Last Life

Book 4: Chapter 18

Northland. Fjordgrad, capital of Vintervald

The Pearl of the North, palace of Konung Bjørn Sharptooth

PRINCESS ASTRID WAS SITTING at the head of the table and looking around at the Vestonian noblemen through half-open eyes with condescension. There were less than thirty of them left. They were primarily members of weak houses who had slightly improved their lot over the last few years by proximity to Prince Louis.

And they were all far from warriors. However, they had spent the entire morning discussing the well-chosen female characters in François Numoere’s Spring Verses, then over lunch they argued until hoarse about how Antoine Garrelle’s earlier sonnets were significantly inferior to those written in his later period.

Astrid herself would have been happy to enjoy these conversations and even take part in them but, alas, she couldn’t allow herself. Prince Louis surrounded himself with people very similar to himself. People who entertained themselves with art, but who were utterly unsuited to the difficult challenges of life. They were on the same wave as the prince, fully removed from reality. That was why Astrid now had to secure her own future.

Of course, some of Louis’ supporters were people who thought intelligently and pragmatically. But there were only a few of them and they didn’t have particular influence at Vestonian court. For example, the Count de Negre, who had lost an inheritance lawsuit to his cousin. Or the Marquise de Lacost, son of the Duke de Lacost, a member of a once wealthy and elite family whose lands were swallowed up by the Shadow. These people and those like them had once counted themselves members of the green party, hoping to improve their station.

All those who represented true power had already left Prince Louis to join the other parties. Astrid suspected that if any of the elder princes sent out feelers to the remainders, Louis could end up losing even his last holdouts. Although…

Astrid’s studious gaze paused on Maximillian Renard, who she had personally invited to lunch and who was seated now next to Baron de Levy and deeply engaged in a discussion with him.

Astrid could see that most of the people there were looking at Renard when he appeared in the reception hall. The dumber ones looked clueless and even had a certain disgust on their faces. But the smarter ones were intrigued and on guard.

Astrid just laughed to herself. In light of recent events, she would have gladly traded all these useless blabbermouths for just ten more Renards.

The princess noted with satisfaction that she was right about him. Despite the fact that Max did not wear Prince Louis’ color, he had remained with the embassy and was seemingly not about to go anywhere. What was more, she became aware that he had defied the head of his house who ordered his sons and nephew to return to Herouxville.

However, the Count de Gramont had waited to the last to pull his sons out of Fjordgrad. It all must have been decided by the news of the attack on Lord Gray’s fiefdom. Heinrich de Gramont, whose support meant so much to Prince Louis was aware that, without Vestonia’s top combat mage, the northern embassy had lost all meaning.

Recalling the royal stryker and the conversation she’d had with him, Astrid involuntarily clenched her fist and lowered her head a bit, pretending to pick herself a pastry. A wave of power ran down her energy channels, as it always did at such moments. Astrid sometimes used that trick to calm herself down and gather her thoughts.

Just then, the princess felt someone’s burning hot gaze coming from the other side of the table right where Renard was sitting. She looked up but the odd sensation immediately went away. Max kept talking to Jean-Louis and, seemingly, nobody around noticed.

Astrid sighed and raised her wine glass to her lips. It must have just been her… All the blame lay with the outbursts of anger all strykers were prone to.

Because the shadow energy in the lilac bruts was the most savage of them all. The master who trained Astrid always said that it was a force both unstable and unpredictable. Mastering it was a lot for a stryker to overcome.

Astrid had taken a long path full of exhausting training sessions and deep meditations to achieve the necessary level of control over that power. However, even still, the burden of that energy always required her constant focus.

At any moment, lack of attention or tiredness could cause the shadow energy to slip out of control, which could lead to dangerous consequences. For that very reason, combat mages who used that energy rarely reached old age — either they died in battle or fell victim to their own anger.

Astrid recalled her conversation with Lord Gray. After all, she nearly lost it back then. She asked the stubborn bastard to delay his departure. She laid out some clever reasoning. Assured him that his family was safe and even if enemies captured his lands, she would promise to help hunt down all of Lord Gray’s enemies after officially becoming the fiancée and later wife of Prince Louis. After all, no one doubted that he would emerge victorious from the Great Trial. But no… Lord Gray was not convinced and left Fjordgrad. And with him went all the other influential aristocrats from Prince Louis’ embassy.

