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by freesayan

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3. Chapter 3

I SIGHED AND LOOKED around. The people standing closest to us and listening to me talk with de Châtillon and his friends were already spreading what they heard through the room. And it moved outward like the rings around a pebble thrown into clear water.

"Brother, I need details," the viscountess came in an impatient whisper. Meanwhile, her eyes were burning with excitement. She even puffed out her chest while all eyes focused on her.

My brief recounting of my meeting with de Châtillon and his friends only made her more worried. Her chest started heaving, while a triumphant smile lit up her face, which she deftly hid behind a fan.

Meanwhile, the more the "rings" spread, the more chattering nobles started casting curious glances our direction. And Valerie was clearly savoring the attention.

To an extent, I couldn't blame her. After many months locked away in her uncle's house — a hundred days of despair, hatred, humiliation, and reproach — the Viscountess de Gramont for the first time revealed the version of her I'd met two years earlier. A proud member of an ancient noble house.

"First de Lamar, now de Châtillon," Valerie came with a sly smile when I finished my tale. "Had I not known all the finer points, I might have thought you were purposely hunting down Prince Heinrich's top swordsmen."

"Were that the case," I shrugged, "the Viscount de Châtillon would probably not be attending this reception today."

"In one way or another, you stirred up the 'green' swamp, and now Prince Heinrich will find out about you before the second dance is called," Valerie came with a slight frown. "And by tomorrow morning, every last mutt in Herouxville will know, and laugh at the warrior prince's vaunted favorites, who were unable to cope with an unknown chevalier. A traitor's bastard to boot. Heinrich is cruel and vindictive. Beware of Baron von Herwart. He is sure to declare open season on you."

"Most likely, yes," I agreed and nodded at the princes, preening their vibrant plumage before the Marquess de Gondy like young roosters. "What if his highness Prince Heinrich doesn't give a damn about some utterly unknown bastard. This evening, his attention has another, more interesting object. Prince Louis', as well..."

My last words made Valerie shudder slightly and, frowning, turn her head where I pointed. I saw sadness and pity in her eyes as well as, seemingly, jealousy...

Perhaps my theories weren't all that far off... Maybe the letters Valerie was writing me praising Prince Louis were not dictated by my aunt the duchess,

but by the viscountess's own feelings of love? Hmm... In that case, I sincerely pitied her.

But before Valerie could say anything, the Duchess du Bellay gave her signal, and the master of ceremonies declared a "Procession." In line with Bertrand's instructions, I already knew this dance was the standard opening number at Vestonian balls, and every guest was obliged to take part. After it, one could spend the entire evening lurking in the corner in silence leaning on a column or sitting at the card table, but missing the procession would mean insulting both the lady of the house and all other guests.

Because we as relatives of the duchess had no partners, I turned to Valerie with an elegant bow and asked delicately:

"Mademoiselle, would you please do me the honor of accepting this dance?"

Valerie reached out with her left hand, smiling, and we joined the dance- procession, which all the other guests had already started. Bertrand's lessons, which were now on the level of muscle memory along with my own coordination, meant the movements of the unhurried and relatively simple dance came easily and freely.

My partner was experienced, which was why we quickly got a feeling for one another. I even smiled to myself when I remembered training with Bertrand. My valet invited a laundry woman up so I could practice a couple moves.

Josie, daughter of the head cook, was a long-time partner of Max back when he was a child then teen and knew almost every courtly dance she had been taught along with her young master.

As an aside, she was quite tense and clammed up during our first few sessions. She was clearly expecting her young master, like in days of old, to let his hands wander a bit and was seemingly already preparing to resist.

But time passed and, contrary to her fears, I behaved with delicacy and restraint. Beyond that, I tried in various ways to emphasize the distance between us which seemed to ignite the curiosity of both young Josie, and the other young laundry women in the castle.

Valerie's cultured poise, unhurried, measured gait, and noble, refined curtseys drew attention from other men and women nearby. She sensed it and couldn't blame them. She also liked it.

As an aside, while we danced, I caught intrigued and coquettish glances from Yveline's friends even though just half an hour earlier, they had looked at me like I wasn't even there.

Several times, I locked eyes with my cousin. Yveline smiled provocatively and sent me an approving wink. The "wave" had seemingly now reached her as well.

Watching her face glow with delight, I chuckled to myself. After all, she already knew de Châtillon and I had crossed blades. But she was still

laughing and sending me frivolous winks. Yveline didn't seem to care that one of the top swordsmen had challenged me to a duel and that I might die. Still, on the other hand, she and Valerie were little more than daughters of their time. The death of a nobleman in a duel here was a standard occurrence.

I got distracted from thinking about my relatives by a feeling someone was watching me. It was particularly hard to ignore. During the circle pas, I suddenly turned my head to meet eyes with Aurélie de Marbot, who was dancing with her brother.

She instantly looked away and a slight blush appeared on her face. At the very last moment, I noticed she was looking at me without particular affection. More like scorn, really.

Finally, the procession of the synchronically dancing couples stopped in deep bows and curtseys as the last chords played.

And just then, I was twenty steps from Prince Heinrich, who was trading bows with the Marquess de Gondy. Not too far from there, with a sour face, I saw Prince Louis trading bows with his partner.

For the entire duration of the dance, he was biting his lip and paying no mind to the woman in front of him, instead plaintively watching the gracious, soft movements of Blanca de Gondy, whose left hand was resting on his brother's shoulder. Even the untrained eye could see that the Marquess de Gondy's languishing looks falling on the blue prince, injured Prince Louis.

The elder brother saw the younger one's suffering and, seemingly, was fueled by it. The green prince was apparently crazy for the Marchioness de Gondy, who as an aside, despite the fact she would soon be wed to Prince Philippe, flirted with Louis and Heinrich, clearly trying to spark a conflict between the brothers.

During a short break between dances, the Marquess de Hangest walked over to Prince Heinrich and started quickly whispering something into his ear. After that, both of them lifted their heads slightly and started looking around. At the last moment, de Hangest noticed me and said something to Heinrich.

I was purposely pretending to be distracted by the conversation with Valerie, so the prince and his crony de Hangest would think I didn't see them. My sister turned out right — by the first dance, Prince Heinrich had been told I was there.

A few minutes later, the master of ceremonies declared a new dance and, before the orchestra started playing a new melody, three young nobles appeared next to Valerie.

She flitted off to dance with one of them while a footman appeared next to me.

"Her Grace would like to see you," he said with a bow.

"Show me the way," I nodded.

A little while later, accompanied by curious noble onlookers standing along the wall, I was led over to the Duchess du Bellay, who was standing with the brother and sister de Marbot.

"My dear nephew," the duchess came. "I'd like to introduce you to the viscount and viscountess de Marbot."

The Stone Lady, as before, was smiling welcomingly at me but the cold look in her eyes told me she already knew the full story and I was in for a serious conversation.

"It's my honor to make your acquaintance," I came with a bow.

Aurélie, who was diligently hiding her scorn for me, made an elegant curtsey. Her brother gave me a careless bow in reply and his lipless mouth splayed into an acrid smirk. He looked at me with his yellow eyes not so much as prey, but more like a little fly he was just about to swallow.

Up close, the viscount reeked even worse of blood and death. My instincts didn't let me down. This half man half mutant had killed and mutilated someone just this morning.

After an exchange of short meaningless phrases with the de Marbot household, I bowed and turned to the viscountess:

"Mademoiselle, would you please do me the honor of accepting this dance."

The viscountess extended her left hand and, just a few moments later, the pair of us started spinning between the dancing couples.

In accordance with the etiquette of the Leaf Dance, which the master of ceremonies had announced, the partners were dancing in so-called semi- closed positions. The gentleman's left hand was placed on the tip of his sword, while his right went on the elbow of his partner. At the same time, the lady's right hand laid upon the gentleman's shoulder while the left held a fan in open position pointed slightly to one side. Heh... To my taste, this would all be a lot nicer and easier without the sword or fan.

Aurélie was an expert at moving her own body. I could feel the excitement and delight she was trying so diligently to keep hidden. She now looked like a bird who had escaped a golden cage but just for a moment. I was also aware that her partner was preventing her from fully enjoying the dance. And it wasn't my bad dancing. On the contrary — Bertrand would have probably been proud of his student if he could have seen me just then. There was another issue. The viscountess found me distasteful not as a dancer but as a man. I was curious why. As far as I knew, she and Max had never crossed paths.

"Mademoiselle," I came softly, bending slightly down to her ear. "Would you allow me to ask a question that's been on my mind the whole last

hour?"

Aurélie de Marbot gave a slight shudder in surprise but didn't break her step.

"Of course, monsieur," she replied shortly with a colorless voice.

"Would you care to tell me the reason you have such distaste for me?" I decided to be straightforward.

Aurélie seemed ready for the conversation so, wasting no time, she responded with a slight wryness in her voice:

"I suppose that after you announced your wish to ask my father for my hand in marriage just to settle an old dispute between our families, I should be overflowing with desire and maybe even love?"

Hm... Now this was interesting.

"Come now, mademoiselle," I responded in kind. "I wasn't even thinking it. But allow me to make a little quibble."

"Was something I said untrue?" the viscountess' thin brows shot up. "What can I say, chevalier? You have piqued my curiosity."

"The fact is the reason I wish to be engaged to you is down to more than the age-old dispute between our noble families. I was also promised a barony by your father after."

Laughing internally, I watched the viscountess' eyes narrow menacingly, shifting from a light cornflower blue to a bright gray. She started to blush while her crimson lips closed tight.

"Well, monsieur," she came coldly. "You have lived up to your reputation. It seems everything they say about you is the honest truth."

"Curious," I smiled. "And what is it they say about me?"

"Do you really want to know?" Aurélie clarified, raising her chin and boring into me with an angry look. "Okay, don't mind if I do. They say you're hot-tempered and all your disputes end in duels. And that you chase every skirt. A recent scandal with some actress also ended in a duel and the death of your opponent. And now that you've returned to the capital, you appear to be back to your old ways."

And then, she looked at the silver wing on my chest. Aurélie's lips curled in scorn.

"My grandfather was a member of the Order of the Silver Wing. Unlike you, he was a knight, and the most noble man I've ever met."

The viscountess practically spat out the last sentence.

The music had long quieted down, and we stopped next to a column. The way it worked out, there was nobody next to us and no one to hear our conversation.

"You have my gratitude, mademoiselle," I bowed and smiled. "Very informative."

"Is that all?" she snorted. "You have nothing more to say?"

"Why should I?" I responded in the same tone. "The rumors about my duels are indeed true. And yes, some of my opponents are now dead. When it comes to reasons... I don't know how the de Marbots do it, but the de Gramonts are taught to defend the honor of a lady even if she is a mere actress. You mentioned the distinction on my breast... I consider myself unworthy of such a high honor. I'm sure any nobleman in my place would have done what I did. Doubtless, your noble grandfather was a knight of the highest caliber. I'm certain your brother inherited his ancestor's good nature, which you claim not to see in me."

The last thing I said seemed to take the earth out from beneath the viscountess' feet. She went pale, and a shadow of fear and, seemingly,

despair flashed in her eyes for a brief moment. But just as quickly, Aurélie de Marbot went back to her old self.

"Monsieur," she came coldly. "I kindly request you bring me back to my brother."

Walking in silence along the wall, we crossed nearly half the room when the master of ceremonies again stepped forward to announce a dance, but suddenly fell silent. His gaze was trained on Prince Heinrich, who stopped him with a gesture.

Silence dominated the ballroom. Everyone there was staring at the king's sons.

"Madame!" Prince Heinrich said loudly with a mysterious smile to the Duchess du Bellay standing at his side. "I hope you won't be opposed if I make a small alteration to your dance program? The atmosphere here is a bit grim for my taste. I'm simply positive that everyone will like it!"

"Your highness," the duchess made a deep curtsey. Not a single sinew on her "stone" face moved. "It would be all of our greatest honor."

"Then it's decided!" Prince Heinrich exclaimed with a broad smile and conspiratorial wink at the immediately dejected Prince Louis. "I declare a Sword Dance!"

A wave of excitement swept the ranks of the nobility. A few of the greens appeared fearful. But Heinrich's people seemed happy.

"But Your Highness," the duchess tried to object. "That is a highly technical dance. It requires special accessories which I, alas, do not have."

"Don't you worry about that, madame," Prince Heinrich responded, continuing to smile. "By happy coincidence, we have enough accessories for all. Hey, whoever's out there! Bring it all in!"

The ballroom doors flung open, and Prince Heinrich's footmen dragged in a bundle of wooden swords and two plump silver pots.

Pulling two swords from the bundle with small canvas sacks on their tips, Prince Heinrich raised them over his head and declared loudly:

"As I'm sure you've noticed, we will not be hosting a slaughter with real weapons like our forebearers did! And that is not the only change!"

Heinrich walked over to the pots the footmen placed on the floor and threw the tips of each wooden blade into one. A moment later, he showed everyone that the canvas tips had been painted blue and green.

"We have precisely twenty swords, gentlemen!" he exclaimed. "We need two teams! Green and blue!"

Turning to Prince Louis, he asked loudly:

"Brother, would you be opposed to having me select the first dancer for your team?"

Prince Louis breathed a heavy sigh and waved a hand fatedly. "Of course not, my brother."

This dance seemed to involve some kind of stand-off, and Louis was clearly not confident the greens could win.

"Thank you, brother," Heinrich said with a sly smile and, while everyone looked on in silence, he turned suddenly and, with a wide gait, came directly toward where I and the Viscountess de Marbot were standing.

A few moments later, Prince Heinrich stopped opposite me. In his dark eyes, I saw a sort of sneering anticipation.

"Chevalier, I've heard you are quite handy with a blade. I'm sure you'll be a big fan of this dance."

After saying that, while the others looked on with burning anticipation, he extended me a green sword.

Chapter 22

"THANK YOU FOR THE GREAT HONOR, Your Highness," I came with a bow, accepting the wooden sword. The long, narrow blade with a slightly weighted handle reminded me in some ways of the sword I used to fight de Lamar.

"Have you ever danced this fine number before?" Heinrich asked with a slight smirk.

Hm... Somehow Bertrand and I had overlooked this one. "Alas, your Highness," I replied.

