Chapter 12
Once the bodies of the assassins had been cleared and her broken rib healed with nothing but a soreness left as a reminder, Henrietta, Mazarin, and the magistrate convened in the latter's solar, along with Sir Marrok and a few of his knights.
"These assassins," Mazarin began, "what do we know of them?"
"They're Germanian," the magistrate said, dabbing his brow with a handkerchief. He was anxious, almost to the point of looking feverish. "We were able to determine that much by the color of their skin and some of their personal effects. Unfortunately, as none of them were alive for questioning, we know nothing else."
Mazarin made a disgruntled noise. "I told that familiar to keep that man alive. I told him so."
Henrietta took a sip of warm honeyed milk, which had been provided for her by the magistrate's servants, to calm her trembling hands. It was cloyingly sweet, but she forced herself to drink it anyway. Her nerves were still shaken from her near death experience, which had not at all been helped by witnessing Alex literally rip her would-be assassins apart and devour one of them alive. She felt something wet trickle down her face. One hand instinctively snapped up to wipe it away, nearly dropping her cup of milk in the process. Oh. She sighed in relief. It was just cold sweat. For a moment she had thought it was the blood of the assassin that had splashed on her during the fight, despite having washed it off not long after the incident.
"I beg your forgiveness, Your Highness," the magistrate said pleadingly, bowing his head low to Henrietta. "To have allowed your life to come to risk under my roof is unforgivable."
"It is not your fault. Whoever sent these assassins is to blame." Henrietta took another drink, but no matter how much she drank, her tongue and lips remained as dry as a desert. "You weren't able to find anything else on those men?"
"Alas, I'm afraid not," the magistrate admitted. "They carried nothing that might help us identify them more precisely. I will have my men make rounds come morn. Perhaps they might be able to find someone who knows these wretched assassins."
"That may not be fast enough," Mazarin said with frustration. "Still, for the time being we can at least make some conjectures with what we do know."
"You have an idea of who might be responsible, Cardinal?" Henrietta asked.
"Only conjectures," Mazarin stressed. "Suppose for a moment these assassins succeeded. Who benefits from that?"
"Reconquista," Henrietta answered promptly. It was the obvious answer.
"Yes," Mazarin agreed. "And so they are one suspect. But there are others, too. I can think of at least forty other people who would be loathe to see Emperor Albrecht and his descendants become the rulers of Germania in perpetuity."
"You think one of the Germanian princes sent these men after me?" Henrietta exclaimed, eyes wide.
"I do not know for certain," Mazarin said. "But it is a possibility that cannot be ruled out."
"Well, that's great," Sir Marrok snorted, causing Mazarin to shoot him a look. "Forty-one suspects. That really narrowed it down."
"Sir Marrok is right," Henrietta said. "It's not enough." She looked at the magistrate. "What of Ingemar? Alex said that before he left. Do you know who or what that might be?"
"I'm afraid not, Your Highness. It is certainly not the name of any of the Germanian princes, that much I can say right now. But I will look into it myself and inform you of what I find, I swear to you."
"You have my gratitude," Henrietta said, and with that they retired back to their rooms.
She was given a new room to sleep in for the rest of that night. More knights had been brought over from the camp, tripling the total amount of guards in and around the mansion. They guarded Henrietta at every angle. She was safe now. She knew that. Yet even so sleep did not come for her again that night. For every breeze that shook the leaves and branches, there was another assassin waiting to slit her throat. For every owl's hoot, a signal to trespass upon her space.
Henrietta curled underneath her blanket and squeezed her eyes shut.
She had never seen Alex so terrible before. He had been so full of rage that it was like he was blind to all else. Seeing him like this frightened Henrietta. She could almost still hear the sickening squelching noise he had made as he consumed the assassin's body. The sound alone was the stuff of nightmares, and seeing it happen right before her very eyes made it all the worse.
