Last Life

Book 3: Chapter 23

I HAD ANOTHER vision...

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.

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?”