Last Life

Book 3: Chapter 19

I WAS SITTING IN THE SHADE of a small tree growing on the banks of a small pond in my garden and watching my gardener, Benedict.

A wide-brimmed straw hat made the old man look like a mushroom. He was fully engaged in rooting around in the dirt a few paces from me, all the while unsuspecting of my presence. A few times, Benedict bent over with a faint wheeze and, wiping the back of his hand on his waist, looked side to side. Once or twice, he even looked at me. Or rather, in my direction.

My lips stretched out into a satisfied smile. It seemed to have worked...

A few days earlier, while meditating, I used another magic pearl and, after a quick scan of my energy system, saw that my reservoir had finally grown to an acceptable size. Since then, I’d started experimenting more boldly with the aura, and today the experiments bore fruit.

The only thing to darken my excellent mood that sun-soaked morning was the realization that continuing to increase the size of my reservoir would take even more magic pearls, which were harvested from the shells of mollusks I’d left far behind in a river south of the lands of the Lao tribe.

Alas, my reserves of the shiny little balls melted away like ice in the hot sun. And that meant soon I would have to make another trip to the Shadow. Ahem... I thought I had more time.

Another expedition would require a lot of preparation... First of all, I did not want to run around nude swinging from tree to tree slathered in all kinds of toxic acid again. I needed to look for an artifactor who could make me a suit of armor and weapon. Ah... Easier said than done. And that was with all the materials on hand. The snakeskin and fangs were awaiting their hour.

Hm... I was reminded that the armor and weapons created by Ursula Hoog, which I had seen in her stall in Abbeville, were of incredible quality. At the very least, they were no worse than what I saw here in Herouxville. Perhaps even better.

Honestly though, if I went back to Ursula with an order like that, I would have to give up on trying to stay incognito.

Benedict, stumbling on some dirt, started softly singing a song, which distracted me from my thoughts. I didn’t move a muscle, glancing at my hand. It was enshrouded in lilac energy as before. After that, I checked how much mana I had left in the lilac crystal my aura was using as an energy supply and nodded in satisfaction. So far, everything was going surprisingly well.

The idea of learning a stryker ability, and more specifically — how to become invisible without using any special armor — had attracted me for a long time. And now, after many unsuccessful experiments mixing various kinds of energy, I finally could boast of success.

However, I still had a lot of work ahead of me... For instance, to remain invisible, I had to remain perfectly still. Beyond that, complete invisibility didn’t properly exist. It was more like a kind of camouflage that did a decent job in the shade but for some reason disappeared in full sunlight. Shadow magic didn’t seem to appreciate direct exposure to the sun of this world. But I was stubbornly pushing ahead with my experiments. The first steps had been taken, and I was not planning to stop yet.

Bit by bit, my thoughts shifted from magic to the events of the last few days. Lucas Devers, Jacques’ old war buddy, had been in my castle for three days. Marc had given him a room in the servant wing.

The next morning, after Jacques and I had a talk, I sent for a healer, who cleaned and bandaged Devers’ wounds while also selling me a few phials of red hollowstone dust infusion. The mana concentration in the potion was vanishingly small, but now nobody would have any doubts that Lucas had gone on the mend after a visit from a healer. Still, if that really were all he got, the potion the healer sold me would have done precious little against the dark spots in Lucas’ energy system. It more likely would have just prolonged his suffering. As an aside, Jacques paid for the healer and potion out of his own pocket.

Over three days of my treatments, Lucas’ energy system gradually cleared. However, he was unconscious nearly the entire time, only occasionally gaining his senses before fainting again. Beyond Jacques, most of the care was performed by Gunnar and Kevin. They did not have to be told to try and help their instructor, who had gained their respect quite a lot over the last few months. Seemingly, my strange little community had slowly started to sprout curious processes of its own.

As an aside, speaking of curious processes... The day before last, I got a short letter from Isabelle Legrand, elder sister of Max’s mother. It told me that I had permission to visit the Legrand family crypt the following week. I wasn’t totally sure why next week instead of, for instance, the next day but even that was progress.

As an aside, Max’s relatives had practically buried me in correspondence since I’d moved back to the capital. Other than letters from Valerie giving brief retellings of the situation in the de Gramont home, I got a few letters from Yveline inquiring about my health and reminding me of the upcoming reception at my aunt the duchess’ manor.

My cousin also warned that this reception would be very well attended, and among the crowd would be my future wife and her brother, who I simply had to make an exceedingly good impression on. And most importantly, the central figure of this whole high-society event would be Prince Louis.

Uncle Heinrich also reached out with one letter. In his typical manner, he told me that, despite my father’s crimes against the crown and my tarnished reputation, I should have felt very honored to have been invited to the duchess’ reception and I simply could not embarrass myself in front of society.

And the final letter from the de Gramonts, which I couldn’t help but smile while reading, was a quick note from François angrily demanding that I return his wine.