"What can I say? I'm not surprised," the prince smiled acridly. "This dance is highly rare and fraught with danger."

After that, he nodded disparagingly at my silver wing and asked:

"Still, I assume a cavalier of the Order of the Silver Wing is hard to scare with some dance. Beyond that, I noticed that you are an expert at controlling your own body movements. The Viscountess de Marbot would never allow me to lie."

With a slight squint, he glanced at Aurélie standing beside me who, giving an elegant curtsey, stopped with her head down. A treacherous blush again appeared on her cheeks. The prince meanwhile was looking at the viscountess like a cat at a pot of cream.

"I even envy you to some extent, chevalier," Heinrich chuckled and added after a brief and quite vague pause: "I for one will always remember my first Sword Dance."

And although he was talking about a dance, after what the prince said, the viscountess' cheeks went even more crimson.

"This dance has no particularly complex pas," Heinrich assured me. "A man with your coordination won't find it hard to learn on the fly."

After saying that, the prince turned and went back to where his brother and the Marchioness de Gondy were standing. Walking past the Baron von Herwart, Heinrich tossed him a blue sword, which the mage handled playfully.

"Friedrich, remember!" the prince said to his stryker loud enough for the whole ballroom to hear. "For the duration of the dance, you are a regular person. No using the gift!"

"I understand, Your Highness," the baron bowed. "You have my word I will not use magic."

I snorted to myself. Yeah, sure... What a sly smile he had on. And both of their eyes looked to be the picture of honesty. I could even guess who the baron was going to "not use magic" on specifically.

"My brother," Prince Heinrich came loudly when he got near Prince Louis. "My team is ready. Your move."

And indeed, while the prince was speaking to me and the baron, nine swords had already been dealt out to his cohort. The Viscount de Châtillon was naturally among them. He repeatedly cast promising, angry looks my way.

Prince Louis nodded and looked over with a bored glance. His taciturn and implicit obedience of his elder brother, who was clearly trying to assert his dominance, said a lot. Although, upon closer inspection, one might have thought Louis considered his brother something of an inevitable evil, someone easier to obey for a short time than putting up long, tedious resistance. After all, Heinrich didn't make the impression of a man accustomed to backing down.

While Louis looked around thoughtfully at the ball room, many young nobles started to step forward. Their eyes burned with excitement, and a desire to curry favor with their prince. To stand out, make a name for themselves, be remembered.

Max's cousins with decorative swords in fancy scabbards were already in the front rows, watching Louis' every move with pleading looks. As an aside, Aurélie's brother Émile de Marbot, stepped forward as well. His green insignia was a clear indication to everyone whose side he wanted to fight on.

Out of the corner of my eye, I was watching the Viscountess de Marbot. The cold expression on her face made it hard to tell what she was thinking. But her eyes... I saw fear in them. Was this dance really so scary and dangerous that she was afraid for her brother? To my eye, if that was the case, then a six-foot-tall true gifted could certainly come in handy for the green team.

But Louis seemed to think otherwise. I didn't know the criteria the prince was using to select his team, but Émile the Toad clearly did not fit them. It was plainly all down to the fact that his outfit was not adorned with sufficient bands, lace, or jewels. Because those were the exact kind of "dancers" Prince Louis was selecting as Prince Heinrich and his people smiled acridly, and Émile the Lizard gritted his teeth. For the record, Max's two cousins did get chosen, which made them hold their heads high and start beaming.

Essentially, compared to the lords weighed down with the latest fashions in lace and plumage, I was essentially invisible. As a matter of fact, I wouldn't have been surprised to find out that, by giving me the wooden sword, Prince Heinrich, beyond all the rest, was trying to dig at his brother a bit. A few off-handed and unpleasant glances from Prince Louis aimed at me served as proof of that.

"Gentlemen!" Heinrich exclaimed. "Take positions!"

After that, turning around, he looked up at the music balcony and said: "Maestro Gamblin!"

"I am here, Your Highness," a tall man of around fifty approached the balcony railing wearing a light brown frock and light yellow beret topped with a long plume. If even Prince Heinrich knew his name, this man must have been a relatively well-known figure on the Vestonian music scene.

"I suggest the composition Wind of the North, can you handle it?" Heinrich asked, glancing wryly at his brother.

Prince Louis gave a slight shudder and a shadow crept across his face. Every last footman in the ballroom was aware that it was a hint at Louis' upcoming betrothal to the daughter of the northern konung. Heinrich had quite a good time winding up his younger brother.

Louis cast a plaintive gaze at the Marchioness de Gondy, who was watching the proceedings with a captivated smile. He seemed very near to throwing himself at her feet in tears. They'd really gotten him...

"As you like, Your Highness," the director responded.

"Follow my hands, maestro!" Heinrich added. "After every clap I make, increase the tempo."

Gamblin nodded in silence and went back to the musicians.

"Madame," Prince Heinrich said to the Duchess du Bellay, who was watching with an impenetrable facial expression as the king's middle son called the shots in her home at her reception. "I have no doubts that your nephews will prove themselves highly effective today."

"I never doubted it, Your Highness," my aunt replied and cast a fleeting glance at me. Some might think it was an attempt to cheer me up, but I could see perfectly well that Jeanne du Bellay was infuriated. Prince Heinrich had clearly outraged her. The duchess' serpentine unblinking gaze seemed to say: "Get me the win!"

I responded with a barely perceptible sidelong smirk. Quite the tall order, aunty...

With a bow to Aurélie de Marbot, who was watching me with a cold, haughty expression, I said with a smile:

"May I count on your support for Prince Louis' team?"

"Without a doubt," she nodded, adding with a slight squint: "But I will be very happy if you are the first one knocked out of the dance."

"Oh!" I said with an even bigger smile. "Your words have only further ignited the fire in my chest! Now I will put every effort into standing to the end!"

Bowing, I turned around and went into the middle of the room where the teams were already huddling up. Walking past the crowd, I caught Valerie shooting me a burning gaze. I winked at her and moved on.

The de Gramont brothers were already there. They were discussing something softly with another two young men and making a diligent effort to pretend not to notice me. The men they were talking to did the same. All the greens had seemingly been instructed to ignore me. But as for the blues lined up opposite, they on the contrary were watching my every move. Like wolves waiting for a signal from their pack leader to attack a deer.

Catching malevolent looks from my "old pals" de Châtillon and de Hangest, I gave a sidelong smirk.

"Monsieur, good evening!"
A cheery voice behind me forced me to turn around.

Before me stood a short plump young man. His wide and on first glance simpleton's face was sewn thickly with freckles. If I were asked who at the reception was wearing the most bands, lacy ribbons, and precious stones, I would have pointed to this man without hesitation. Even the red wavy hair falling over his thin shoulders had three ribbons and one emerald hairpin.

But along with that, he was the only member of the green team to have a non-decorative sword on his belt. It remained to be seen whether he could use it.

"Good evening," I replied. "Who do I have the honor of meeting?"

"Baron Jean-Louis de Levy, personal perfumer to His Highness Prince Louis," my new acquaintance said, removing his wide-brimmed hat with chic plumage and bowing gallantly. "At your service."

"Chevalier Maximillian Renard at your service," I bowed back while giving him a close scan.

As expected, he was shadow gifted and had an emerald energy system fed by three large bruts of the same color. Baron de Levy hid them beneath a gold brocade jerkin next to his heart.

"Yes, I know," he said with a welcoming smile. "As I'm sure everyone else in the ballroom does as well. I heard you've never danced the Sword Dance before? I have accepted the responsibility of teaching you the finer points."

"Very kind on your part," I nodded. "I wouldn't want to lose face in front of Their Highnesses."

The baron was laconic. Before all the greens had made it to the dance floor, I already had a basic idea of what to expect.

"Thank you, monsieur," I came when the baron had finished his instructions. "And if I may, a final question."

"You have my full attention," the redhead nodded.
"What happens if one of the dancers is exposed for using magic?"

Baron de Levy shot a distasteful look at von Herwart standing in the middle of the blue formation and looked back at his green rivals with unhidden superiority.

"It would be hard to do, but if it were to happen it would be counted as a loss for that person's team," the perfumer responded.

"Thank you again, monsieur," I came with a significant smile. "Your advice has helped me greatly."

When the blue and green teams had formed two ranks in the middle of the room, the master of ceremonies took a signal from the duchess to declare that the footmen would be coming out shortly to, on Her Grace the Duchess du Bellay's request, collect the real swords for the duration of the dance.

I was standing on the left end of the rank, and opposite me, ten steps away rubbing his right wrist, a tall black-haired youth was getting ready for the "dance." He was trying to be casual, but the look in his eyes clearly said he was full of excitement.

I honestly thought I would be put up against de Châtillon or von Herwart to start but, the blues must have had other plans. I had seemingly been left as "dessert." And I even seemed to know for whom...

Tilting my head slightly forward, I glanced at the green rank. Ah, now I see your plan, gentlemen.

De Châtillon was standing opposite Gabriel de Gramont. First you want to humiliate my cousins for show, then pick off the bastard. Okay then, let's see how that works out for you...

"Good luck, monsieur," Jean Louis said in a slightly agitated voice, standing two paces from me. His thickly freckled face blossomed into a happy smile.

"And happy hunting to you, baron!" I responded somewhat loudly and traced a few quick figure-eights with my wooden sword.

I saw smiles on the faces of the onlookers standing nearby after that. The kid opposite me frowned.

What, did you think I was intimidated by you? No, kid... You're the one who should be intimidated! The blue clearly didn't like my sly glance.

Right when all the formalities with the real weapons had been settled, I heard the first dull, measured drum beats from up on the musical balcony.

After the drums, the flutes came in and we got to action. Both ranks formed moving circles. Raising their swords overhead, the dancers stepped out in imitation of riders being cleared before the infantry clash.

The flutes and drums were joined by violins, and I suddenly felt the body I'd inherited start to slightly sway to the music. Muscle memory kicked in. So, I must have inadvertently lied to Prince Heinrich — Max had done this dance before. Oh well, all the better... I just had to not get in the way. I stepped aside and allowed the body to take over. It must be said that after training and mana cultivation, it was in excellent shape.

Meanwhile, the circle fell apart, and the ranks again froze opposite one another. We started to approach. First circle pas. We changed places.

Second turn, and we were back in our original positions — now would come the first lunge. The rules stipulated just one blow could be landed. Whoever took the "color wound" first was knocked out, while the first round victors would then go to restart the cycle.

The black-haired kid opposite me froze. His hands were shaking. His pupils were enormous. A drumbeat and the ranks dashed forward at almost the exact same time.

Lunge. I easily dodged the wooden blade of the black-haired man, while the tip of mine made contact with the blue man's chest. Opposite his heart, I saw a fat green dot. The kid hissed curses through his teeth and, grasping his chest with his left hand, fell out of step.

We turned around just then. Good boy, keeping face. A faded blush on his cheeks, anger in his eyes. But no words.

No time for a bow. The dance went on. Just four greens were still in up against six blues. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted Gabriel de Gramont wincing in pain and clutching his stomach.

Catching a gloomy, intent look from de Châtillon, I replied with a smirk. Get ready...

Jean-Louis was in place. The perfumer's back moved in front of me. His opponent, tossing his sword to the floor in anger, disappeared into the crowd. A little way away, I spotted François' plumage. He must have been

incredibly proud of himself for making it to round two. De Châtillon was now opposite him. Our fourth man was up against von Herwart.

First circle pas... Second...

The Marquis de Hangest stopped opposite me. I no longer saw the confidence he had in his eyes before. He was afraid. And rightly so. My expression could mean nothing good.

Approach. Lunge...

The puffy de Hangest wasn't even able to properly take a step before the tip of my blade "plunged" into his stomach.

It was a powerful blow. The marquis gasped and doubled over. He immediately vomited on the floor. Down on all four, de Hangest barfed up his entire breakfast and lunch right onto the feet of the audience, who scurried out of the way with loud outbursts.

I turned my head and met eyes with Prince Heinrich. His dark eyes unblinkingly followed my every move. He was aware that it was revenge for Gabriel de Gramont. Based on my aunt's triumphant look as she stood next to the princes, she was also aware. Her chin went up proudly, and for the first time that evening she started to blush.

Just before I turned around, I happened to spot Blanca de Gondy shooting me an intrigued look. Through the mask of unconcern and boredom, I saw her true colors. The colors of a true predator.

After cycle two, Baron de Levy and I were left alone against four. François joined his brother, rubbing his shoulder with a pale face.

De Levy and I traded glances. The redheaded perfumer's flushed face beamed with a happy smile. For the record, neither he nor von Herwart had used magic.

"Excellent hunting, monsieur!" de Levy exclaimed. Saluting him with my sword, I smiled.

Prince Heinrich's clap was not too loud, but Maestro Gamblin had a sharp ear, so the orchestra increased tempo.

Cycle three. Two on four. The dull beats of the drums grew quicker. The flutes and violins were joined by a previously silent bagpipe.

First circle pas... Second... De Châtillon stopped opposite me. He was gripped by thrill of the hunt. Like a wolf that just killed all its former enemy's pups, he was preparing to cut down the last, youngest, and most flea-ridden of the bunch.

Approach... De Châtillon made a burst and aimed directly at my heart in a long lunge. A look of triumph and delight danced on his face. He had finally gotten his enemy, the man who humiliated him. The blow was completely unrestrained, hoping to skewer the heart of the man who'd humiliated him.

The viscount was fast, but not fast enough. I like a toreador, made a small step to the left so the "bull" would sail past me and, raising my right elbow high, greeted de Châtillon's approaching forehead with the tip of my blade. The viscount's body out of inertia kept moving, but I could tell by his eye roll that my blow had knocked him unconscious.

To be frank, de Châtillon had dug his own grave. I just had to hold up my blade at the right moment. His arms splaying limp, the viscount collapsed to the floor. When the footmen deftly dragged the viscount aside, holding him beneath the armpits, I smiled at the fat green dot on his narrow forehead.

But alas, my partner Jean-Louis was also knocked out. He didn't stand a chance against three rivals. But the valiant perfumer took one of his opponents to the "grave" with him as he "perished." And that left me one against two.

