Last Life

An Inn on the Royal Tract. Several days’ travel from Herouxville, capital of Vestonia.

YVELINE MADE UP her mind. Even though she didn’t want to at first. It all happened on its own. She put the blame squarely on a warm, sweet, mulled wine they were served at dinner with its light bitterness and pleasant sour notes.

Yveline only needed one glass of the guileful little drink to untie her tongue and make her open up to her cousin.

“You never told me about that Max,” she suddenly said. Her voice made Valerie emerge from deep in thought.

“What, sorry?”

“You described him as a spoiled, effete kid with no greater interest than going to balls, playing cards, and wasting money. The man I saw in Abbeville was completely different.”

Sipping the mulled wine, Valerie listened to her cousin and stared into the roaring fireplace.

“Yve, what do you want from me?” she asked wearily.

“An explanation,” Yveline asked, her tongue somewhat stumbling. “What is really going on? My father probably has no idea that his late brother’s illegitimate son is more a cold-blooded killer than the man you told me about. He slew one of Vestonia’s greatest swordsmen in a single blow! And what of the rumors that he stormed a bookmaker’s office and singlehandedly took down its whole guard team? Or the duel with the Viscount de Angland? He took down a dozen mercenaries outside his place with his bare hands and when my father’s top retinue men tried to stop him, he tossed them around like puppies! And now he’s going off to join the Shadow Patrol! What part of that sounds like a pampered brat to you? In fact, cousin, the Max you described sounds more like my older brothers.”

“What if your father hired Max a fencing instructor when he was still a child?”

“Our brothers also had fencing instructors,” Valerie shrugged. She failed to notice, but she was now also drawn into the strange conversation. It was just that her cousin was asking the very questions that were weighing on Valerie’s own mind. Plus that perfidious mulled wine. “But I don’t think any of them would stand a chance against a real top swordsman, much less with such ease.”

This was something different... Valerie didn’t tell Yveline that the Max she remembered was a totally different person. The old Max would never have said the things the current Max said before that duel. She would always remember the icy look in his eyes. It was like he could see straight through her. At that moment, she really wanted to open up to him. Tell him about her suffering and calamities, but she held back.

No! She would never trust men with her fate ever again! All they did was betray her. They were egotistical and thought only about themselves and their ambitions.

Her father was blinded by thirst for power and was bested by the king, thus putting the whole family in harm’s way. And now, her mother was in the loony bin while her sisters and her lived as dependents with their traitor uncle. Just waiting to be sold off like purebred mares for a handsome price. And now, her fate was again dependent on a man. No way! She would do everything in her power to see that she never again depended on a man’s fickle whims!

“What do we tell my father?” Yveline asked.

“The truth,” Valerie replied with a shrug, smiling and adding: “My sweet cousin, we are but weak females. We did the best we could but got nowhere. Let the men do something for once.”

Inside, Valerie gave a bloodthirsty laugh. She was greatly hoping that her uncle and half-brother would soon be sinking their claws into one another’s throats.

Outskirts of Herouxville. The Royal Family’s Winter Palace.

“Kiko, what do you say?” Carl the Third, King of Vestonia, popularly known as the Victorious, quipped to his jester when the doors closed behind the royal secretary.

The little hunchback turned his head making the bells on his colorful hood tinkle delightfully, then replied with a mischievous air:

“I say your secretary has been getting too big for his britches. He’s been tormenting your court. Stuffed full of bribes. The chancery already has a thick dossier on him. The hounds are waiting to be released.”

Left alone, they often spoke in an informal tone. Honestly though, the jester always had a sense for the invisible line he could never cross. It went back to the day when, as a short hunchbacked boy roving the world with a travelling circus and performing in the palace, he had blocked a stray arrow from hitting the little prince with his hump. Ever since, the pair had been inseparable. The prince became king, and the hunchbacked boy survived the arrow wound to become his jester — as well as his eyes and ears both in the palace and outside.

“Oh, please,” the king laughed. “Let him grow fat. You know how hard it is to find good help these days. And Lambert is good help. I appreciate the way he writes reports. Just the way I like them: short and to the point. Hehe... Plus now he has a lot of expenses to keep up with. They say he’s got a new scheme going. And it won’t hurt anyone in my court. All that matters is that he’s loyal to me. And he is loyal, isn’t he?”

Carl asked as if in passing, but Kiko was all too familiar with this “carefree” intonation. A few assassination attempts and particularly the last conspiracy had led to the king always keeping his nose to the wind.

“For now, yes,” the jester was forced to agree.

“The second that changes, you can release all my hounds,” the king came in an icy tone.

“Yes sir, Your Majesty,” the jester bowed.

“How about you tell me how the preparations for this war are going instead,” Carl changed the topic. He stood up from his soft armchair and walked over to a wide window. “Just make it less of a bore this time... Tell me simply — do we have enough time?”

“As long as the Duke de Gondy doesn’t muck up the works, yes.”

The king winced. That de Gondy again! Carl would be very happy to see the stuffy old man stretched out on the rack while he scoured his sides clean with a white-hot lashing.

But he was forced to admit that he could not. The de Gondies were one of the most ancient and influential families in Vestonia, and the single largest landholders in Mainland. The second largest army in the kingdom was his to command. Beyond that, completely outside of de Gondy’s influence, the war simply might not happen.

“What does he want?”

“You know,” the jester shrugged. “Your granddaughter for his eldest son.”

“He will not have Adèle,” the king ejected. “I have other plans for her marriage.”

Kiko chuckled imperceptibly. No one at court was unaware of the awe and love the king reserved for his granddaughter, little Adèle. The daughter of his youngest son, Prince Bastien, who died at sea in battle with pirates, had become a real solace for the grieving father.

“By the way,” the king recalled, quickly changing topic. “What did Lambert report about the Count de Gramont’s pardon? Something about a nephew being sent to join the Shadow Patrol... Weren’t all of the vile traitor Ferdinand de Gramont’s sons executed alongside their father?”

“You are correct, Your Majesty,” the jester replied gravely, his senses telling him to forget about informal discussion for a while. “Ferdinand’s sons and heirs were executed. This one was a bastard who you took mercy on.”

“I did?” the king frowned. “Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“No, Your Majesty,” the jester said with a clumsy bow, shaking the little bells on his sleeve. “Allow me to refresh your memory. The boy was spared on Her Majesty’s request.”

“Kiko!” Carl winced. “Drop the routine and tell me straight!”

The hunchback, realizing the king’s rage was on the downswing, being replaced by curiosity, playfully clicked his heels, snorted and continued with his kid gloves off:

“The day before the execution, the queen came to you with a request to take mercy on de Gramont’s bastard. If I am not mistaken, one of her ladies in waiting was behind the request. Investigators questioned him. He was not involved in the conspiracy, so Her Majesty’s request was honored. That’s all I know.”

“And that bastard chose to go to the frontier on his own?” the king asked in surprise. “And now Heinrich de Gramont is asking me permission to bring him back?”

“Looks like it,” Kiko shrugged.

“What nonsense,” the king frowned. “Okay then... Let’s keep Heinrich de Gramont waiting for now. You look into this in greater detail. I want to know everything about this affair and this bastard. Because you know how much I hate weird stuff like this.”

“Consider it done, Your Majesty,” the jester bowed. “I’ll get right on it.”