Astrid was so angry then. Angry at the whole world. At Carl III, who foolishly put himself in harm’s way. At her father, who had the idea for this idiotic Trial to chase the specter of peace in Northland, which in the end just complicated matters further.

Astrid was sincerely convinced that peace in the north was just an unfulfilled dream of her father, who saw himself as the sole ruler of Northland.

She, unlike the Konung of Vintervald, had never believed in that dream. The north would never be united. Too many different peoples dwelt in its harsh climes. Blood would always be spilled here. And achieving even the merest of results would require many years and a succession of konungs who, in their turn would have to stick to a single plan in their rule of the country. That was how peace was brought to Vestonia.

She was also angry at that old spider Konung Harold, who had ties with the priests, and at his disgusting little son whose vile and flesh-eating glances at her sent an uneasy chill down her spine.

Well, that at least was simple. Astrid had already made up her mind. If Ivar the Raven won the trial, she would not survive until the wedding night. Honestly though, that would drown the whole north in a bloodbath, but she couldn’t care less. No man other than her Louis would lie with her in the marriage bed. If that meant having to be steeped in the blood of all northerners — she, Astrid, was willing to take even that step.

She found herself again unwittingly glancing at Louis, who was seated next to her looking distracted while listening to one of his party members. Astrid sighed. Ah… And it was all coming together so nicely… But after the news of Carl III’s injury, everything had gone off the rails.

She had such a hard time keeping Louis in Fjordgrad. She had to conspire with the Count de Negre and the Marquise de Lacost who, as expected, long had written evidence of the amorous connection between Blanca de Gondy and Prince Heinrich, and which the count and marquise were holding onto for the right occasion. Astrid told the pair in no uncertain terms that there was no more sense in waiting.

As Astrid expected, when Louis got the letter from his mysterious benefactor, he immediately announced his speedy departure. That was why Astrid enlisted his people to poison the wine that had killed the prince’s wine taster.

The magic poison she decided to use was, to her eye, the vilest of them all. It was harvested from the gonad of the violet mollusk.

The skin of a person poisoned with it got covered in disgusting boils, then they died in a matter of hours. Few healers would have been capable of saving them.

Astrid chuckled to herself. Helga of course could have but, much to everyone’s misfortune, she was not present for lunch on that day.

Needless to say, the sight of the terrible torturous death of his wine taster horrified Prince Louis. And when it emerged with Astrid’s nudging that the “poison was brought from Herouxville,” Louis became soft as silk. Just like all his supporters. In fact, all the Vestonians left with Carl III’s eldest son were now in the thrall of Princess Astrid. And when she thought it was all said and done, Lord Gray announced his very untimely departure.

She looked at Baron de Levy. She of course appreciated knowing that her beloved had people like Jean-Louis on his side. Ready to go to their death for their prince. However, the fact the baron’s participation in the Great Trial was nothing short of suicide Astrid never doubted for a minute.

She had heard that Jean Louis was a decent fencer and, most likely, he could win a couple of battles. After all, it wasn’t only going to be gifted people taking part in the tournament. But the prince’s perfumer didn’t stand a single chance against strykers or shapeshifters.

Astrid meanwhile turned her gaze again to Renard. And found herself unwittingly chuckling at her thoughts. Now he may have stood a chance. Which he proved when he slayed Eirik Irontooth.

She recalled the strange chevalier’s blade piercing the heart of her father’s late enemy, and the memories made a slight shiver run over her skin.

After that duel, she and Helga had discussed it. Her cousin was also impressed. After all, just like Astrid, she assumed Renard would be torn to shreds that night. But that wasn’t what happened.

Oh, it was so nice to see Harold’s face looking sour and surprised! Just think how much that old spider looked down on him before — a bastard, and southerner to boot! That Konung Harold was behind the conspiracy neither Astrid nor Helga doubted for a second. But because no one could catch him in the act, it was impossible to prove he had a hand in it.