"Monsieur!" the redhead exclaimed, smiling in spite of the pain in his chest and stomach. "I did all I could!"

"And I thank you for it!" I smiled back.

Prince Heinrich clapped again, and Maestro Gamblin increased the tempo more.

Another cycle... Two circle pas and a lunge...

Baron von Herwart, who had been watching me like his long-awaited prey all that time, made a sharp lunge. Watching his energy system in true vision, I was able to distinctly make out a pulse of lilac. The stryker had used magic. Oh well, untied my hands.

The second blue was more sluggish, which I took advantage of. Treating myself to a small mass of energy, I dodged the tip of the mage's blade and slid forward, poking his slowpoke partner beneath the armpit.

The blond aristocrat with a blue armband gasped loudly and stepped aside. I saw disbelief and shock in his eyes.

Okay, now it was one on one.

Another cycle... The last... Or maybe not. The baron didn't seem to be preparing for another round. He moved forward sharply. A lunge... I easily parried his blade and, dancing, continued circling.

Another lunge. Another miss. The baron was spending his lilac mana sparingly so the audience wouldn't think he was cheating. So far, everything was going according to the plan I'd instantly formed after Jean- Louis' instruction.

One circle pas... The stryker, no longer caring about the dance, as the crowd gasped loudly, made another lunge. And missed again.

I had a smile on my face.

I saw the combat mage's jawbones grinding. He was starting to lose patience. The unexpectedly spry bastard was embarrassing him in front of the prince. Von Herwart was clearly not accustomed to such things.

Second circle pas... The mage's energy system was now aflame with lilac fire. But he still wasn't ready. I needed to give him a push.

"Perk up, baron!" I shouted. "It's just a dance! Never fear."

Okay. Ready. I had noticed strykers having this quirk before. They were painfully given to fits of temper. The Shadow's lilac energy must have affected the psyche of the combat mages.

Baron von Herwart's eyes filled with blood. A fast lunge from the stryker... Very fast. A normal man couldn't move like that. On the edge of my

perception, I heard a few audience members murmuring. It was starting to hit them. But I had yet to hear any cries of protest. Oh well, that remained to be seen. I pretended to have dodged by dumb luck, though I was already using mana to the fullest.

Two circle pas back. Now the final lunge. We stopped opposite one another for a moment. Baron von Herwart's broad chest was heaving rapidly. He seemed to be enraged. He didn't care about anyone else. There was just this nimble bastard who refused to be defeated.

A moment later, the stryker's silhouette seemed to go blurry in the air. Just after that, the baron appeared a step away from me. The tip of his blade was racing toward my chest. I just stood with my hands dropped, slightly pushing brown-lilac energy into my aura to ease the now unavoidable blow.

The baron and I met eyes. He saw a sly smile on my face. A moment before the blow, he seemed to see what had just happened.

And a second later, my chest was pierced with pain, and darkness overtook my mind.

Chapter 23

It was another strange dream of the dark-haired woman who bore a striking resemblance to my Thais.

I had long since realized that all these dreams were far from delirium and coming to me for a reason. I even thought I knew who specifically was involved and why. It was my mysterious "benefactor's" way of having a bit of fun.

This time, the vision was more detailed and clearer. I was standing in the middle of a wide causeway, which wound like a giant gray snake between two and three-story stone buildings with sloping roofs, all of them with horizontal ribs topped by variously designed carved figures. Some had the heads of horses, bears, predatory fish, and dragons.

Others had large toothy animal skulls, clearly harvested from the Shadow. Buildings with decor like that differed from the others in their considerable sizes and higher quality materials.

Despite the sunny weather, there was snow on the building roofs and in the shade of fences. Puddles were stretched over by thin mosaics of ice the local children delighted in crushing with their feet.

I HAD ANOTHER vision...

There were a lot of people on the roads of the northern city. And even to the naked eye, it was clear that many were from out of town.

The main road that bisected the city ran toward the sea coast with a huge, sprawling port that seemed to have a mind of its own. And that was the origin of the multitudinous horse procession of richly appointed Northlanders, headed by a broad-shouldered black-bearded man in a long wolf-pelt cloak measuredly rocking in his saddle.

Next to him on a black steed rode false Thais, looking as sullen and concentrated as ever. Her opulent clothing, jewelry, and golden diadem spoke to the fact that she came from an elite, wealthy family. A viscountess at the minimum.

Following the bearded giant and false Thais on a white steed rode a bannerman. I took a closer look. His dark yellow cloth was decorated with the black head of a viper with big, exposed fangs.

A minute later, the procession had passed me by. I watched where they went. There could be no doubt. Their destination was the large city sprawled out on the hill.

I wanted to follow after them to find out more about the people, but a sharp pain in my chest stopped me dead in my tracks.

A moment later, I opened my eyes... "Thank the gods you're awake, monsieur!"

I saw hunched over me my trusty Bertrand. By now, he felt like family. Pale with dark circles under his eyes, my valet looked like he'd aged several years.

I blinked a few times. I took a closer look. No, Bertrand was fine. It was just shadows. He backed away slightly, smiling happily. The extra years melted away. The mana of several colors I was dumping into his energy system had not gone to waste. And my sessions were bearing fruit — the old man had grown younger and was feeling much better.

After that unusually vibrant and lifelike vision, at first, I couldn't tell what was going on. But a few moments later, my memory caught up with reality.

How long was I out? And where were we? As far as I was aware, my castle didn't have any rooms with such rich decor. I asked Bertrand all that as he bustled around the bed I was lying on with an unbuttoned tunic.

"Ah, sunrise is in two hours," he came, fussily fluffing up the pillow beneath my head. "We are in Her Grace's home in a bedchamber. Your aunty is currently seeing off the last few guests."

"So I've only been out for a few hours?"

"That is correct," the old man confirmed. "I came straight to you as soon as I'd heard what happened."

I breathed a heavy sigh and winced at the sharp pain in my chest. Closing my eyes, I instantly switched to true vision. A scan revealed that I'd gotten off with just a severe contusion, the consequences of which my reservoir was clearing up right on schedule.

So, all that training wasn't for naught. My aura, charged with variously colored energy, eased the baron's blow. Honestly though, the unique type of defense proved to be very costly in energy. The whole bruts hidden in secret pockets in my tunic had lost almost a quarter of their mana. The crimson brut was all the way down to half. But disregarding mana expenditure, overall I was happy with my aura's "independence." By the way, speaking of that...

"What medicines have you given me?" I asked Bertrand.

"Just like you instructed for such circumstances — I gave you two whole flasks of crimson potion," the old man nodded.

"Good," I said and, wincing, tried to sit down. "Can't hurt. I'd be helpless without you, my friend."

"Thank you, Your Worship," the old man responded, caringly supporting me by the shoulders and adding with trepidation: "I heard from servants who witnessed your dance that if you hadn't happened to move just when you did, they'd have wagered Baron von Herwart would have killed you. Your aunt even sent for a healer. But he still hasn't shown up."

Hm, I couldn't remember trying to dodge. But all the better. In peoples' imagination, that must have been exactly how it all went down. Otherwise, how could a normal man have survived a blow from a stryker? Even with a wooden sword.

I tried to make my voice sound steady and said: "This is too much. It's just a big bruise."

"Yes," the old man responded with a heavy sigh and started buttoning up my tunic. "There really is a big bruise across your whole chest. But oh well, we'll take you home and you'll sleep it off."

I opted not to tell the old man that I was supposed to duel de Châtillon in just a few hours.

"What happened after I passed out?" I changed the topic before Bertrand started his habitual old-man moaning.

"The footmen said all the gentlemen in the ballroom were outraged by the baron's deed. His Highness Prince Heinrich even ordered the baron to leave."

He wanted to say more but before he could, hurried footsteps sounded out from the corridor behind the closed door. A moment later, the door flew open, and the Duchess du Bellay entered the room.

Upon her entry, I glanced at Bertrand to stop him when he jerked in my direction and got up out of bed on my own. Wincing, I pulled on my tunic and gave a tender bow. My valet, standing next to me, also froze in a deep bow.

The duchess' eyes shot up in surprise. Her mouth peeked open, astonishment in her eyes — my aunt clearly was not expecting to find me conscious. And neither were the two footmen looming behind her.

"Nevertheless, nephew," she said, shaking her head. "You never cease to amaze me."

Then, waving a hand, she ordered all the servants to leave, and a moment later we were all on our own.

Sitting down in a soft, wide armchair perched next to the extinguished fireplace, the duchess breathed a sigh of relief.

"These balls are so tedious," she said, closing her eyes and touching the back of her hand to her forehead. After that, casting an attentive gaze at me, she added: "Take a seat, nephew. We have to talk."

Under the duchess' evaluating, cold gaze, I winced slightly and plopped down in a second armchair.

"By the end of the night, you will be the most popular person in Herouxville," she said with a sidelong smile.

"Aunty, everyone knows that popularity is fleeting," I chuckled back. "Like a gold-winged moth that lives just seven days, my glory will be gone by the end of the week. There'll be some other big event and high society will forget about me forever."

"That is only if you do not have a hand in the next big event as well," the duchess snorted. "Because my intuition tells me keeping to the shadows isn't your thing. You think I don't know that you are to duel the Viscount de Châtillon in just a few hours?"

Hm... So this was what she really thought of me. Curious... "The duel with the viscount is a question of honor," I responded.

"By the way, speaking of that..." the duchess came with a sidelong smile. "After the dance, Heinrich ordered the baron to leave. He even pretended to be sincerely infuriated."

"Without a doubt, His Highness is one of the most just people in our country," I responded in kind. "I'm certain your esteemed guests appreciated his noble gesture."

The duchess snorted.

"Smart ones, as it always happens in matters relating to the royal family, pretended to be stupid and to take it all for the genuine article, but the stupid ones..." the duchess fell silent for a moment and, sizing me up with an unblinking gaze, continued in an icy tone: "Stupid ones don't last long at court. That's the nature of politics, dear nephew. In fact, this isn't even the first time Baron von Herwart has fallen into supposed disfavor with Prince Heinrich. But every time he reclaims his place next to His Highness in short order. Princes and kings are just like that. One day they're mad, the next they're handing out mercies left and right."

"Thanks for the lesson, dear aunt," I said, tilting my head a bit. "Don't let this lesson go to waste, nephew," the duchess snorted.

The whole time we were talking, Jeanne du Bellay was striving to maintain her image as the Stone Lady, which she'd earned at court. But I could see her true emotions through cracks in the mask. She seemed to have liked

what happened today. It would be a long time before people forgot this reception, and the duchess would surely like that.

"By the way, speaking of mercies..." Jeanne du Bellay said, looking at me slyly and setting two golden rings on the little table. The first held a dark blue sapphire, and the second an elongated emerald. "Their Highnesses send tokens of appreciation."

"Generous," I said, nodding at the rings.

"Thank your new patroness," the duchess said with a wry edge, enjoying the surprised look on my face.

"Thank you..." I started, but she stopped me with a wave of the hand. "No, no," she objected. "I'm not talking about me..."
"Then who?" I asked, continuing to be surprised.

"Blanca de Gondy," the duchess responded with a crafty smile, adding mischievously: "The Princess of the South appeared highly impressed by your dance."

Rolling her eyes, the duchess said softly in a high voice, clearly imitating someone:

"Heinrich, it would be ever so wise of you to give a sword to that young man. He's even a hero of the frontier. You have an eye for talent... Louis, that brave chevalier found an elegant way out of his position and brought victory to your team... Without a doubt he is deserving of your attention and a rich reward..." then the duchess continued in a normal tone: "That young woman, without particular effort, has the princes wrapped around her finger like marionettes. She is truly her father's daughter. Everyone is aware already of who will truly rule our country if the Princess of the South is made queen."

"I see..." I came thoughtfully.

"Need I mention again that you should keep your distance from the marchioness?" the duchess asked seriously. "Her patronage will lead nowhere good."

"I'll heed your warning."

My response seemed to reassure the duchess.

"I think it would be for the best if you left the capital for a time," she came in a tone that wouldn't bear objection. "And when passions settle, you can come back again. Don't look at me like that... Who do you think Baron von Herwart is going to blame for today's humiliation? He's sure to come

looking for revenge. By the time you're back, the baron will be out of Herouxville. As far as I know, he and Prince Heinrich are shipping out to war with Atalia. And all kinds of things can happen in war..."

I met the sunrise on the banks of the Legha, not far from Westbridge. Sitting on a small rock, I was watching the city wake up and contemplating. The roofs slowly changed color with the rising of the sun.

I breathed a heavy sigh and winced at the unpleasant stench of filth wafting in from the Legha's waters. As far as I was aware, all the waste from the capital city's sewer system "fell" into the river. On especially hot days, being near it was a real test for my nose.

I had just read the notes from all Max's sisters and cousins the duchess had given me. The short missives from the women expressed concern for my wellbeing and wished me a speedy recovery. Seemingly, after the ball, my status in the family was slowly starting to change. At this rate, François was going to start writing me friendly letters soon enough.

Picturing the scene, I chuckled to myself. No way. That would never happen... The de Gramonts were a real viper pit. One wrong move and my little relatives would devour me entrails and all.

Valerie's letter was little different from those of her sisters. Most likely, she was aware the duchess was going to read through them. But despite the dry

text, I could imagine how my sister really felt. Most likely, she would share that in her next letter.

Yveline meanwhile, as the favorite of the family, was not sparing with her expressions. She was captivated describing the reaction to the Sword Dance in the whole ballroom, and even hinted that both viscountesses, her friends, were now seriously interested in me.

Stashing the notes in my pocket, I laughed and shook my head. I was certain that, were the real Max in my place, he'd have been in seventh heaven.

The grounds the Viscount de Châtillon had chosen were a fairly popular place for aristocrats to settle scores. And now, coaches were starting to arrive from all directions. Most likely, all bets had already been placed...

And now, there came my new acquaintance. A light buggy rolled up to the grounds drawn by two bay mares, and from it, Jean-Louis Levy hopped down like a spring despite his full figure. With a broad smile, he sauntered my direction.

"Good morning, monsieur!" he exclaimed, still smiling. "I thought I'd come out to enjoy the fresh morning air!"

