and suffering, which Émile dived into headfirst, quickly asking to go out on his own.

But with time, that too lost its luster. And so, one day, the Count de Marbot’s heir started on people.

“Your eyes are red,” Émile said, raising his sister’s chin. “Have you been crying?”

“What do you mean, brother!?” Aurélie smiled wide. “Why would I be crying? I’m perfectly happy. All thanks to you, my older brother! My eyes are just strained because I’ve been reading.”

The viscount, his face disfigured by magic burns, stared stubbornly into his sister’s eyes. Aurélie’s heartbeat sped up. She could absolutely not afford to reveal her true emotions. Her brother’s magically deformed eyes, yellow like an animal’s, seemed to see straight through her.

After a brief silence, Émile sighed and, moving away from his sister, plunked down in an armchair which, under his striking girth, squeaked plaintively. Her brother inherited his body from his father. Just as broad-shouldered and bulky.

“Sorry, sister, but I’ve come with terrible news,” he said, shaking his head.

Aurélie shuddered and came closer to her brother.

“Is something wrong with father?” she asked in fear.

Recently, the Count de Marbot, who was going to turn seventy-six that year, had not been making many public appearances. He spent all his days in the western wing of the castle, making do with the company of only his old valet. Émile was already de facto in charge of all the county’s affairs. As an aside, as if to balance out his bloodthirsty character, the gods had bestowed upon the Count de Marbot’s heir a sharp and calculating wit. He got his family lands in order fairly quickly.

“Thanks to the physicians, he’s doing alright,” he waved it off.

Healers and other mages the viscount hated with a passion for totally obvious reasons. And so, the de Marbots used only regular physicians.

“The bad news is about you, my dear,” Émile set a broad reptilian hand on his sister’s hand.

She shuddered and took a step back. Aurélie had been waiting for this moment all her life. She had pictured it many times. She had become so accustomed to the idea that Émile would come for her sooner or later that sometimes she even imagined exactly how he would kill her. She had a hard time believing that her brother loved her and would never hurt her.

Meanwhile, the viscount continued:

“Today, I got a letter from our new neighbor, Count Heinrich de Gramont. His brother who, as you recall, was executed for betraying the king had a long-running unresolved dispute with us over quite a large swath of the Forest of Thiliez. As you know, yew is a very valuable resource, and its value only rises with each passing year. I cannot afford to lose such a cash cow.”

Aurélie, her eyes glazed over, listened to her brother in silence, awaiting her fate with heart aflutter. Mentally, she was praying to the Most Luminous Mother for a quick death. And for it to be anything but fire. Once, in childhood, she burned her hand and that pain she believed to be even worse than when a wild boar injured her during a hunt.

“Our father was friends with the old Count de Gramont, father of Ferdinand and Heinrich, which was why they came to a mutual understanding for neither of us to touch that section of the forest,” Émile continued, not noticing his sister’s mood. “But now all the traitor’s lands have passed to his brother who seemingly is not planning to honor the old arrangements between our families. And I do not blame him one bit. I would do the same myself. To be perfectly clear and avoid unnecessary problems in the future, I wrote Heinrich de Gramont in our father’s name laying out my view of the situation.”

Aurélie nodded mechanically, still not understanding what her brother was driving at. Or what was taking him so long.

“After quite a long correspondence, I suggested an amicable way to resolve our dispute,” Émile’s lipless mouth warped into a sidelong smirk. “To be specific — marriage. And wouldn’t you know it? He agreed!”

Aurélie stopped breathing. There it was! Émile would be marrying one of the count’s daughters and now could easily just get rid of her. It would mean getting all of his father’s inheritance. Now he simply had no need for her. She was only a burden. Was that really it? If so, Aurélie was willing to sign a renunciation of all claims to her father’s inheritance and ask to be released.

“C-congratulations, brother,” she came quietly.

Émile had more to say, but instead looked closely at his sister and asked:

“Why are you congratulating me?”

“Well, you know,” Aurélie shrugged timidly. “My brother is getting married...”

“Oh!” he stumbled. “That was why you got so quiet? Haha! No, no! The daughters and nieces of the Count de Gramont are already engaged. So Heinrich suggested another option. I’m not talking about me getting married at all. You are the one to be wed!”

The news knocked the wind out of the viscountess. Her throat went dry, and her heart started pounding wildly. How could it be? So she was not going to die today?

Émile took her puzzled state his own way and said:

“Of course, as you are aware, the count’s sons cannot bind their fate by marriage ties to someone like you. They need heirs...”

Her brother’s words sounded so offensive that they made her feel even sicker. As if it wasn’t enough for her to live in constant fear of dying at the hands of her monster sibling, he was now trying to sell her off like a prize horse. And what was more, he was giving them a bargain as if she were defective.