Astrid hit her cousin with a look. She kept stealing glances at Max, and the princess had noticed. Astrid knew what it meant when Helga looked like that. Her cousin was always attracted to things she couldn’t figure out. She could dig for hours into research trying to untangle a riddle. And that was the element of her personality that made her one of the top healers in Northland. Renard was a riddle just like those and Helga wouldn’t settle down until she’d untangled it.

Thinking of her cousin made Astrid steal a sigh. She had been informed that a groom had been found for Helga. The engagement was Astrid’s father’s idea. Bjørn decided to marry his niece to his wife’s nephew to reinforce their coalition. Astrid had found out about the plan a few days prior, but just couldn’t find the courage to tell Helga. She was never a fan of Hakon since childhood, and he was never particularly brilliant. Hakon himself would probably be happy when he found out about the jarls’ and konung’s decision — he’d been in love with Helga for a long time.

Astrid glanced at her cousin and shook her head slightly. She decided not to put it off any longer and that today she would tell her the unpleasant news. Let Helga find everything out from Astrid and be prepared for it.

The princess’ thoughts were interrupted by the coming of a group of servants carrying trays of more goodies. It was exactly the opportunity Astrid was waiting for. The footmen then came to the table and served their trays in near perfect timing. One of the footmen was very near Renard. Astrid saw him lean down and quickly whisper a few words to the Vestonian.

The servant was doing as ordered. Renard had just been told that after lunch he should proceed to Her Highness Princess Astrid’s farthest orangery. And if he was in, he was supposed to nod.

When the footmen finished placing the dishes and went in sync to leave the hall, Max looked up at Astrid and gave a slight nod. For an instant, the princess thought Renard had long ago realized why she wanted him at today’s lunch. The look in his eyes… That Vestonian seemed to see straight through her.

Astrid blinked and the flood of emotions retreated. Renard kept talking to the Baron de Levy, and the other guests started arguing about the most recent work of a young sculptor named Fabrizio Pantaleo.

* * *

After ordering her escorts to leave her alone, Astrid entered her farthest orangery to find Renard standing at the edge of the fountain and pensively staring at the colorful fish swimming around in it.

This fountain was Astrid’s pride and joy. The artifactor who created it had used her designs. When the Vestonians saw it, they assured her that no king in Mainland had anything comparable.

Astrid unwittingly curled a lip. They must have been lying. Now Renard was staring into the fountain like he’d seen something similar before.

That was the expression on Astrid’s face when she walked up to Max.

“Your Highness,” he came with a respectful bow. “Thank you for this invitation to lunch — it was a great honor.”

“Monsieur, I am glad you accepted my invitation,” Astrid replied with a slight nod and, with slight sneering in her voice, continued: “After all, your countrymen have been getting on my nerves for the last few days. In fact — they’re hurrying to flee Fjordgrad as if my father’s kingdom were a ship about to sink to the bottom of the sea.”

She didn’t mention the word “rats,” but the crooked smirk on Renard’s face told her he’d understood.

“I assume my countrymen are concerned by His Majesty Carl the Third’s health,” he responded.

“More concerned than his own son?” Astrid snorted. “You for instance haven’t left yet. Or are you not concerned by your king’s health?”

“The news of His Majesty’s injury was cause for concern for all of us. I pray to the gods every day for our great sovereign’s recovery. But as you rightly noted, Your Highness, I am still here. And only for one reason. I took on the obligation to accompany His Highness Prince Louis’ embassy and duty compels me not to abandon my mission until I’ve seen it through.”

“The words of a dignified nobleman!” Astrid smiled. “If only Lord Gray could hear you now.”

“Don’t get me wrong, Your Highness,” Renard said evasively. “I am not trying in any way to cast blame or justify Lord Gray’s actions; all I can say is that I am very glad I didn’t have to choose between my duty to my family and my duty to my king.”

“In one way or another, Lord Gray made his decision,” Astrid frowned. “His departure upset the plans of two sovereigns at once.”

“As far as I understand, all is not yet lost…”

“Are you referring to your friend, Baron de Levy?” Astrid asked condescendingly.