* * *

“Monsieur, despite the fact that you refused the flowers your aunt was insisting upon, I must admit — I like your choice more!” declared Jean-Claude Sylvain, younger son of Robert Sylvain, one of Herouxville’s top tailors while peeking over my shoulder at the reflection in a mirror.

Jean-Claude was the man I’d put in charge of my new outfit, which was being fully bankrolled by my aunty the duchess. His father didn’t have time for me. Capital-city nobles from exalted houses had flooded him with orders. Thankfully, Robert had four sons who mopped up the minor work from lesser chevaliers such as myself.

As for me... I was happy it worked out this way. I had an easier time getting through to the junior Sylvain. The thing was that in her letter to the tailor, the duchess was insistent that my outfit be embroidered with green flowers and shades.

The father relayed these wishes to his younger son and immediately put my existence out of his mind. And when Jean-Claude and I were left alone, I asked him to show me fabric samples without any red, blue, or green flowers.

The tailor’s son spent a little while hesitating but then, like any creative person, quickly got carried away by the process and started sketching out my outfit on a sheet of paper.

In the end, after a few hours of arguing and discussing, we came to the joint conclusion that I would be very well suited by a black brocade jerkin with a moderate amount of silver thread embroidery and a soft, form-fitting shape that got bigger at the bottom. With a few silver buttons on the top to close it. The tails of the jerkin on the bottom would slightly spread to the sides.

The huge number of buttons, bows, and lace at the flaps and armholes of the jerkin, which Jean-Claude wanted to sew on even more of, I rejected firmly much to his dismay.

The flaps of the lengthwise slits on the arms we decided to embroider with gray fabric with a silver sheen. The side seams of the narrow straight pants that came halfway down my calf Jean-Claude suggested with adorn with silver embroidery. I also refused all the lacy frills and bands. Not least of all because I was preparing to wear it with knee-high black leather boots rather than stockings and uncomfortable shoes with wide buckles and high heels that were so in fashion here.

The overall picture was completed by a black tricorn, a sash holding a basic sheath with a sword, and a dark cloak.

When I saw everything Jean-Claude was planning to do, I expressed doubts about the timeline. But the kid reassured me that his atelier had an army of seamstresses and embroiderers. And that the order would be completed on time.

Jean-Claude did not let me down. Today was the final measurement in my castle. At it, the kid spun around me deftly a few times, periodically tugging and straightening things with a light touch. In the end, what I saw in the mirror was also to my liking. And a few hours later, I would stand before the Duchess du Bellay and her guests in that outfit in her palace.

“One last detail, monsieur,” Bertrand, who had been helping Jean-Claude dress me all that time, poked the silver wing into my chest.

The tailor’s youngest son looked over the unremarkable decoration unenthusiastically and just shrugged as if to say, “it’s your money.” The kid must not have known what he was looking at. And how should he have known about Shadow Patrol decorations?

Despite the fact Max’s aunt had paid all the costs, I personally thrust a small purse into Jean-Claude’s hands, making his face light up like a polished copper basin.

Before saying goodbye, I asked the kid to sew me another few day-to-day outfits in a similar style. Jean-Claude agreed with satisfaction. In the end, we arranged that as soon as he had the sketches ready as well as fabric samples and mock-ups, he would come pay my castle another visit.

We reached the Duchess du Bellay’s palace early on my instructions. Jacques parked the buggy in the shade of a tall wide-branching tree near the main gates of the manor.

Bertrand wouldn’t be joining me at the reception, so he gave me a brief rundown of every guest as they passed through the gates.

I was most of all interested in who Max had met before. To my surprise, as far as Bertrand knew, Max had never been introduced to most of the attendees. I of course was aware though that the old man couldn’t have possibly known everything about Max’s life. After all, he didn’t drag his valet around with him everywhere. But still this was better than nothing.

Nearly every buggy entering the gates of the duchess’ manor was adorned with a green armband. Only a few of the carriages and buggies were undecided. Overall, Max’s aunt had gathered Prince Louis supporters as well as a few fence sitters who had similar sympathies.

As for greens, Bertrand spotted a few buggies with raucous groups of young nobles the former inhabitant of my body used to carouse with a year before. As an aside, none of them had written a single letter to Max in Abbeville. Pretty shoddy friends, if you ask me. Mere acquaintances who didn’t give a crap about a bastard’s fate.

“Monsieur,” Bertrand came with a bow. “You should be going. Better to arrive a few minutes early than to be late and show disrespect to Her Grace.”

“Alright,” I nodded, and the buggy touched off.

A minute later, we made it to the wide visitor’s patio, atop which stood the Duchess du Bellay between a pair of wide columns welcoming guests. Wearing a chic dress in shades of dark green, an emerald collier, earrings, rings and a diadem, the princess was fully suited up for Prince Louis’ visit.