“So the count suggested giving you to his nephew,” her brother’s hideous lip curled. “The youngest son of the late Ferdinand. You don’t know him... He used to live in the old capital separate from his family.”

“W-why?” Aurélie plucked up the courage to ask.

She was familiar with all five of the former count’s sons but had just learned of the sixth.

“It’s quite simple, sister. He is Ferdinand de Gramont’s bastard. But recognized. As you are aware, keeping a bastard in the count’s home would have been inappropriate.”

Aurélie frowned, trying to remember even the slightest mention of that story but, sadly, she found nothing.

Émile again read his sister’s facial expression his own way.

“Sorry, sis, that I’m talking this way about your future husband... But, as they say, you can’t take a song without the words.”

“I...”

“Aurie, I understand you most likely were not expecting such a future for yourself. But let’s look the truth in the face. Next year, you’ll be turning twenty-nine. And, as you see, you’ve hardly attracted a line of noble suitors out the door. And it’s all down to your terrible affliction. The blood of an ancient house flows in your veins and, under different circumstances, you could have expected a brilliant match. But look at the situation from a different angle. Your marriage can serve for the good of our family. You will be saving your future nephew and my future child the headache that this festering ancient ulcer of a dispute could have caused.”

“Y-yeah,” Aurélie came timidly and diligently hiding her revulsion at her brother’s words, bowed her head. “I understand completely.”

“I’ve done some sleuthing,” Émile stroked his chin. “Your groom-to-be’s name is Maximilian Renard. He is young and educated. Honestly, you are a few years older than him, but for our purposes that is no issue. At present, he is in County de Angland, in a small town by the name of Abbeville. And let me tell you, your groom is a prodigal spender, bon vivant, and hellraiser. In his brief stay outside his home, he has managed to get himself in debt to half the town, embark on a string of affairs including with some minor local actresses, one of whom nearly got him killed in a duel.”

The tips of Aurélie’s little ears turned red after hearing that. She started to blush. The viscountess, much like every person from a noble family raised in a strict environment perceived that as something shameful and unbecoming.

For the first time in many years, she was of two minds. On the one hand, fear of dying at her monster brother’s hands had practically been etched into her bones. But on the other, there was marrying a bastard, and one with such a vile reputation. That after all would be a blow to her honor and dignity.

Balling up her willpower into a fist, Aurélie managed to hold back the storm of emotions that had suddenly come over her. If her mother were still alive, she never would have tolerated such an embarrassment. But sadly, her mother, who the Count de Marbot had married after Émile’s mother passed away, lost her life when Aurélie was just seven.

“Sister,” Émile stated confidentially, and slightly squeezed her little hand in his big one. “You should not concern yourself with this man. You will see him but once. As soon as the count and I have all the details sorted out, you will quickly be wed with a minimal audience, sign the marriage contract, and he will be sent packing. Honestly though, you will have to consummate. There’s no way around that. Such are the ancient traditions our houses abide by.”

Aurélie flushed with red and turned away. Which made Émile react with a vile snicker.

Letting go of his sister’s hands, he got up from the armchair and, adjusting the flaps of his doublet, stated matter-of-factly:

“Don’t fret, sister. Your torment will be but momentary. You will be widowed shortly after the wedding. That I can promise you. I’m certain Heinrich de Gramont will not be opposed to his brother’s wayward bastard dying a sudden death to, let’s say, a wild animal attack.”

The last part Émile growled out softly. After that, kissing his sister on the forehead, he quickly departed her chambers.

As soon as the door slammed shut behind Émile, and the sound of his footsteps faded into the depths of the castle, Aurélie finally allowed herself a loud sigh and fell back drained into her chair. Her trusty Géraldine hopped straight over, not having budged for the duration of their long conversation. The maid embraced the viscountess’ head with as much tenderness and warmth as possible, and whispered hotly straight into her ear:

“Milady! This is the chance you’ve been waiting for!”

Aurélie shuddered and raised her tear-stained face.

“What do you mean?” she asked, puzzled.

“You’ll be getting married, milady!” Géraldine responded with a smile. “After the wedding night, you can go away with your husband. No one, not even your brother, would dare say no to that.”

“But you heard him...” Aurélie whispered. “He intends to kill that Renard...”

“And what of it?” Géraldine laughed. “What does that matter to you? When your brother comes for your husband, we’ll already have left Vestonia. We will make for the hot springs of Bergonia or the coast of Atalia’s southern sea. It doesn’t matter where! The key is careful preparation.”

Understanding flickered finally in Aurélie’s eyes. She gently broke free of her loyal servant’s embrace, quickly dried her tears with a fist, and looked at the situation through new eyes.

“What all will we need for the journey?” she asked in a more confident tone.

“Money,” Géraldine laughed. “The more the better.”