But it was not the sight of Alex murder and devouring those men that troubled her now; it was waking up to find a knife at her throat that disturbed her the most. Her hand crept up and wrapped around where the blade had come so close to delivering its steel kiss, opening her up ear to ear as her lifeblood poured out and she...
Henrietta coughed as she relaxed her hand. Without thinking, she had started choking herself.
Where have you gone, Alex? She wished that her familiar was still here with her. He had been dreadful to behold, for sure. All that fury, all that anger, yet both had been born out of concern for her life. It was disconcerting to have witnessed what he did, but reassuring to see the lengths he would go to keep her safe. She did not like that he was gone.
"I am the princess of Tristain, and this is not enough to scare me," Henrietta whispered to herself, trying to force false courage into truth, as a skilled mage might transmute ordinary rock into gold. She chewed on her thumbnail subconsciously. "I am the princess of Tristain. I am the princess of Tristain. I am the princess of Tristain. I am not afraid."
She wondered how Prince Wales dealt with moments like these, for surely he lived a life fraught with moments like these. More so, in fact. She faced assassins aiming for her life but once; he had been facing down an entire army of those who wanted him dead for over a year. Were there nights where he also hid under his bed sheets and cowered like so? Did he ever try to find courage, true or otherwise, wherever it could be found, like so?
Probably not.
The Prince of Albion was the bravest man she had ever known. Something like this was not enough to shake the likes of him.
"I want to see you, Wales," she said, so quietly that she could scarce hear it herself. Except in front of Alex, it was not something she had said aloud ever since her engagement to Emperor Albrecht had been made. It was not something she ought to say at all. The faintest rumor, the slightest hint that there was another that she loved, and the marriage-alliance could fall apart in the emperor's jealous spite.
That night was the longest of Henrietta's life.
When morning came, they left quickly. They did not even stay for breakfast, as Sir Marrok insisted that they stay on the move, lest the assassins come for her again. The magistrate apologized again as they left through the eastern gate, and promised to send word with whatever he found out.
Henrietta leaned her head against the window of her carriage, staring distantly outside. It was a dry day. Their procession left a cloud of dust in their wake. Her eyes drooped heavily, snapped open every time her carriage jolted over a bump or an uneven patch of ground, then drooped again.
"Are you feeling all right, Your Highness?" Mazarin asked her. "You look unwell."
"I'm fine," Henrietta replied tersely.
"I could have a potion brought for you."
"I said I'm fine," Henrietta snapped. Gods, she wished that he would just be quiet. "I'm tired, is all."
"As you say, Your Highness."
They rode at a steady pace for hours, stopping only once around midday to give the men and horses a chance to rest and eat. Henrietta stayed in her carriage alone, too tired to move. She ate a little and slept a little, and fitfully at that. The assassins' ghosts haunted her dreams, and she could not bear them for long. When she awoke, there was only one word that echoed in her mind.
Ingemar.
What was that? What did that mean? Who was it? These questions clung to her thoughts like a stubborn fly buzzing in her ears. It was coming close to driving her mad. Ingemar. Ingemar. Why did Alex say that? And more importantly, where was he now? He said that he had gone to kill the one who had sent the assassins, but how could he know who that person was? It was foolishness to leave without a single clue. And yet he did leave, and with such conviction at that. Was it possible that he knew something? But if so, why didn't he tell her?
Perhaps she had been too hasty in dismissing Mazarin's offer for a potion. She could do with a dreamless sleep for a while. She said as much when the cardinal returned. When her retinue began to move again, Henrietta was alone in a world of a sweet, blessed blackness.
Henrietta did not know for how long they rode before she woke again, lying stretched out on her seat with a blanket draped over her and a pillow under her head. Mazarin was reading a book in silence when she opened her eyes, and the bright, warm rays of the sun, which she could see through the window, told her it was late in the afternoon. She felt refreshed now, ready to face what remained of the day.
"Where are we?" Henrietta yawned as she stood up and rubbed her eyes.
"By now we've crossed the border, and we are in the principality of Anhalt," Mazarin answered. "How do you feel, Your Highness?"
