Last Life

Book 3: 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.”