"Pleased to see you, monsieur," I responded with a slight bow. "I suggest you take your air away from the river. The Legha is wafting with particular aromas this morning."

The redheaded baron guffawed and, taking a lace kerchief from his sleeve, waved it quickly in front of his nose. I immediately smelled a slightly tarry pine aroma.

"Your Worship," Bertrand distracted me. "They're coming."

A wide buggy rolled up to the edge of the meadow, drawn by a pair of raven horses. From it, stumbling and bracing himself heavily on the sideboard, the Viscount de Châtillon struggled to get out. To say the least, he looked unwell. All wrinkled and disheveled. Pale face, bruises beneath the eyes. Even from a distance, I could see a huge bloody area on his narrow brow with a greenish tint.

Next to de Châtillon, his thin gray-haired servant fussed about, reminiscent somehow of my Bertrand. The old man tried to support his master but the viscount, furiously proclaiming curse words, tried to push him away.

Finally, the standoff ended in de Châtillon doubling over and starting to vomit right beneath the wheels of his buggy.

"A pitiful sight," Jean-Lous snorted. "Drinking before a duel was not the best idea. But I don't blame the viscount. He is no longer in His Highness' favor."

"I'd dare to suggest the viscount is not entirely drunk," I came, watching de Châtillon's motions closely. "Or rather, he is entirely not drunk."

"Do you suppose it's all effects of your blow?" the baron lit up right away. "I'm sure of it. Would you come with me, monsieur?"

After saying that, I headed toward de Châtillon's buggy, and his Highness Prince Louis' perfumer followed eagerly behind.

When I crossed the meadow with the baron, the onlookers immediately perked up. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted the familiar carriage hiding in the shade of the trees. My aunt seemed to be right. Blanca de Gondy was now interested in me. But that was unlikely to bring me any benefits.

De Châtillon's servant noticed our approach first. His eyes contained so much pain and pleading. Most likely, like my Bertrand, he had been caring for and doting on the viscount since he was a child. I suddenly felt very bad for the old man. I also suddenly considered something. How was it that such foul bastards as Max and the Viscount de Châtillon, had people like Bertrand or this trusty old man at their sides? On the face it was an injustice of universal scale.

"Oh-ho-ho!" de Châtillon came in a mumbling voice when he finally noticed me. "So, here he is. Chevalier Renard! I'm at your service."

After saying that, the viscount peeled himself away from the buggy and, taking a step forward, reached his right hand for the grip of his sword.

Meanwhile, I looked at his energy system in true vision and came to the conclusion that the viscount had suffered a severe concussion. I was even surprised he was still on his feet.

I could see that the old man was doing everything in his power to resist running out to help his master, but he remained standing still. He didn't want to bring shame upon the viscount.

"Good morning, viscount," I greeted de Châtillon, touching two fingers to the edge of my tricorn. "And where are your friends, Monsieur Craonne and the Marquis de Hangest?"

"To hell with friends like them!" the viscount spat out, and I saw a fated look in his cloudy eyes, but at the same time a determination to see this through to the end. He clearly did not believe he would live to see the end of this day. "Take position, monsieur! And let's end this once and for all!"

"As you like," I nodded and we went into the middle of the meadow.
I heard the viscount breathing heavily as he stubbornly walked after me.

A dozen steps and I stopped. Removing my tricorn and cloak, I threw them to the ground. And, not drawing my blades yet, I waited for the viscount. I was not planning to mock or provoke my rival. I respected the way he held himself. I never should have compared him to Max. This quarrelsome man had earned my esteem with his tenacity and force of will.

De Châtillon also stopped and, stumbling, stood with his legs splayed.

"Ready?" I asked.

"Yes!" the viscount replied dully.

"Then let's get started," I came and, drawing my blade, went on the approach.

De Châtillon also drew his blade. Boring into me with a hazy look, he stepped forward, but at the last moment his eyes rolled back and he, taking another step out of inertia, fell face first on the ground. His body must have finally run out of fuel.

Cries of dismay were heard at the edges of the meadow.

Turning sharply, I gestured for de Châtillon's servant and coachman. When the old man, gasping and wailing, bent over the viscount's body, I said loud enough for all to hear:

"My dear man, despite the wound he took last night, the Viscount de Châtillon came at the appointed time to cross swords with me. That is truly the act of a noble man! Tell your master I am prepared to give him a postponement to get his health on the mend. As a noble, it would bring me no honor to duel a man at death's door."

"You have my gratitude, Your Worship," the old man whispered.

After that, picking up his master with the coachman, they carried his unconscious body to the buggy.

Meanwhile, I turned to see Baron de Levy standing in the near distance.

"Monsieur, this morning's walk has awakened my appetite!" I said smiling, watching out of the corner of my eye as de Gondy's carriage started away. "What do you say we go get breakfast?"

Chapter 24

BARON DE LEVY HAD A LOT to say over breakfast. Mostly petty rumors from court, amusing happenings at balls and other minor and utterly insignificant tidbits. But he also told me in broad terms about a big embassy to be headed by Prince Louis going north, and which Baron de Levy would also be taking part in as, of course, would all others attached to the green prince.

But meanwhile, he never forgot to ask a lot of questions about me, my life, and my family. After a few minutes talking, I concluded that Jean-Louis was acting on someone else's instructions. I could even guess whose. I just had to remember whose personal perfumer he was. In general, either the junior prince or his inner circle must have started looking into me more closely. Though neither possibility should have been written off entirely.

Let them look into me. No skin off my back. Pretending to take the bait, I eagerly told the redheaded green spy about my exile in Abbeville, the frontier, and my move back to the capital.

We also talked a lot about what happened at the ball after I passed out. He had nothing new to tell me. Based on what the Duchess du Bellay said about the categories of Vestonian court nobility, I could confidently place Jean-Louis in the group of "smart people who try very successfully to act stupid." It occurred to me that those were practically the only kind of people at the Duchess du Bellay's ball.

In sum, all society's blame had fallen squarely on Baron von Herwart. Because he promised not to use magic, but lost his cool, making himself look foolish and bringing defeat to his team.

And the fact that the baron had thus put his suzerain into a compromising position was something everyone there, including the spineless Prince Louis, preferred to ignore. Just the way they always ignored things relating to the royal family. Everyone who was ever bold enough to go against the king and his family had either been executed or placed in the dungeons. Max's daddy was a clear example.

Prince Heinrich, of course, had expressed his displeasure publicly, and ordered the baron to leave the ball, but everyone knew perfectly well that it was just an act. Soon enough, the "disgraced" stryker would be going off to war with the Atalians together with his suzerain. I assumed that were the baron not a combat mage, a valuable commodity in this kingdom, Prince Heinrich would have given him a harsher punishment...

In the end, my shared breakfast with the Baron de Levy turned out very informative both to him and to me.

"Good day, madame," I came with a bow.

Despite Bertrand's admonishments to get some rest, I was already riding out to the Legrand manor the next day. I could not afford to lose all that

valuable time. The chance to visit the Legrand family crypt, which Isabelle Legrand had given me for some reason I still didn't understand, was something I could not afford to miss.

"So, you came," Isabelle Legrand said either inquisitively or affirmatively, hitting me head to toe with her unblinking, hawkish gaze.

Like the last time, she met me in the garden. In the same gazebo the quiet footman led me to before. Today, Pascal Legrand's eldest daughter was alone, as was I.

I intentionally left Bertrand in the carriage. His presence would have made it harder for me to get Isabelle to speak candidly.

"Yes, madame," I answered shortly and added with a slight bow: "And I am grateful to you for giving me this chance."

Ignoring my gratitude, Isabelle suddenly asked a question I was not expecting:

"Is it true that you set Bertrand free?" "Yes," I replied.

"What were your motives?" she kept pressing.

Hm... I seemed to know what she was getting at.

"I considered it the right thing to do," I responded.

As an aside, my words were the pure truth. Isabelle, meanwhile, seemed to have a different opinion.

"What if you had a different intent?" she asked with a slight smirk.

"Curious. What intent should a person have when freeing another from a life lived in slavery?" I feigned sincere surprise.

"Maybe drop the comedy act, Max?" Isabelle said, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. Then, curling her lip into a sarcastic smirk, she added: "Do you take us all for idiots? I always had a high opinion of you, but this time you've really outdone yourself."

Was she trying to provoke me, or being sincere? Although they were hardly mutually exclusive. Considering how worthless Max used to be, I wasn't the least bit surprised to hear that.

In one way or another, if I wanted to get what I was after, I couldn't respond to her rude remark.

"Need I remind you the content of your letters?" she continued with a sidelong smile. "The ones where you rudely demand payment for a supposed share in our family business. You even threatened to take it to court if we didn't pay up to your satisfaction."

Isabelle shook her head.

"Now you want to come at it another way? You think we believed you suddenly started to feel like a son of the family for the first time in all these years when you asked to visit your mother's crypt? And you freed Bertrand in the hopes of softening our father."

I wondered if her and Adeline were working together, or if Isabelle knew nothing about her younger sister's independent activities. In one way or another, it was still too early to say. I had no proof.

Isabelle was partially right. I really had no business with Max's mother. Visiting her crypt was just a pretext to officially visit the Legrand home. Maybe I'd find a hook of some kind during my visit. Like when I met Adeline's son the last time. He was already one potential source of information.

"Madame," I said with a heavy sigh. "If this is your way of trying to prove yourself to me, then your efforts are going to waste. I know perfectly well

how I'm thought of in your home. And I have no desire to convince you of anything, much less justify my every last action and decision to you. I simply want to pay my debt to my mother, whose death everyone here blames on me. If you invited me just so you could read me the riot act again, you're simply wasting my time."

I already wanted to turn and leave, but Isabelle stopped me.

"Wait," she came coldly. "As promised, I will take you to our family crypt. But don't count on anything more."

I nodded in silence. So I was right — they couldn't refuse to let me visit my mother's tomb. Society simply would not understand. Things like that were no laughing matter here.

The Legrand mausoleum was located past the park. A narrow alley paved with wide marble slabs led me to it. It was a long, narrow building with two towering columns at the entrance with a pair of gray stone statues.

When we had just a few more steps to go, the mausoleum's massive door peeked open, and a woman's figure appeared in the frame.

Inside, I laughed. Very well. Adeline Beauchard was on the doorstep of the family crypt. When she saw me, she shuddered. Her face covered with red spots in surprise while her brows shot upward. But a moment later, Max's second aunt got herself together and her face warped into a scornful grimace.

"Good day, aunt," I bowed, smiling openly.
"Father will be upset," Adeline threw out angrily to her sister, ignoring me.

"I'll survive," Isabelle came phlegmatically, as if swatting away a bothersome little fly.

"He shouldn't be here," Adeline made another attempt.

I looked at her hands and saw in her right fist a little scroll of light pink paper. I had seen things like that at the shops outside temples. Beyond standard scrolls with prayers written by priests, they also sold "clean" illuminated scrolls which buyers were supposed to use to write messages to the deceased.

Based on the thickness of the scroll in Adeline's hands, it was meant to contain more than one prayer. Write a few words on illuminated paper to a deceased relative, tear it off and burn it next to the urn of the person's ashes. And so on until you run out of paper. Such multi-use scrolls were the most expensive.

"You know perfectly well that we couldn't refuse," Isabelle said and, letting me know the conversation was over, walked into the crypt.

When I got even with Adeline, through her teeth she hissed with hatred in her voice:

"You have no place here, bastard!"

She and Max must have crossed paths somewhere before. I'd like to know why she got so mad at him. She even hired an assassin. Maybe more than one. I wouldn't have been surprised to learn the Nightwolves were also her handiwork. Honestly, though, I wasn't totally sure why they were taking so long. Because they had not completed their task. There must have been some kind of serious reason.

I smiled at her in silence. No, not now. This was not the time. Leaving my hissing aunt behind, I followed after Isabelle.

It was quite bright and cool in the crypt. It was immediately obvious the mausoleum had been built relatively recently. Most likely, Pascal Legrand had it constructed. And meanwhile, I supposed the de Gramonts' mausoleum was likely one of the most ancient in Vestonia.

I sniffed. The far corner smelled strongly of smoke. Adeline must have burned a prayer somewhere over there.

I looked around. In the center of the room on a stone pedestal was a bronze chalice with a flame burning inside. There were lots of niches in the walls, most of them empty. Clearly made with "room to grow." But some of them already contained urns. And Isabelle led me to one.

"Here it is," she nodded at a pretty, artfully carved vase of blue marble. "You have a few minutes. After that, a footman will show you the way out."

With that, Isabelle turned and walked to the exit.
"Thank you, madame," I said to her back, but she completely ignored me.

Waiting for Max's aunt to leave the crypt, I looked around again, but more closely and in true vision.

Clear... Not a drop of mana. Nor was there anyone around. Here, it must not have been acceptable to spy on those communing with the dead.

Wasting no time, I walked over to the flaming chalice. I lit a prayer scroll Bertrand had bought for me, waited for it to catch, then placed it in a small marble dish next to the urn.

I don't know what body or world you were reborn in, Anna Renard, or more importantly how long you might last there, but I know one thing for sure — here your life was empty and short, but doubtless rich in exciting events.

You really blew the minds of my cantankerous relatives, and for that I want to say a special thanks.

Logically concluding that my business was done there, I turned and wanted to leave, but then my gaze fell on the smoldering bit of paper.

Hm... why not?
With a glance at the front door, I listened closer. Silence.

Raising my head, I sniffed and went toward the faint smell of smoke wafting from deep in the crypt, which had almost completely blown away through windows beneath the ceiling.

A few moments later, I stopped opposite a niche with a fat urn made of black granite. In a flat dish on a pile of weightless ash, there laid a fragment of light pink paper, which was covered with a thick layer of neat little handwriting.

I didn't know which late relative Adeline Beauchard had prayed to, but she must have had something to say. I looked around just in case, carefully extracted the "surviving" bit of paper, and stashed it in my pocket.

And with that, I was done. I hoped the spirits of the dead wouldn't hold it against me. But really, who was I fooling? They had all long since been

reborn in other worlds in the endless multiverse. They didn't care about any of these urns or crypts, much less some half-burned scrap of paper. I didn't yet know myself what I needed it for, but in my line of work, all I needed was a hook.