"I feel good." Henrietta smiled. "Better. Thank you for bringing me that potion."
Mazarin smiled back at her and nodded. "The next time you see someone of the Montmorency family, you can now honestly say that one of their draughts helped you in a time of need."
Henrietta laughed.
"Banners ahead!" a knight from the head of their procession called out, and the words were passed down the length of the line by more voices.
The entire royal retinue came to a stop. A layer of dust began to swirl up from the ground and around Henrietta's carriage in a dome shape, carried by currents of wind. A barrier had been set up to guard against projectile attack. The ground underneath them had likewise been hardened to prevent any would-be mage-assassin from tunneling their way through.
Henrietta stuck her head out the window to see what was going on. ("Princess!" Mazarin exclaimed in shock. "Please come back inside.") A large contingent of soldiers armed with swords and muskets and pikes were waiting for them up ahead. It didn't appear to be a blockade, as there were no fortifications. Instead, they were waiting for them, beating drums and playing lutes and song. At their head was a woman riding a hand-drawn chariot. Just by seeing her vibrant red hair, her bronze skin, and her stunning beauty, Henrietta had a clear idea of who she was. But if that wasn't enough, then the flags her standard-bearers carried gave it away. They bore the sigil of a naked woman walking amidst burning trees.
It was the symbol of the Zerbst family.
Henrietta ordered her knights to stand down, though to remain on guard, and got out of the carriage, while the woman in the chariot stood up and walked towards her, accompanied by only a handful of her own men. The knights warily gave way for her, and when the red-haired woman stood before Henrietta, she said, "Welcome, my lady. Might you be the Princess Henrietta?"
"I am," Henrietta answered. "Who is it that I speak to?"
"I am Joanna von Zerbst, wife to the Prince of Anhalt," the woman smiled as she bowed deeply in obeisance. "I welcome you to our province. I'm to understand that you've already met our daughter."
"Kirche. Yes, we have," Henrietta said. "I had the pleasure of making her acquaintance during the summoning festival. If I may, my lady, might I ask what you are doing here?"
"Not long ago, our daughter sent us a letter. In it she spoke much and well of you, which has made my lord husband and I eager to meet you for ourselves. When we learned that you were due for Vindobona to celebrate the engagement with His Imperial Majesty, we knew you would have to pass through our territory. And so I have come to escort you to the capital. Of course, to celebrate this occasion, we have brought you gifts, if you will take them."
"You honor me greatly, though I fear I am not so deserving of your generosity."
"Your modesty does you more honor than I ever could," Lady Joanna said. "Will you and your men take a brief respite with us so that we might talk more comfortably over there in the shade?"
Henrietta frowned and glanced back at Mazarin. He nodded once at her, a curious expression decorating his face.
"That sounds lovely," Henrietta said. "Please, lead the way."
A blanket had been spread out on the grass underneath a large apple tree, with a low table on top. The two of them sat down on either side, while Mazarin, Sir Marrok, and a few knights watched them from a short distance away.
"Allow me to pour you a drink." Lady Joanna tipped a jug of fine wine over two silver goblets, while one of her attendants did the same for Mazarin and the rest.
Henrietta accepted the wine, but did not drink it. Instead, she looked at the rich violet liquid suspiciously, swirling it around slowly in her cup. Then she looked up at Lady Joanna, who was watching her expectantly, and said, "You first."
Lady Joanna frowned, clearly displeased by her rudeness, but tilted her head back and drank deeply nonetheless. Seeing this, Henrietta sighed in relief and drank as well.
"Forgive me," she said. "I've recently had a hard experience, which has led me to being overly cautious of even those whom I would call friends."
"A hard experience?" Lady Joanna cocked her head. "What do you mean by that, Your Highness?"
"Last night, as I slept, a group of assassins invaded the mansion I was in and nearly took my life," Henrietta confessed. "If not for my familiar, I would be dead. As we do not know who sent those men after me, I feared that this might be yet another plot. I apologize for suspecting you."