Finally, I reached the front of the line.

“My dear aunt, you are captivating!” I smiled and gave a respectful bow.

The duchess extended a little hand for a kiss, and it was cold as ice. Touching my lips to her smooth, jasmine-scented skin, I took a step back.

Looking me cantankerously from head to toe, Jeanne du Bellay rendered a verdict with a smirk:

“Cheeky boy... Oh well, this will make things more interesting.”

She wanted to say more but didn’t have time. Her attention was drawn by a dark green carriage pulled by a team of four pure white horses.

Jeanne du Bellay’s lips stretched into a self-satisfied smile but at the last moment a shadow ran over her face. I looked where she was looking to see what had changed the duchess’ mood.

Following the green carriage through the gate came another dark blue carriage drawn by a team of four raven horses. Based on the color and crest on the door, it wasn’t hard to guess who else had come to make an appearance at the reception.

I glanced at my aunt’s gloomy expression and realized that two princes didn’t fit into the schedule for the day.

Following Prince Heinrich’s buggy, loudly laughing and shouting in-jokes, a group of riders with blue armbands came galloping. Among them, I spotted a few old friends: Marquess Olivier de Hangest, the banker’s son Gaspard Craonne, and of course Viscount André de Châtillon. De Châtillon’s forehead was still marred with a dark spot he did his best to conceal beneath a hat. As an aside, the viscount today looked slightly forlorn and contemplative.

It must have been because he was not at the center of the happy company while the tall broad-shouldered blond with a satisfied smile dancing on his cruel face and a long slightly curved blade hanging on his belt. Based on his appearance, it was not merely for decoration like Max’s cousins’ blades.

A scan also revealed that the rider was also gifted. His lilac energy system was less developed than the Wild Duke’s strykers’, but the quality of the gift was more than made up for by the large number of bruts he was wearing under his clothes.

“Baron von Herwart,” the duchess squeezed out through her teeth. I was clearly not the only person to notice the tall blond with the eyes of a killer.

“Who is he, aunty?” I asked softly.

“Prince Heinrich’s best swordsman,” the duchess enlightened me just as softly and added: “Beyond that, the baron is a combat mage. You have to keep an eye out around him and watch what you say.”

So, the blond man’s gift was not a secret.

“Thank you for the concern, aunty,” I nodded. “I promise I will make the most positive impression on Baron von Herwart.”

The duchess squinted and hit me with a suspicious look but, at the last moment, she was distracted by another carriage driving in through the gates. It was adorned with red bands and tassels.

As an aside, I was familiar with it, too. I had seen it on my entry to the city a few weeks prior. Like the last time, the same pretty woman with dark eyes was staring out of the carriage window at the palace and duchess’ guests with intrigue.

Based on the Duchess du Bellay’s eyes, the Duke of the South’s visit was no surprise. Most likely, in contrast to Prince Heinrich, the Duke de Gondy and his daughter had been invited to this reception.

“You may go inside,” Jeanne du Bellay came, not looking at me. “Your sisters and cousins are already there.”

I gave a quick bow and walked toward the palace entrance, but then snuck behind a wide column and out of my aunt’s view. I was curious and wanted to watch what happened.

Meanwhile, the princes had already gotten out of their carriages and were speaking with the Duke and Marchioness de Gondy. The elegant pale-skinned Prince Louis looked like a flower bending in the wind compared to the thorny crude vine of the tall broad-shouldered Heinrich, whose shock of tar-black hair looked like a horse’s mane.

Even the untrained eye could see that both princes had sympathies for the elder brother’s future wife. Each in their own way... Until Prince Louis looked into the Marchioness de Gondy’s black eyes with adoration and excitement. Heinrich looked at her more as one looked at a trophy.

The marchioness meanwhile was artfully playing up to both the first and second prince like a kitten giving its prey one last chance to prove itself before its inevitable death.

The Duke de Gondy had a haughty smile and mocking flicker in his black eyes as he watched the two young princes’ rivalry, trading periodic short but pointed looks with his daughter. The two of them were clearly up to something and the king’s sons didn’t seem to notice at all.

When all four stood opposite the Duchess du Bellay at almost the same time, Prince Heinrich started:

“Madame!” he exclaimed with a broad smile. “I know I’ve come uninvited. I hope you’ll forgive the intrusion.”

The duchess performed an elegant curtsey and, putting on an overjoyed smile, responded:

“Your Highness, you are always welcome in this house!”

While the upper aristocracy exchanged greetings, I felt someone staring at me. Turning around, I saw the sullen gaze of André de Châtillon standing below at Prince Heinrich’s carriage. If the viscount could cast fire balls with his eyes, I’d have turned into ash on the spot.

I sent him a welcoming smile and nodded as I calmly proceeded inside the palace. The evening seemed full of promise for action. Hopefully, my aunt wouldn’t get too mad at me if I had to spill a bit of blood.