I got back home by lunchtime, where I was awaited by a message that there was a red pitcher on the Watchmaker's office windowsill. The Viscount de Tosny had requested another meeting.

I couldn't help but be alarmed by how quickly it came. Because in my last meeting with the Watchmaker, he claimed he would take the product to his clients who eagerly and discreetly purchased all my hollowstones only next week. It was all a bit odd and sudden... My sixth sense was screaming that problems were coming my way. And it had never let me down yet.

In one way or another, I would figure it all out that night...

The message from the Watchmaker put not only me on guard. Jacques didn't like it either. He as usual, tried to ask to come with on my nightly stroll, but in my turn, I refused him as usual.

If I really was in for something nasty at the Watchmaker's I would have to act on instinct, and at times like that I couldn't afford distractions. Also, regardless of all Jacques' talents as a fighter, nighttime was not his forte.

As if on cue, it was a moonless, quiet night. The part of the city where the Watchmaker lived had long been sleeping deeply. Flower Street, always so lively and crowded, seemed to have died.

Moving silently as a ghost from shadow to shadow, I walked over to the inn where the Viscount de Tosny had rented a room on the second floor.

Despite the cold night air, all the windows of his room were slightly ajar. But the blinds on the lower windows, on the other hand, were shut tight. It was as if I was being invited to climb inside through the second story.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and listened. It was suspiciously quiet inside. No snoring or creaking beds. No coughing. It was like I'd come to a graveyard.

I quietly drew in air through my nose. There it was... That smell. Thick and suffocating. I could never mistake it for anything else. Only death smelled that way. There were clearly a number of fresh corpses inside. But also some living people. And all of them were on the second story.

I could have simply faded into the darkness and gone back home, but if the Watchmaker for some reason held that against me, I couldn't afford to have an enemy like him at my back.

Overall, very strange. What made the viscount cut down every resident of the inn where he himself was also a guest? Utter delirium. It had to be something else.

Climbing over the fence, I found myself in the back yard. Recently, I had done quite a good job studying the building and, if needed, I could have gotten around in it even with my eyes closed. Over there was the stable, and there was the woodshed.

But somehow, I couldn't see my friend, the old guard dog I tried to feed every time I came to visit, and with whom I shared little masses of crimson mana. Animals were more sensitive in that way. They could tell straight away who was friend and who was foe. He made friends with me right after my first visit. Happily accepting a treat and some crimson mana, he granted me access to his territory.

I found the dog's body not far from the back entrance. The poor guy had been shot with a crossbow or bow. More likely the former. An experienced marksman had shot him straight in the heart.

The Watchmaker couldn't have done it. The viscount was probably a goner at this point. And if I had been summoned with our special signal, he must have been tortured. Or more likely, they got all the details out of him using a potion.

The back door was locked from the inside. But that couldn't stop me. Slowly pumping my mana into a small area on the door, I waited for the wood to pulverize, then made a careful hole with my hand and unlocked it.

Okay, I was in... Quiet as a graveyard...

Holding my small crossbow at the ready, which I'd gotten a few weeks before at a curious weapon stall in the Old Capital, I walked a slow circle around the first floor. I finally found what I sensed on the street.

Dead bodies... Seven corpses. They were all piled up in one room, the farthest from the door. In it were the owner of the inn, his wife, and five guests. It was immediately obvious that they had all been dragged down there alive, and only killed later. The Watchmaker's body was not among them.

I could already safely go for the guards but, if I did, I would be bringing unwanted attention from the authorities to my little side hustle with the viscount. I didn't have to be too wise to figure out that the strange cutthroats had come here for my bruts. The Watchmaker must not have been careful or discreet enough.

Okay, done with the first floor. Going up to the second.

I sensed the ambush on the approach to the stairs. Scanning revealed that a person was hiding on the narrow stairway landing. Not a guest, that was for sure. I didn't see any mana. But he had a well-formed energy system. This man was an experienced warrior.

His energy system looked very calm, meaning he was unaware of my presence. Sitting in the corner and guarding his section of the stairs.

Closing my eyes and continuing to watch the stranger in true vision, I raised my crossbow. The dull, dry thud of the bowstring sounded to me like thunder on a clear day. But the man hiding on the stairs didn't even move before the short crossbow bolt went through his right eye and straight into his brain. I decided not to shoot for the chest. Based on a thicker area under his clothing, this stranger was wearing armor.

Standing in place and holding my breath, I listened closer. Time was passing, but no one came down to investigate. The Watchmaker's new friends must have been waiting in his office, which was in the far wing of the building. From there, it was hard to hear what was happening on the stairs.

Quickly reloading the crossbow, I started going up. A few moments later, I hunched over the body. He had a small arbalest on his knees. He must have been the one to shoot the old dog. Oh well, now I had gotten my revenge for my little buddy.

Thanks to night vision, I was able to make out my enemy's facial features. Hm... Didn't look Vestonian. This was an Atalian. Curious...

Picking up the dead man's arbalest, I continued on.

Walking slowly down the corridor, I closely scanned the space in front of me. There was the door leading into the room used by Arnault Lefevre, the Watchmaker's personal servant.

Peeking into the ajar door, I saw the pipsqueak's eyes glassed over. The dead Arnault was sitting against the wall with his hands bound, and a gag in his mouth. His head was tilted slightly, while his chest and stomach were covered with lots of blood. On his throat, I saw a deep slice from ear to ear.

I looked around. There were another two bodies lying on Lefevre's bed, which I had no trouble recognizing as the two hulking men who drove me around the first time the viscount and I had met. The Watchmaker was seemingly without protection. If of course he was still alive, which I was starting to doubt.

I killed a second shooter by sneaking up from behind and snapping his neck. He was hiding at a window and watching the street. Not well enough. And he paid the price. The second man was also Atalian.

And the third fighter was almost a loss. I was just coming out of the room where I left the broken necked Atalian when his comrade suddenly appeared at the end of the hallway and slowly, practically by feel, came toward where I was standing. To my relief, he didn't see me in the darkness.

Freezing in place, I instantly pumped mana into my aura and my body seemed to disappear into thin air. When the third Atalian walked past me unsuspecting, I made a sharp burst forward.

A quick jab to the temple reinforced with a pulse of energy, and the Atalian fell to the floor limp. Carefully holding the flaccid body, I quickly scanned his energy system. It only took one blow to send him to the next life.

The hallway and rooms were empty. That left the Watchmaker's office.

I walked over to the door and took position, then settled in to wait. All my sense organs were telling me that there were three men in the room: the office's primary occupant and his two "guests" one of whom, based on his ragged and angered breathing, must have been losing his patience. He didn't seem to like the fact that the little birdie, i.e. me, didn't want to fly into his net.

The impatient man saved me from having to wait very long. The silence in the office was broken by muted cursing, clearly in Atalian, then the door flew open sharply and a broad-shouldered girthy silhouette appeared in the dark passage.

Not letting the big man take another step, I ran forward and knocked him off his feet with a single blow to the solar plexus. His armor lessened the blow but couldn't hold back the pulse of energy. I was afraid to hit him on the head. I wanted this Atalian alive. He was clearly in charge.

Before the big man's body could even hit the floor, I was inside the office. Everything looked just like I thought. The Watchmaker, badly beaten, was seated in an armchair with his arms and legs tied up and a gag in his mouth. The Atalian who was in the room meanwhile I caught just as he was getting

out of the chair. My bolt going through his head made his head jerk back before his whole body fell into the chair.

I looked around the office to make sure the big man on the floor had just passed out and finally walked up to the viscount, who was staring half-blind into the darkness and mutedly mumbling through the gag.

Gently pulling the rag from his mouth, I came with a slightly sardonic edge:

"Monsieur, you never should have gotten involved with Atalians. Haven't you heard His Majesty Carl III declared war on their king?"

Chapter 25

I RETURNED HOME before dawn. Bertrand and Jacques had spent all night up waiting for me, so they had lots of questions. I simply responded that I was fine, ordered them to go rest, and collapsed into the soft armchair in my office. Honestly though, the gloomy thoughts swarming in my head made it impossible to truly relax.

But alas, I was not able to save the Watchmaker. The torture and heavy dose of "truth serum" they fed him had finished the poor man off. The dark spot slowly growing in his brain I was unable to stop. The viscount died in my arms without saying anything I could use. He didn't even seem to recognize me.

I breathed a heavy sigh. The Viscount de Tosny was a complicated man, and I didn't harbor any particular sympathies for him. So it wouldn't exactly be true to say I felt bad for him. I was more upset by the loss of an established channel for selling my hollowstones. And that was not all. The Watchmaker was a very well-informed man. I was accustomed to thinking I could always turn to him for a consultation. And now this indubitably useful man was no more.

But the big man I had tied down tight with bedsheets and dosed with truth serum was able to tell me a lot more things. Honestly, though, at first he tried to resist the elixir's magic. He even tried to pretend not to understand my language, but then the serum took effect and the Atalian started singing like a bird in unaccented Vestonian. Still, if he had kept speaking Atalian, I'd have understood him. That was one good thing I'd inherited from Max.

As it turned out, Guido Sordi, and that was the big man's name, with a gang of four other Atalian's I'd now snuffed out were all that remained of the band of assailants that came after Princess Adèle and her bodyguards. He told me they didn't have a proper plan of attack on that day. They simply acted according to circumstances.

In Guido's words, it all might have worked out if the unknown mage hadn't gotten involved and helped the princess' guards. When I told him he was now speaking to that very unknown mage, his eyes shot up into his forehead.

The potion worked as intended, so Guido was suddenly overcome by warm feelings and warned me that the Scarlet Knights had set a big reward for information about the princess' mystery savior.

Beyond that, he said the temple functionaries were not the only ones pursuing me. Guido had overheard the man who oversaw their group speaking to an informant, who said royal investigators were turning over every last stone to find the unknown mage. It was all down to Princess Adèle. Supposedly, Carl III's granddaughter wanted to bestow her savior with royal gratitude.

The conversation turned smoothly to the Watchmaker. As it turned out, everything that had happened that day was the result of a long string of coincidences.

Guido Sordi and his men got an order from their handlers to immediately go east over the border with Astland, then make for Atalia. And that would have all been well and good, but the five decided to get into a little side hustle so they wouldn't go home empty-handed. Naturally, without telling their handlers. They had no reason to know about such things.

As it turned out, the Atalians' initial target was an Astlandic merchant one of Guido's fighters had heard about. After a quick planning session, the five killers broke into the room the Astlander was renting in a portside hotel. They quietly took out his protection and gave the merchant a thorough interrogation. Needless to say, they were very happy to find a bag of hollowstones on the merchant. They hadn't even imagined they might get this lucky.

Before dying of torture and truth serum, the merchant told Guido and his fighters who his supplier was. From there, it wasn't hard to guess who Guido Sordi's band targeted next.

Before killing the moron without the slightest bit of pity, I extracted everything he knew about his handlers and their informants. And the more I heard, the less I wanted to get involved in any of this crap. The biggest thing I learned was to keep my distance from priests both in Vestonia and other lands. All these knightly orders starting to pop up in Mainland like mushrooms after a rainstorm, and which mercilessly hunted down true gifted, were deeply intertwined like a massive root system.

Guido also said that Carl III was in for many unpleasant surprises from the war. What specifically the Atalian did not know, but his handler had at some point made reference to an indomitable knightly brotherhood.

Essentially, I wouldn't be surprised to find out the knights known as Stone in Vestonia, or the Knights of the Gray Rock would flip to the side of their "brethren" from the Order of the Scarlet Shield at the very worst moment.

After all was said and done, I searched the attackers' bodies. My take was a dozen bruts I had sold in the first place, gold and silver coins, and a small sack of gemstones. I didn't take any jewelry or other things. The thing was that the Watchmaker had a lot of conspicuous objects that belonged previously to rich, influential people. They would make it easy to identify me. Better not to risk it...

I was awoken by a timid knock at the door. I opened my eyes and looked around. Through a crack in the heavy curtains, sunlight was streaming into the office. So, I must have dozed off for a minute in the chair.

Getting up from the desk, I stretched and went to open the door.

"Monsieur," the footman standing outside said in a clear voice. In his hands was a small silver platter with an envelope atop it. "A letter for you."

Taking the envelope from the small platter to find it sealed with red wax, I opened it without much thought. The sheet of thick high-quality paper monogrammed with what was likely the seal of a ducal house, the following was written in an elegant calligraphic hand:

Young man, you have caught my eye.

I would like you to join me in my manor for lunch tomorrow.

No refusals accepted.

The Duke de Bauffremont.

And now the reds were in on the game. I wondered what the queen's brother could want from a common bastard.

While I read, I heard hurried footsteps coming my way from the main entrance. I looked up. Bertrand appeared breathing heavily. I read clear concern on his pale face.

"What happened?" I asked, trying to make my voice sound steady and confident. I noticed that intonation reassured the old man when he was worked up. But this time, the trick didn't seem to work.

"Monsieur, out there..." Bertrand's voice was shaky. Droplets of sweat beaded on his forehead. "Someone has come to pay you a visit... It's His Worship Baron von Herwart."

Interlude 7

Herouxville
The Legrand Manor
Adeline Beauchard's bedchamber

ADELINE BEAUCHARD REASONABLY ASSUMED her light sleep was a blessing from the gods. Honestly though, it wasn't a trait she'd had since birth, nor in the years when she was a cute, carefree little girl living in her father's home. Only after marriage. It all started the night after her very wedding. Or to be more accurate, after the first night of married life.

It was on that horrible night that Little Addy, which was what everyone at home called her, realized the true nature of the man her father had found for her.

Pierre Beauchard, who always seemed so sweet and caring, conquered Adeline's heart quite quickly. And though at first she didn't want to marry him, a few months of Pierre's lovely courtship was all it took for her to start anxiously awaiting the day the priest of the Forefather would tie their hands with the familial ribbon.

Later, Adeline realized their marriage had been arranged years prior when the Beauchards and Legrands formed their partnership. That was the day

Pascal Legrand promised Pierre's father to give Little Addy's hand in marriage to his son.

On the first night of marriage, Adeline realized that Pierre's soft and considerate ways were just a facade. She had married a monster. At first, her husband beat her savagely, then raped her. That night, Little Addy died and Adeline Beauchard was born, forgetting all about the sound, carefree sleep of her youth.