"You need not apologize, Your Highness," Lady Joanna said. "That was wise, though this is troubling news to hear. I had not thought that they would move so quickly."
"You know who is responsible?" Henrietta leaned in eagerly. "What can you tell me?"
"Little and less, I'm afraid," Lady Joanna admitted. "Some time ago, my lord husband was invited anonymously to take part in some nefarious plot against the imperial crown. He declined, of course. Who could possibly trust a group of traitors too cowardly to even show their faces? But ever since we've known that there is danger brewing. In truth, a large part of the reason why I am here is because my daughter asked us to help keep you safe during your time in Germania, though I doubt she knew that there would be a conspiracy against you and the emperor."
"She did this?" Henrietta's eyebrows went up. "I must admit, I'm rather surprised. She promised me her support when she came into her titles, but I assumed they were merely kind words."
"She thinks of you as a friend, and a Zerbst never turns her back on her friends."
"I hope I prove worthy of such loyalty," Henrietta smiled.
"Oh, I'm certain that you will," Lady Joanna smiled back. "But about these assassins, have you any other clues that you might share with me?"
"Only one," Henrietta said. "My familiar... before he killed the last one, the assassin said something. 'Ingemar.' Have you any idea what that might mean?"
"I do," Lady Joanna said, and Henrietta felt something inside her jump. "Ingemar is one of the nobles of gold."
"Nobles of gold?" Henrietta repeated, perplexed.
"It is a Germanian term. As a Tristanian, you are likely not familiar with it," Lady Joanna explained, gesturing absently with one hand in front of her. "Nobles are necessary for the smooth administration of any country, as you well know, and in every other country the aristocracy is composed of the descendants of Brimir. But we are a new nation, and thus we are lacking in mages compared to the rest of Halkeginia. To compensate for this, we allow those you would refer to as commoners to rise into nobility by merit or, far more commonly, by purchasing their lands and titles. Hence why they are referred to as the nobles of gold, to differentiate them from nobles of the wand. Ingemar is a rich merchant lord who only recently bought his title some three or four years ago, if I recall correctly. Though it is strange to think that he might be connected to this case."
"Why is that?"
"I know Ingemar," Joanna said. "We have done business before. And from all my dealings with him, he gave me a most powerful impression that he was not the type of man who takes great risks, no matter how much he stands to gain from it. If I may be so frank, I always thought of him like a tortoise because of it, slowly and steadily plodding his way through life. So to order the murder of not just the princess, but the future queen and empress of two countries... well, it's not like him."
"But if that's true, then why would A... the assassin say his name?" Henrietta asked. And how did Alex even learn of his name in the first place?
"I do not know," Joanna admitted. "But in all likelihood, someone else is behind this plot. The same people who attempted to beguile my husband, no doubt. I fear that Ingemar was merely the unfortunate fool who served as their middleman, and that this is only the beginning."
The sound of wood exploding and human screams filled the mansion as Ingemar and those that remained of his guards ran down the hallway towards the dining hall. As soon as they were in, the doors were barred shut, and his men lined up at the far end of the room, aiming their muskets at the doors. Their barrels trembled. Every man's hands were quivering from fear. Ingemar did not blame them. He too shied further away from the entrance, hiding behind the sole mage-knight under his employ.
Outside the hall, the screams faded away, and what was left was an utter, eerie silence, broken only by the survivors' shallow breaths. Ingemar was without magic, but he could still tell what was going on in each man's mind, because he was thinking the exact same thing: What is that thing that has come after us?
It was not even ten minutes ago that all had been normal. Ingemar had been going over his ledger to review some of his recent transactions, while his guards were stationed at their usual post and his servants went about their business. But that changed when his guards at the gate hailed someone's approach. It changed very quickly, indeed.
Ingemar's solar was situated at the front of his mansion, so he could see most of his estate through his window. He saw a man in a strange black leather coat and grey cowl walk purposefully towards his guards, saw his hands become tremendous claws, and without warning eviscerate those men.