She tried to talk about what happened to her older sister, but it went nowhere. She was told to bear it like all women did, and never to speak about it to their father. And Adeline gritted her teeth and bore it in silence.

The violence ended when Adeline told her husband she was with child. The healer she paid off advised Pierre for the duration of the pregnancy to let his wife live in her father's house where she could bear him an heir in peace.

Pierre, to Adeline's delight, agreed with the healer's conclusions. Furthermore, he even seemed happy to have the temporary freedom.

The nine month break flew by for Adeline as if it were one vibrant and happy day. But one day, everything changed. The young Beauchard family had a boy, who was called Alain. The young mother and newborn again moved into the father's home.

And the first night after the birth, Pierre said he missed his wife so much, and decided in his next fit of rage to try to take the child from her as he was

peacefully suckling and sleeping on his mother's breast.

That was the first night Adeline fought back. And it wasn't for her sake, but her son's. Driven by maternal instinct, the meek lamb turned into a predator. Killing came easily to her. It only took one blow from a heavy bronze statuette to open the back of her assailant's head.

Every time she thought back on that night, Adeline couldn't understand how she was able to resist turning the bastard's head into a bloody pulp. It was all seemingly down to the months she'd spent in her father's house gestating her son. One thousand times she'd imagined killing her despicable husband.

It even turned into a mind game. Because killing was not enough. She would also have to cover her tracks. Oh, the sheer number of clever methods she'd come up with in those months! But in reality, it was completely simple. Elementary really.

The thin, sinewy body of her dead husband she pushed out the window of her bedroom right onto a stone-paved path. She didn't even have to dose him with alcohol. Pierre came into her bedroom already inebriated.

In the end, all her relatives and acquaintances received an announcement that Pierre Beauchard had tragically fallen out a window and died. Their servants of course could have shed some light on a couple details. After all, everyone in the building knew what kind of man their master was. But for that very reason none of them even considered casting doubt on the official story. Plus, every one of them got a handsome reward from Pascal Legrand

for keeping their mouths shut. The Legrand Trading House could not afford to lose reputation, after all.

After burying her "beloved" husband, Adeline Beauchard and her little Alain moved into her father's house where she devoted all her time to the child she believed would inherit the Legrand empire.

And her father thought very highly of his grandson, slowly preparing him for the role of "emperor." And it wouldn't have mattered a bit if Anna's bastard hadn't shown up and started threatening Alain's prosperous future.

Adeline, like the last time her son was in danger, decided to deal with the problem herself... And when she thought it was over and done with, the Renard bastard somehow survived and got away without a scratch again and again...

...Adeline was awoken by a rough, hot hand covering her mouth. On top of that, she had dark fabric over her eyes. How could this be happening? She was such a light sleeper!

Adeline tried to move, but a familiar voice hissed sardonically into her ear:

"Don't struggle, madame. You shouldn't make too much noise. We wouldn't want to wake anyone up on such a fine, quiet night. You wanted to meet with us again. Why?"

The hand moved away, and Adeline was able to speak:

"What do you mean why?" she whispered indignantly, continuing to stare into the darkness. "Can't you see for yourselves?"

"No, madame," the sardonic voice hissed back, seeming to mock her. Adeline clenched her teeth to suppress her rage and breathed a muted sigh.

"You took payment but didn't finish the job. I understand you might need more time, but the man you were supposed to get rid of has already visited this house two times. I require explanations."

"Madame, are you certain you have the right to demand explanations?" the voice whispered insinuatingly in the darkness. Such things were in his style, which made a chill run over Adeline's body. She immediately lost her confidence. For a moment, a thought flickered in her head that she was minutes from death and once this conversation was over, the man with the scary voice would kill her.

No! She shuddered internally. She would not die today! Alain needed her! And if he was still talking to her, there had to be a chance to reach an understanding and see this through.

"Alright," she said, making concessions and gulping. "Perhaps I didn't delve into the details deep enough and got overheated, but don't get me wrong. You came very highly recommended... And what do I see? The fearsome Nightwolves can't take down a puny twenty-year-old boy."

"Oh, madame," the voice adopted an openly mocking tone. "Very cunning of you to call your nephew a puny little boy."

"Don't call that dirty bastard my nephew," Adeline hissed through her teeth.

"In that case," the voice snorted. "Words have no meaning. No matter what we call him, nothing will change the fact that he is the son of your late sister. Blood ties. They have always meant something and always will. And as for him being puny... Before hiring us, you somehow neglected to mention that your, heh... puny twenty-year-old boy was able to strike down one of the best swordsmen in Vestonia in a single blow."

"Does that really change anything for your guild?" Adeline asked with a slight smirk.

"Fair point," the voice agreed with unexpected ease. "Oh well. But there is a slight hitch... Your nephew proved quite the spry little fellow, and all on his own he killed three of our fighters who de Lamar couldn't hold a candle to as a swordfighter. And meanwhile, our people caught your nephew completely off guard."

Adeline shuddered. A wave of chill ran over her body. Oh gods! How could this be?

"What do you think, madame? What was the first thing we thought after that?" the hissing voice insinuated.

Adeline suddenly felt a firm hand settle on her throat, and its strong fingers started to slightly clasp around her neck. Trying not to make any sudden movements, she gulped fitfully and replied quietly:

"I..."
But the voice cut her off.

"At first, we thought you were either intentionally concealing the truth about your nephew for some reason or were yourself unaware."

"Th-the truth?" Adeline rasped, hiccupping.

"The truth that your nephew is a mage," the voice responded. "As a matter of fact, he is not merely gifted. He is true gifted."

The hand on Adeline's throat started to slowly change in size while the fingernails started transforming into sharp claws. That was when she realized the unknown man could crush her throat in a single movement like a sheet of paper.

"I... I... I didn't know..." she rasped plaintively.

"We are aware," the voice responded. Honestly, there was no nothing human remaining in it. It was more a muted animal growl. "Otherwise, we wouldn't have sent anyone to talk."

Adeline felt something warm spreading beneath her on the bed sheet. She must have wet herself.

The hand on her throat started to shrink back down and, a moment later, disappeared entirely.

"Taking the new circumstances into account," came the again fully human voice, notes of disgust and scorn slipping through in his tone. "Our prior arrangement must be reconsidered and altered. Are you prepared to hear our conditions?"

Adeline, suppressing her fear with sheer willpower, gathered all her courage and persistence into a ball and rasped back:

"Yes, I am!"

"In light of the fact that our target is gifted, we'll have to use werewolves. And that will require another level of finances..."

"I agree!" Adeline shot out without letting the man finish, adding with hate in her voice: "I'll pay whatever it takes to see that bastard dead!"

Northland. Fjordgrad
Capital of Vintervald
The Pearl of the North, palace of Konung Bjørn Sharptooth The personal chambers of Princess Astrid

"Sister, are you certain this is the man you wrote me about?" a thin set of lips curled slightly belonging to Helga, popularly known as the Valiant. Note of skepticism came through in her voice.

"Yes, sister," Princess Astrid replied, her voice quavering somewhat in worry.

Despite the fact that they were cousins, they had called one another sister since childhood. Helga's father, Jarl Sigurd Bloodsword was the elder brother of Queen Margaret, Astrid's mother.

The cousins were now standing opposite a portrait depicting Prince Louis, youngest son of Carl III, King of Vestonia.

Helga, who was accustomed to a certain northern type of man, shook her head in confusion when she gazed upon the southern prince. The son of the Vestonian king bore a greater resemblance to a game bird than a person.

"Sister, are you certain he'll be able to pass the trial?" Helga asked for the millionth time. "After all, he isn't even gifted."

"Have you forgotten that he does not have to personally take part in any of these stupid contests?" Astrid replied, running a loving gaze over the portrait.

"Stupid contests?" Helga snorted. "And that coming from you, a combat Shadow Mage? Since when have you considered magic competitions stupid?"

Astrid shrugged her little shoulders and asked:

"Carl the Third isn't gifted either, but he rules a massive country and all the combat mages in his kingdom are obedient to him."

"But we aren't talking about Carl, who earned his cognomen, the Victorious. He has been fighting battles since he was a child. But that son of his... He..."

Helga nodded at the portrait, trying in vain to hide her scorn. "He's so... So wimpy..."

"And so what?" Astrid threw out in the prince's defense. "Ruling doesn't necessarily involve taking part in every battle. That's why rulers have marshals and generals."

"Doesn't fight battles or earn glory," Helga shook her head. "Won't compete in the trials to earn the hand of his future wife... Sister, don't you see? If he has marshals going to war for him, and mages completing the trials for him — he'll have someone else ruling the country for him, as well."

Princess Astrid changed in a heartbeat. The eighteen year old lovestruck girl was completely gone. Now, a dangerous gifted woman stood opposite Helga.

"Don't worry, sister," the princess came coldly. "When I become Queen of Vestonia, power will rest squarely in my hands."

"There's my old Astrid!" Helga came with a big smile. "The one we all used to call Whirlwind!"

Astrid sighed and looked wistfully at the portrait of Prince Louis.

"If only you knew, sister," she came. "How ready I am to get out of here. They say Prince Louis has Mainland's largest collection of painting. He also designs new outfits, music, dances, and all kinds of other things that could never happen here at my father's court. Out in Herouxville, the upper crust throw glimmering balls and receptions in their palaces. Their counts and dukes don't trudge around in furs like savages or get into fistfights at royal balls."

Helga shrugged her shoulders and answered with a smile:

"You speak of their capital like some fairytale city where everyone smiles to each other and bows. I'd bet anything Carl the Third's royal palace is quite the viper pit."

"Better a viper pit than a den of savages constantly squabbling like boars," Astrid chuckled.

Helga laughed and walked over to Astrid. The cousins hugged.

"I missed you, sister..."

"Me too..."

A few moments later, Astrid moved away and, staring closely into her cousin's eyes, asked with concern:

"Is it true that Ivar the Raven, son of Harold Graywolf wanted to be at the trial?"

"You should ask your father," Helga responded gloomily. "Only the konung knows the answer. After all, you are aware that Ivar, like any other son of a konung and jarl, would be within his rights. Your father announced the Trial himself. That means conflict is forbidden in Vintervald. The gods will punish all those who violate the ceasefire."

"I will never be Ivar's wife," Astrid came confidently.

"Okay, sister," Helga laughed and squeezed her cousin's hand in approval. "Let's hope they send their best warriors with your Prince Louis then."

Chapter 26

"GOOD MORNING, MONSIEUR! I hope you'll forgive me the early visit."

Baron von Herwart hopped off his horse and, not looking at the footman, tossed him the reins.

The broad-shouldered Astlander looked fresh and, seemingly, very happy. A self-satisfied smile beamed on his face while something clearly unpleasant and snakelike shone through in his blue eyes. The baron clearly had a scheme in mind. And no wonder.

"Oh, come now, baron!" I smiled back. "It's my honor to have you. Still, I must admit I do not entirely understand your purpose."

"I have come to check on your health!" the baron came loudly enough for all to hear. "Furthermore, my duty as a nobleman implores me to apologize for the blunder I committed during that unfortunate dance at your esteemed aunt's reception!"

The voice was full of passion, but the eyes — zero repentance. The baron looked at me with unconcealed mockery.

"You needn't have troubled yourself, monsieur," I came. "A letter would have sufficed. That was what my uncle did, for instance."

The baron snorted back.

"Oh, come now, chevalier! It's no trouble at all. After all, it's a fine morning for a horseback ride. Beyond that, I have a custom of handling everything relating to my honor as a nobleman personally, face to face!"

I got the hint. I already figured he wasn't going to leave me alone. Everyone was buzzing in my ear about it.

"Oh well," I put on an open smile. "Seeing how you're already here, won't you join me for breakfast?"

"Thank you, chevalier, but I am full!" the baron's smirk grew even bigger. "I already had the satisfaction of eating breakfast with His Highness Prince Heinrich this morning!"

And then he came to personally tell me that news and enjoy the look of astonishment on my simpleton's face? How petty...

Or was he about to get revenge on me now? He wouldn't attack me in my own house in front of all my servants, right? No, he clearly had another plan.

As an aside, the duchess and Baron de Levy were right — his disfavor lasted just a few days. If he had ever truly fallen into it.

"But I wouldn't say no to a glass of wine," the mage added. "The wine collection in your castle's cellar is the stuff of legend at court!"

"Then, please!" I came, again putting on a cheery smile. "I don't know exactly what they say at court, but I can assure you — my cousin amassed quite the collection."

When we were all alone in the fireplace room, the baron sat in an armchair opposite me, took a little sip from the glass, smacked his lips in satisfaction and said:

"If taking François de Gramont's wine collection was meant to anger him, then I can say with confidence that you pulled it off. As far as I know, he's still infuriated by the loss of his playthings."

The sudden familiar tone didn't bother me. The veneer of respect and good intention was just for the outside world.

I just shrugged and asked:

"Why did you come?"
"Can't you guess?" Von Herwart answered with a question.

"We're wasting time," I replied coldly. "I have a lot to do, and your master is probably waiting for you."

"I see you weren't too surprised to hear I'd been pardoned?" the baron laughed, ignoring the word "master."

"No, I wasn't," I shook my head. "And neither was anyone at court. They're all used to your outbursts. By the way, the prince must have really given you an earful about that slip-up. After all, you were only ordered to humiliate me, but what did you do? You humiliated His Highness in public. I imagine he only tolerates you because you are a mage. Otherwise, he'd have gotten rid of you ages ago."

The baron squinted and, tilting his head to one side, said: "Nice try, but I do not intend to attack you in your own home." I shrugged and chuckled.

"I had to try, you understand. I already got you once. You must have skipped the day your teacher taught self-control."

Despite his external calm, I could see perfectly that the baron's energy system was slowly filling with mana. If I could provoke him to attack right now, I could forget about this threat once and for all. If of course, I survived.

"You're one to talk about self-control," von Herwart snorted. "Think I couldn't tell you're also playing dirty?"

Ah, there it was. While I was sizing him up to find the best way to make him snap, the baron was trying to play the same card. I chuckled internally. Alright, let's play. But you have no proof. If not, Prince Heinrich would already know. And I'd be the one branded a cheat.

Feigning sincere surprise, I asked: "What led you to such conclusions?"

"Let's assume it's possible you could have dodged and parried my lunges," the baron responded with a sidelong smile. "But how did you survive my final blow? Everyone said you moved away at the last second. Nonsense! I was there. I saw you. You didn't move. Even with a wooden sword, I could easily pierce you straight through like a moth with a pin."

"Perhaps you're losing your touch," I shrugged again. "Couldn't even kill a mere mortal with magic."

"Mere mortal?" the baron laughed. "Oh, no! You're no mere mortal. Leave the fabrications for the easily fooled simpletons. You think I couldn't sense the surge of alien power before the blow? You were cautious, but I was able to sense your magic. I know for a fact you used a spirit shield and gave yourself up to my blade so easily only because you were confident you couldn't be hurt."

Hm... So, the fruit of my many days of experimenting turned out to have a defined name here. And no wonder... Those magic guilds must have been teaching them something.

"Intriguing theory," I chuckled. "His Highness Prince Heinrich must be taken by your investigation. Especially given you could easily test it by challenging me to another duel. But if you muck things up again... I suspect the prince's patience has its limits..."

"Oh, no!" the baron smirked back at me, standing from his chair and setting his unfinished glass of wine on the table. "I will not kill you right now. You won't get off so easy, bastard. I don't yet know who you are or what guild trained you, but sooner or later your secret will come to light. And when it does, I will destroy you."

"In any case, remember this — I am ever at your service, baron," I responded, standing from my chair.

"Uncle, I'd like to have a peek at the fish you recently received from the east," Prince Philippe came, standing from the table and hurriedly wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Lanky with an unhealthy pallor and narrow, sunken chest, long thin arms and legs — the king's eldest son gave off the impression of a man who had never been made to do physical exercise.

I, like every guest sitting at the table, stood up at once and, in accordance with etiquette, bowed my head slightly. I had spent two hours already at lunch with His Highness Prince Philippe and his uncle the Duke de Bauffremont, brother of the Queen of Vestonia and another few dozen elite nobles from the inner circle of the King of Vestonia's eldest son.

To say I was surprised by the honor I had been afforded would be an understatement. I was also intrigued — the duke clearly wanted something out of me. I'd have bet my right hand it had nothing to do with my present popularity. Although the topic of the Duchess du Bellay's last reception did come up a few times, as well as my part in the Sword Dance. I was asked questions, I responded, sometimes joking, but unable to shake the feeling that the lord of the house didn't care one bit about what happened at Max's aunt's ball. I was here for another reason...

The long table was set on a broad terrace of the huge ducal palace with a view of a giant garden with fountains, elegant shrubbery and a huge amount of marble statuary. Compared with all the opulence the Prince of Vestonia's

uncle immersed himself in, my relatives' palaces were like modest little country shacks.

And that put me even more on guard. A simple bastard sitting at the same table as Carl III's eldest son and one of the most powerful people in Vestonia — it all made me feel two different ways.

On the one hand, I was aware I had been given a unique opportunity to make important connections and gain access to knowledge that might benefit me greatly. In theory, that was exactly how I was trying to move in this new world.

But on the other hand, I knew from firsthand experience how too much attention from people with power could end.

I spent the two hours observing the prince and being silently baffled. And that thin, out of shape kid with a shifty gaze and dull eyes, zits all over his gray face constantly blowing his nose was the future Dauphin of Vestonia?

Aha... Now I could partially understand why Carl III was tolerating this whole circus with the different colored armbands. At first glance, Prince Heinrich looked like the best choice for future dauphin and king of the country. But appearances wouldn't win the fight for the throne. That would primarily be decided by having strong backing from rich and influential allies who in their turn would not benefit from having an independent and willful man on the throne...

Prince Philippe behaved like a nine-year-old boy. Or rather, sometimes I heard phrases and expressions of an adult human, but less often than I should have.

Prince Philippe's main passion was a huge menagerie assembled especially for him by his beloved "Uncle Claude." Beyond his animals, the "red" prince wasn't interested in much else.

Over the last few hours, I became convinced that Claude de Bauffremont had total control over his eldest nephew. Essentially, he had taken the place of the boy's family. My aunt was wrong about Blanca de Gondy. Even if the Princess of the South did become wife of Prince Philippe, and as a consequence the Queen of Vestonia, the ruler of the country would be the Duke de Bauffremont. If the de Gondies wanted to take power, they had to take down de Bauffremont. It was the only way...

"Of course, Your Highness!" the duke smiled sweetly to his nephew. "After all, I got them especially for you!"

"Thank you, uncle," Prince Philippe smiled and, loudly sniffling, hurried toward the front door. And after him ran the whole army of attached footmen and servant women. The duke signaled for me to stay behind.

When the prince had gone, I sat in my place and continued savoring my desert. A tender souffle with pieces of fruit of some kind. It practically melted in the mouth.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at the duke, who was thoughtfully tracing his dessert spoon around the plate. Claude de Bauffremont was the total opposite of his nephew. The short broad-shouldered black-eyed man practically reeked of health and vivacious energy.

My scan revealed that the duke was not a mage. But since I'd arrived, I couldn't shake the feeling that some magical power was present. Furthermore, it was a power that seemed dimly familiar.

The duke finally sighed and glanced at me.

"Chevalier, I assume you are tired of questions after the last few hours." the duke chuckled, showing his even white teeth.

He looked fifty years old but had the teeth of a twenty-year-old. With the kind of resources the duke had, he could afford the best healers and the most effective potions.

Setting aside the silverware and placing one hand on my knee, I responded:

"Indeed I am, Your Grace. It's like you can read my thoughts. I just can't figure out what the Duke de Bauffremont might find so interesting about a common chevalier."

"Your question has a simple answer," the duke replied, taking a small bell off the table and ringing it shortly.

I heard another door open behind me and a few instants later, my body was tense, ready to react at any moment. If I had hair on the back of my neck, it'd have been standing on end.

The dimly familiar magic power I could only scarcely sense had just revealed itself to me in full measure. I pulled in air through my nose and breathed a heavy sigh. Then I said calmly:

"So, you survived."

"As did you," I heard a familiar purring voice behind me. "Hm-m-m... You're looking a lot tougher, fox pup."

An instant later, the lutine, and that was exactly who it was, gently slid behind the duke's right shoulder and froze in silence. Her wry and impudent gaze studied me from head to toe.

Hm... So this is who you really serve. So, the steppe dweller I took down in that hollow was talking about the Duke de Bauffremont. Okay, the puzzle pieces were starting to come together.

"I think we'll understand each other better this way," the duke came, sitting back in his chair. "Isn't that right, chevalier?"

"Yes, Your Grace," I nodded.

"That's great," de Bauffremont smiled his toothless smile. "That will save the both of us time. Let me note that I am entranced by your abilities, young man. You are the first true gifted I can remember to survive an ebb and a flow. As a matter of fact, everyone still believes only strykers may cross the Barrier. You are aware what kind of opportunities are available to you, yes? With the right support from a powerful patron, you could move mountains."

Inside, I laughed. Different worlds, but these "powerful patrons" were like lab-grown clones of one another. If only you knew how many times I'd heard things like that.

"Am I understanding you correctly, Your Grace? Are you offering to be my patron?"

Claude de Bauffremont snorted and shook his head.

"Not so fast, young man. It isn't so easy to have the Duke de Bauffremont as a patron. You have to earn it first."

"Hm... Then let me thank you right now for the excellent dinner, and the chance to be introduced to the future Dauphin of Vestonia, then say goodbye and head home."

"Of course," the duke chuckled. "But my sixth sense, which never let me down before, is telling me you aren't going to do that."

I stayed sitting and feigned complete attention.

"Great then," de Bauffremont nodded. "Good decision, monsieur. I always liked people with a business-like approach."

The duke moved his hand slightly and came: "Tikka, you may go."

"Yes, monsieur," the lutine bowed and, casting a playful gaze at me, made for the door.

"As far as I know, you met my assistant under less than ideal circumstances," the duke chuckled, noticing my rapt gaze as I watched the lutine leave.

"Less than ideal?" I asked coldly. "You might say that. She and another few of your people locked me in a cage and fed me to a flow. But you already know that, don't you, Your Grace?"

"I do," he agreed. "And if you think those barbaric rituals were my idea, then you're deeply mistaken. Responsibility for everything that happened to you and the other gifted my partner sacrificed to the Barrier lies squarely and fully with him. As for Tikka... The lutine is a creature that must have a master. I ordered her to obey the Duke de Valence. Who knew he had gone so wild out there on the frontier?"

You speak softly. Very believable. I'll pretend I believed it.

The duke fell silent, giving me time to think it over. I frowned and pretended to digest what I'd heard.

"You mentioned a ritual..." I came, holding a pause.

The duke rubbed his nose and sighed. He was doing his best to communicate that he was a man of civilization, and such bloody sacrifices were foreign to him.

"Have you heard the legend of golden bruts?" he inquired.

"Children's fairy tales about crystals of unusual power?" I asked. "Which harbor a powerful sorcery?"

I had been told that legend once by Lada when, according to our deal, she was instructing me about the frontier. The witch didn't believe in them, but she told me about them in a skeptical manner. But now these gold bruts were coming up in conversation again.

"Exactly," the duke nodded. "The Duke de Valence, known by all as the Wild Duke, was obsessed with this legend. He got his hands on some ancient folio that spoke of a very rare consequence of the Barrier — to change the energy system of gifted people and give them a golden reservoir. In other words, to create within them a golden brut."

After saying that, the duke stared closely at me. Then continued:

"The folio also had a detailed description of a certain ritual. Basically, to sum it up, a golden brut could change a normal person into a powerful gifted one."

"Do you think my reservoir was changed?" I laughed.

"No," he came seriously. "I assume your ability to pass through the barrier dates to much earlier. Have I satisfied your curiosity, chevalier?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

"Okay, then let's discuss the reason I invited you here," he came in an authoritative tone. "Chevalier Renard, I would like to give you a mission that can only be completed by a man with such particular skills as yours. Because alas, the strykers I once relied upon, as you know, are dead."

"You have my attention, Your Grace," I responded, trying to look casual. Inside meanwhile, I was tense like a compressed spring.

Claude de Bauffremont had just directly told me that the Wild Duke and the renegade strykers were his people. Essentially, he was now directly telling me I had no other way out but to agree to whatever he offered me. Otherwise, I'd never get out of this place alive.

The Duke de Bauffremont was power and authority. Essentially, he controlled the entire eastern part of the country. He was accustomed to being obeyed by virtue of his birthright. Honestly though, the last "powerful patron" to try so blatantly to recruit me died of a sudden heart attack in bed.

Hm... Just like the good old days. My old line of work seemed to have followed me into this world.

"Before I name my offer, I want to show you how I intend to pay."

Here came the carrot. After saying that, the duke again rang the bell and a footman hurriedly hopped out to the terrace holding a golden platter. On it lay a plump pillow woven of golden threads interspersed with red silk.

I only needed one look in true vision to tell what was in the bag. What I saw gave me a chill. I had a very hard time keeping just an interested facial expression.

Taking the bag off the platter and giving the footman the signal to leave, the Duke de Bauffremont set it in front of me.

"Take a look, chevalier," the duke offered with a slight, self-satisfied smile.

I carefully undid the clasp and poured some of the contents of the sack onto my hand. Now I could give in and show a bit of emotion.

I had lying there two dark turquoise pearls. Each the size of a large quail egg. The mana concentration in the bruts was simply off the charts. The pearls I'd brought from the Shadow were nothing compared to these giants. One pearl like this would significantly accelerate the growth of my reservoir.

"I assume you know what that is," the duke came. My astonished appearance clearly delighted him.

"Yes, Your Grace," I came with a dry throat.

"This sack contains ten of those pearls," de Bauffremont came. "That is an advance. If you do as I ask, you can have just as many more. On top of that, if you're satisfied, we can return to the conversation about my patronage. Believe me, the Dukes de Bauffremont have always taken care of their people."

Oh! I'd heard more than my fair share of such pathos-laden phrases.

But as for work... The payment was more than generous. Dodger was still Dodger, no matter the world. No need to tell me the risks, I could tell who I was dealing with just fine. I'd seen my fill of them in my past life. And no problem. I did my work, and everyone was happy. Most important was to constantly keep my nose to the air so my red tail could get out of harm's way before shit hit the fan.

"You have my full attention, Your Grace."

"I'm certain you are a cautious person who knows how to hold his tongue..." the duke stared me straight in the eyes and continued in an icy tone. "That is why I presume I don't have to remind you that everything you're hearing must remain a secret. Let this assignment be something of a trust exercise. If you do not pass, you and your people will have unpleasant consequences to deal with. Am I making myself clear, chevalier?"

"More than, Your Grace," I responded firmly. "You have my word. The secret dies with me."

And there was the lash. Inside, I laughed. He had no idea who he was dealing with. Dukes, after all, were also mortal.

He clearly desperately needed help from someone like me. He must have wanted to send me past the Barrier again. Otherwise, what ability was he referring to? He had gotten ahead of himself. Proof of that was the generous advance, and no less generous payment. To keep him on the hook, I gave him a whole song and dance. How could I not? He needed me.

But did I need him? Hey, why not? The pay was more than generous, plus I stood to earn a lot and gain a lot of opportunities.

Well, if I refused, I'd have to pack my things and take off for another country. After all, I was not content to live my last life as an outcast and wanderer. If I sensed a real threat, I would deal with it. I could already see several black spots in his energy system. Even the top healers couldn't deal with him. I would only need a single energy pulse and Prince Philippe would be crying for his beloved "Uncle Claude."

"Okay then, let's get down to business," the duke nodded. "Just yesterday, I became aware that Prince Louis expressed a desire to have you in his embassy, which will shortly be heading to Northland."

My brows shot up. To be honest, the duke caught me off guard. I was preparing to hear that he intended to send me to a fortress on the frontier.