The alarm was raised quickly. More and more guards streamed out of the mansion to slay the monster, bearing swords, bearing spears, bearing guns, and they were slaughtered like so much cloth.
His knight came into his solar then, along with a small contingent of guards, to evacuate him to somewhere safe.
Unfortunately, they were already trapped. His mage-knight was a powerful triangle-class mage, but of the fire element. He could not levitate them out of some window to safety. Any escape would have to be by foot or by horse, and that would perforce lead them down to the first floor and straight into the monster.
So instead they drew the line here, where they could at least be certain of which direction the monster would come from, and concentrate their efforts there.
There was silence. Breaths. And then the sound of footsteps, each one falling as loud as thunder. It stopped, just in front of the door. No one moved. No one breathed. And then they all screamed and shouted and opened fire with their muskets as a fist clad in black chitin exploded through the door, sending splinters flying every which way. The bullets flew, and sent more splinters into the air, but the monster seemed to pay them no mind as a second fist broke through the door in much the same way as the first.
Armored fingers dug into the wood, and the door was easily torn from its hinges and tossed aside like trash. The monster entered the room then, his entire body covered in that same unearthly black chitin as his arms, his face a smooth, faceless mask that nevertheless stared straight at the lord of the manor.
"Ingemar," it said in a low, guttural growl.
They all shrank back further, save for the knight. He stepped forward with his wand and cast a spell at the beast.
Heat swept over them all like the blazing desert sun as fire flared out across the entire other half of the room. The mage-knight was leaving nothing to chance, and gave the monster no room to escape.
It was a pointless effort, however. The monster did not attempt to escape. He did not even flinch. He strode forward, wading through it as if he was only waist-deep in water. The mage-knight grunted, sweat pouring down his brow in rivulets, both from the heat of his own spell and the strain of casting it. He poured even more willpower into the flames, narrowing the scope of the stream of fire and intensifying it.
If the monster felt pain or even just discomfort, he showed no signs of it. He pressed on through the flames, walking faster and faster as the mage retreated more and more, until at last he had caught up and seized the wand with one hand, snapping it in two, and wrapped one reddened hand around the mage's face.
The mage screamed as his face burned. When the monster released him, Ingemar saw a blackened handprint covering the mage like a wicked tattoo, just before the monster threw him down and smashed his head with his foot. Blood and brain and bone splattered in all directions. Tendrils from his leg attached to what remained of the body and absorbed it entirely.
"By the Founder," Ingemar whispered. He felt a growing warm wetness between his legs.
It was at this moment that his guards all threw down their arms and ran, circling wide around the monster to get out the way he came. They weren't spared even a glance; the monster's eyes were trained solely on Ingemar.
"Ingemar," the creature said again. The chitinous armor was sinking back underneath the monster's skin, and seemingly normal flesh and clothes rising to take their place.
"Stay away from me!" Ingemar cried out, flinging a discarded musket at the monster. It spun in a wide circle, and bounced harmlessly off the creature's chest. "Who are you? What are you? What do you want from me?"
"You sent those assassins after Henrietta," the monster snarled, his face suddenly inches away from Ingemar's own. The merchant lord stumbled backwards, tripped, and fell, quailing under the monster's merciless glare. "I'm here to put an end to that."
"T-the princess of Tristain?" Ingemar licked his lips. "That's what this is about?" Suddenly, he recalled something. A rumor he had heard not long ago. His eyes went wide. "You... you're the princess's familiar."
"My name is Alex Mercer." With one hand, he reached down and lifted Ingemar bodily into the air by the neck. "You hired those assassins. Why?"
"I was... told to," Ingemar choked.
"By whom?"
"I don't... know... his name..." Ingemar gasped. "Please... can't breathe..."
Alex snarled and threw the merchant back down and began to circle him. Ingemar felt much like a rabbit trapped by a hungry lion.