"I see you're surprised," he snorted. "But I am not in the slightest. After your performance at the Duchess du Bellay's ball, where you wiped the floor with that upstart Baron von Herwart, it's an utterly expected outcome. It just so happens my mission for you is also related to Northland. What can I say? Get ready for a long trip. I believe you'll be told of his Highness' desire any day. And now, listen carefully to what I want you to do in the north..."

Chapter 27

The Outskirts of Herouxville
A retreat for the mentally ill at the Temple of the Most Luminous Mother

"MOTHER?!" VALERIE EXCLAIMED, unable to believe her eyes.

When Max offered her a ride out of town before his trip up north, Valerie accepted his invitation enthusiastically. Recently, she had not often been able to escape the incessant control her uncle's wife the snake Catherine de Gramont had imposed upon her.

But Max was easily able to talk them into a trip with the count, and Valerie enjoyed the freedom, though she knew it was temporary.

Needless to say, she was very surprised to find out where Max ended up taking her. As it turned out, he was somehow able to pay off the superiors at the retreat where they were keeping Margarita de Gramont so she could go see her mother.

She was so overwhelmed and delighted her heart was about to jump out of her chest. Logically, she might have realized that this strange brother of hers, who made her feel truly protected, was trying to win her affection. But

at the time, she was prepared to do a lot just to see her mother's beloved face after so much time.

And now, Valerie looked at the woman the orderlies at the retreat brought into a separate room to talk to her and had a hard time recognizing her mother. The severe gray dress, a strict caul of a mousy shade. Her once luscious black hair was pocked with gray and up in a taut, modest style. There was a burnt-out look in her dark eyes set into a pale, sunken face. In her thin fingers, a well-worn copy of the Acts of the Most Luminous Mother... What ever happened to the glimmering, proud Margarita de Gramont? The one everyone admired and envied at balls? Oh, abyss, what had they done with her?

"Valerie?" a spark of recognition lit up in her mother's eyes. "Child, is it you?"

Unable to resist any longer, with tears in her eyes, she threw herself into her mother's embrace. Sobbing with bitter pain, she squeezed herself against Margarita, all the while feeling how much thinner she'd grown.

"There, there, my girl," Margarita de Gramont said, stroking her daughter's hair. "Calm yourself, dear. It isn't fitting for a viscountess to show herself in elite society with a face puffy from crying."

"Mom..." Valerie sighed mutedly. "They said you don't recognize anyone... Those vile scoundrels and liars..."

"What are you saying, sweetie?" Margarita said with surprise. "Of course I recognize everyone."

"Yes, yes," Valerie came, moving away from her mother and hurriedly drying tears. "Now I see that you have your memory and your mind! This ghastly retreat is no place for the Countess de Gramont."

She hit the dark stone walls and gloomy icon of the Most Luminous Mother looking down on the two mortals with reproach.

"It's all true, my sweet," Margarita came straight away. "Tell your father to send a carriage for me. My fast is over, I can return home. We have a lot of business to attend to. We must ready you for the ball. What do you think, will your brothers finally make up their minds? Or will I have to find them brides myself?"

The happy smile slowly crept off Valerie's face. She started to unconsciously nod slowly at her mother's every word as if agreeing with her. But at the same time, Valerie felt her heart flutter in sorrow and hopelessness... She suddenly realized that the old, proud Margarita de Gramont was no more. She died along with her husband and beloved sons. In her place was left this husk with old memories...

"But where are your sisters?" Margarita asked. "Why are they not with you?"

"They're back at home," Valerie came in a lifeless voice and lied for some reason: "They're getting ready for a reception you're planning."

"What clever girls," the countess shook her head. "I always said you should take after your older sisters, sweetie."

Valerie sighed sadly. Because they had turned against their mother. They accepted their traitor uncle's will and were obedient to his wife...

"And how did you get here then?" the countess asked. "Unaccompanied? Alone? What will society think?"

"No, mom," Valerie replied. "I'm not alone. My brother is accompanying me."

"Henri is here?" Margarita smiled wide. Her eldest son was always her favorite. "But why didn't he come in? Or is Philippe with you? He probably got held up flirting with some young orderly. The rogue! Now I'll have to hear complaints from my prioress."

"No, mom," Valerie shook her head. "Maximillian is accompanying me. My third brother. Son of my father and Anna Renard."

"Ah, that brother..." Margarita's face went pale and lucid. Valerie thought she saw her old mother for a moment.

"Stay away from him, my daughter," the countess said with an authoritative voice. "He isn't who he seems. If the truth gets out about your father's sins — there will be trouble!"

"What are you talking about, mom?" Valerie frowned.
But the old Margarita disappeared. A pitiful shadow returned in her place.

"Sweetie," the countess said in surprise. "You're talking foolishness. Anna Renard died long ago in childbirth along with her newborn daughter..."

A little while later, saying goodbye to the countess, who was brought away by retreat orderlies, Valerie thought fatedly that her mother's illness had not only not improved, it was starting to progress. She was even starting to get confused about her own memories...

Northland
Fjordgrad, capital of Vintervald

The embassy finally reached Fjordgrad, Vintervald's capital city. The dominant atmosphere was one of cheery, celebratory animation. The main roads from the port to the konung's palace thronged with crowds of gawkers who appeared to have come from all corners of Northland, Vestonia, Astland, and other counties and baronies. The building walls were decked out in colored banners with the crests of families that were going to take part in the Trial.

Our embassy was a source of lively interest from the locals. The bright outfits, feathers, expensive armor and swords, jewelry, ribbons and lace — common northerners, dressed in normal clothing stared at the Vestonian nobles with unconcealed delight.

Chickadee, my horse, a white-coated beauty I'd bought from some circus folk at the Herouxville market who were selling her for meat due to lameness, sensed the attention and, preening, began to nod in different directions as if greeting the people. Thanks to my treatment, her lameness was a thing of the past. So Chickadee did a great job on the trail.

I, knowing first-hand about cold climates, bought good warm outfits for myself and my people with the minimal amount of adornments which, for the record, earned us scornful looks and snickering from the nobles accompanying Prince Louis. Only when we reached the true north did they seem to realize how wrong they were. If not for the healers and magic potions, half of the embassy would have been lost on the way to Vintervald.

"Based on your expression, monsieur, I get the feeling you've been here before," Jacques said, following my gaze as he rode next to me stirrup to stirrup. Our carriage was now being steered by Gunnar while Bertrand sat inside and stoked the oven.

My warm things and merchant's wagon, which at first elicited mockery and laughter from the elites, very soon became an object of envy. Jean-Louis de Levy, meanwhile, who I got along with quite well, was often invited to visit at breaks.

To my left on a white horse rode Lucas Devers, Jacques' war buddy, who asked to join my employ after he came to his senses and put on some muscle.

Jacques and I had agreed not to raise the questions of the man's origins just yet. Otherwise, Lucas would get curious. Despite the fact that Jacques vouched for his friend with his own life, I first needed to get a closer look at the man. So, Lucas didn't exactly know who put him back on his feet. I, by the way, didn't regret for a second that I had taken him with me. Beyond the huge amount of travel experience, Devers truly had a talent for cookery. Though I could see what his secret really was. Lucas had a great understanding of herbs and used them in his cooking to masterful effect. Most likely, he descended from true gifted from a forest region.

"Do you ever get the feeling...?" I replied to Jacques, "that you've been somewhere before, even though you know you haven't? That's how I feel now..."

I was of course being elusive. I had been here once before. But in a dream... This broad street paved with rough stones leading toward the port. The buildings with animal skulls. The people, and most importantly — the dark yellow banners with the head of a black boar. I had seen all this before. And realizing that fact made the blood turn to ice in my veins. My secret

benefactor, the one who put me into this body, must have figured he would find it more interesting to watch over my last life this way.

The veterans nodded to one another.

"Yes, I've had that happen a couple times," Lucas confirmed. "Especially when I try new food."

"Everybody has their thing. Grub was always yours," Jacques guffawed. Meanwhile, he happily winked at a young redheaded woman who, opening her mouth in surprise, was staring wide-eyed at the embassy. The young woman instantly went beet-red and responded with a shameful smile. The big, bearded beast of a man standing next to her sent an evil glare at us. Must have been a husband or brother.

"Watch yourself around here," I warned Jacques. "The last thing we need is problems with jealous husbands or angry brothers."

"We're in Northland, monsieur," Jacques chuckled carelessly. "These savages find ways of squabbling even if you give them no excuse. They only understand the language of force."

I shrugged as if to say, "you know best. I warned you."

Northland... I went back to the conversation with the Duke de Bauffremont in my mind for the millionth time. He was right. By the next morning, I got a letter from the secretary of His Highness Prince Louis, saying I had been given the massive honor of embarking with the embassy to the north.

I thought back on the faces of my cousins when they found out I'd be travelling with them and laughed. François was the most upset. Gabriel took the news with more restraint. Over the course of the trip, I exchanged just a couple words with him. He spoke to me through his teeth, as if doing me a huge favor. François meanwhile was pretending he simply didn't notice me.

Prince Louis, for the record, was also not that interested in me. I was apparently right in the end, and it was his people who insisted on including me in the embassy. The king's youngest son was constantly annoyed, sad, and melancholic. And everyone knew exactly what was happening. His depressive state was all due to Blanca de Gondy.

I wondered what he would have said if he found out about the letter she sent me. In it, she asked about my health and wished me luck on the upcoming trip. The paper it was written on had been soaked in perfume. It gave the impression the marchioness had used an entire flagon of magic perfume on the one letter.

Valerie meanwhile was genuinely upset when she heard I was going away. She by the way, after the visit to her mother I arranged for through my attorney, had started looking at me in a new way somehow. It was as if she was trying to detect something new in my eyes and face.

My aunt and uncle's sendoff also stood out. Where Heinrich de Gramont, as always, was primping and puffing out his cheeks, the Duchess du Bellay wished me luck and asked me to look after my cousins.

While riding past the big tavern, I noticed three men wearing white robes with deep hoods on their heads. The three of them, paying no attention to the fuss surrounding our arrival, were intentionally walking parallel to us.

Everyone cautiously made way for him. Some made protective gestures while others spat scornfully after him. Clearly not the most popular guys around here.

"Priests of Hoar," Lucas hissed scornfully through his teeth. He must have spotted them, too. "Their vile god just can't get his fill, the brute."

Jacques' old buddy had scores to settle with priests. And not only northern ones. All priests... He wasn't a huge fan. Which was more confirmation of my theory.

Priests from the Frost Temple... I took another look at the trio. My scanner immediately revealed that one was a stryker. He, by the way, shuddered and stopped before turning sharply and staring out into the crowd. He could tell I was looking at him.

Based on his reaction and developed energy system, he would have been a serious opponent. If they had a lot of people as strong as him, the Duke de Bauffremont's mission would require more resources and effort from me.

But challenges were nothing to be afraid of. The pearls he was paying me were worth all the effort.

Thanks to these bruts, the size of my reservoir had started growing much faster. Training and powering up my energy system had progressed to a new level. Because I had only used two of the ten pearls given to me.

In the meantime, our procession reached the konung's palace. The closer we rode to it, the more my heartbeat sped up.

The four-story stone monster, which was more similar to a giant fortress was oppressive with its fearsome power. The Vestonians from the embassy, staring scornfully at the buildings and streets of the capital city all while exchanging rude comments about it, somehow all fell silent at once. Aha... This palace would be hard work even for big armies.

By that time, we'd crossed the broad square paved with huge stone slabs, and our column heads slowly started approaching the wide stairwell, atop which stood the masters of Vintervald.

The tall powerful figure of Konung Bjørn Sharptooth could be seen from afar. When I made it closer, I was able to get a better view. With his long gray hair, gold crown made of the long fangs of a predatory creature, and blue face tattoos — he made Prince Louis look more than silly with his ribbons and lace.

And seemingly, I wasn't the only one to think so. All the men and women around Bjørn Sharptooth started smiling happily. The younger guys even elbowed each other, provoking bouts of laughter.

The only one who looked at the Vestonian prince with no scorn or mockery was the beautiful pale blond woman with blue eyes and an elegant golden diadem atop her head. In fact, the woman seemed to look at Carl III's son with a certain approval and satisfaction. Louis was clearly to Princess Astrid's liking. And the fact it was the konung's daughter, the reason we'd come here, could not be doubted.

I gave her a scan out of curiosity. Hm... She caught me off guard again. Princess Astrid's energy system pulsated with lilac mana. Furthermore, her channels and nodes were well cultivated. Baron von Herwart was as far from the princess as Fjordgrad was from the Shadow.

As an aside, every third person in the konung's circle was gifted, him included. And there were both shadow mages and true gifted. Our embassy, not counting me or Lucas, had just seven gifted people. Gifted could seemingly live more openly in Northland than Vestonia or Atalia.

Looking at the northerners in true vision, I hit upon a saturated crimson energy system. When I switched to normal vision and saw the face of the person it belonged to, my heart skipped a beat, and my throat clenched in a brief spasm.

Because this whole time, I just thought all these visions from my mind were nothing but a dream. But it was her... The woman from my visions who

looked so much like the girl I'd lost forever...

Sensing my attention, the raven-haired beauty narrowed her dark eyes and sized me up wryly with a degree of superiority in her cold eyes. Then, she lost interest and turned away.

Only then did I realize I hadn't breathed the whole time. With a deep breath, filling my lungs with the icy northern air, I exhaled shortly and shivered like an animal.

"Well, Jacques," I came fairly loudly to the veteran, nodding at the dozen most elite Vestonian nobles, who were invited into the palace together with Prince Louis. "Looks like you were right. That's northern hospitality for you. They couldn't find space in the palace for me, or most other people in the embassy. Oh well, I heeded your warning... I'm sure the food at the tavern where you rented us rooms the food is no worse than the halls of the king."

Jacques gave me a clever smile and, while the other Vestonians looked on perplexed, turned his horse around and showed us the way.

Before following him, I saw out of the corner of my eye that False Thais was looking at me with a burning, unblinking gaze. She seemed to hear what I was saying perfectly.

I turned and, with a broad smile, bowed to her in the saddle. Chickadee, whose years of traveling with a circus had taught her many tricks,

immediately gave an elegant equine curtsey while the public looked on captivated and, as the crowd shouted in delight after me, carried me off after my men.

The next book of the series!

The Flame of the North (Last Life Book #4) End of Book Three