"I swear by the Founder and all the gods," Ingemar babbled as soon as he regained his breath, "it wasn't by my choice. I bear no ill will towards the princess, you must understand. But they said they'll kill my family and I if I don't do as they command. Please. I only wanted to protect my family."
Alex stopped moving in front of Ingemar. Then he looked up, down, left, right, in all directions as though he was searching for something. Then he glared back at Ingemar, murder in his eyes, and hissed, "Liar. There's no one left in this fucking place."
"When they threatened my family, I sent them as far away as I could," Ingemar said hastily. "In case things did not go as planned, I wanted them to be safe."
"Then you should have gone with them, instead of hiring those assassins."
"This is my home," Ingemar pleaded. "Everything I've ever worked for, everything I built, it's all right here. How could I simply abandon it?"
It was the wrong answer. Alex's eyes turned even colder and harder than before.
"You want to keep the people you care about safe and to protect your way of life, even if that means killing someone else. That's fair," he said with a chilling serenity. He crouched down in front of Ingemar so that they were eye-to-eye. "So what about me? You tried to kill someone important to me. You nearly destroyed everything we've built here. What do you think I should do to keep them safe?"
I'm going to die, Ingemar realized. A solid lump formed in his throat. What do I do? What do I do? What do I do? He searched for an answer frantically, even as one pale hand, now crawling with tiny worm-like tendrils, neared his face. "Wait!" he blurted out. "I don't know who the man I spoke with was, but I can describe him for you. I might even know where he's from."
The hand stopped.
"Go on," the monster said.
Ingemar dared not to sigh in relief. Instead, he quickly rattled off, "He's a man about a head taller than myself, thin, and with golden hair. In all likelihood, he's from the principality of Hessan."
"Tall. Thin. Blond." Alex snorted. "You think any of that is supposed to help me?"
"Elsewhere, no," Ingemar admitted. "But here in Germania, there are very few who are of fair hair. Only those of foreign blood have it. Please, I swear I've told you everything I know."
"Not everything," Alex said. "How do you know he's from Hessan?"
"By his ring," Ingemar answered instantly. "I've peddled jewelry for many, many years, so I recognized the designer's make immediately. It's one of Tobias's works, a master goldsmith from the city of Gimsburg, in Hessan. That's everything, I swear, I swear. Please, spare me."
Alex stared at Ingemar for a while longer, and he feared the deliberation he could see behind those icy blue eyes. Then the worms on the monster's arms settled, until only smooth skin and leather remained. Alex pulled his arm back and stood up.
"You're a lucky man," he said. "Go join your family. Leave everything behind if you have to. But just remember this: if I ever find out that you lied to me, I will come back and kill you."
"I understand," Ingemar said profusely. "I understand, thank you. Thank you. Thank you."
Alex turned and walked away. But at the broken down doorway, he suddenly stopped and turned back around, and fresh fear filled Ingemar. Did the monster change his mind? Was he going to kill him after all?
"One more thing," Alex said. "If you ever find out that there's someone who wants to hurt the princess, tell them what happened here today. Tell them that Henrietta de Tristain is under my protection now, and I will kill anyone who tries to hurt her. It doesn't matter how far they run, I will chase them. It doesn't matter where they hide, I will find them. I don't care if they're a king or emperor or a merchant, it's all the same to me. No matter who it is, they're dead. You tell them that, got it?"
Ingemar nodded, and licked his dry lips. "I understand. I will."
"Good," Alex grunted, and left.
Once he was alone, Ingemar collapsed onto his back and spread his limbs out. Suddenly, he began to laugh. He was alive. Alive! But that wasn't what amused him so. It was the realization that the ones who had commanded him to hire those assassins, who had lorded their magic over his gold and threatened him and his wife and child, had just unleashed a demon like that of the stories told to children to scare them into good behavior.
And it was coming for them.
Ingemar stood up, brushed the dust off his shirt and pants, and smiled. He didn't have time to sit around. He had plans to make. He had heard that Romalia was quite lovely at this time of the year. Perhaps he'll settle his family there.