“Yes,” Renard nodded. “The baron is one of the greatest swordsmen I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. I’m certain he will perform with dignity at your father’s tournament.”

“I’m sure you mean to say he will die with dignity,” Astrid threw out.

She had decided that it was time to turn this conversation more frank.

“Monsieur Renard, both of us can see clearly that Baron de Levy will not survive the trial to the end. But I know a person who has every chance of surviving and prevailing. After the duel in Varglund where you defeated Eirik Irontooth, I concluded that you would be a more than fitting candidate to compete in the Great Trial. Beyond that, the experience you gained on the frontier makes you a formidable opponent. You have fought shadow beasts and survived, even emerging victorious. You proved yourself a man who truly holds the word honor in high regard! You are a genuine nobleman, and I am simply certain that you would manage to survive until the end of the tournament and win it!”

Continuing, Astrid raised her voice and added notes of triumph. She wanted to make sure it didn’t come across like an empty compliment. She wanted to prove Renard’s value in her eyes. She wanted it to be more than simply recognizing his skill, but an assertion of his status as an important figure.

Astrid had pulled this trick many times on people she had chosen to serve her. And every time, her penetrating and triumphant tone had achieved that. People could see the importance of the moment and would express a desire to serve their princess, thus reinforcing her own confidence in her oratory gift.

But this time, something went awry… Her speech clearly had not had any effect on this unusual person.

While Astrid spoke, she noticed a sly glimmer in Renard’s eyes. She suddenly felt like he was mocking her though nothing in his pose or facial expression gave that away.

But those eyes… Knavish, mocking, seeming to see straight through her…

Suddenly, she realized that she had fundamentally misapprehended this man’s motivation. And if she looked at everything from that new angle, what she just said seemed a bit funny and pompous to her as well.

Also, she suddenly realized that there was something animal in Renard’s facial expression. She was essentially being looked at as prey.

She fell silent and looked attentively at Renard. Her facial expression also changed. Now opposite that southerner was standing not only the Princess of Vintervald, but also a dangerous combat mage who had earned the nickname “the Swift.”

Oddly, Renard realized that, but didn’t show any fear and the mocking glimmer in his eyes didn’t go anywhere.

“And what will be your answer, chevalier?” Astrid asked, trying to make her voice sound calm.

“My answer is no,” Renard shrugged.

Astrid was not the least bit surprised.

“Scared?” she laughed, expecting that to set him off. What nobleman, much less man, would like being accused of cowardice? But no — he surprised her again.

“Is it really a crime to fear for one’s life?” Renard answered calmly with a question of his own. “Beyond that, what difference does it make which one of us, as you put it, ‘dies with dignity?’ Me or Baron de Levy? What’s more, the baron himself took up the call.”

Astrid squinted a bit. A guess flickered in her head. She seemed to understand how to talk to this man.

“What if you find a good reason?” she asked, tilting her head. Seeing then that Renard was starting to lose interest in the conversation, she hurried to add: “Let’s say, for instance, a very generous reward?”

Interest flickered on Renard’s face. She thoughtfully led her fingertips over her chin. They met eyes.

Astrid immediately felt beside herself. The man looking back at her could not be a mere twenty-year old.

“Your Highness, am I understanding correctly? You’re trying to hire me to take part in the Great Trial?”

“Yes monsieur, you understand correctly,” Astrid replied firmly.

“Hm… Now I’m curious,” Renard came. “What do you intend to offer me for a ‘dignified’ death in the tournament?”

Meanwhile, the cheery glimmer in his eyes disappeared. Astrid now saw cold calculation in its place.

“Gold?” she threw out the first bait, watching the reaction in his face.

Renard raised an eyebrow as if considering the offer. She knew that in his veins flowed the blood not only of an aristocrat, but also of a merchant. Her countrymen had brought up that part of his biography on multiple occasions with spite.

“Gold of course has its value, Your Highness,” he began his cautious reply. “But it seems to me that if you want to convince a person to go to certain death, you should offer a very unique stimulus. For example, as far as I am aware, Lord Gray was promised new lands if he could prevail.”

Renard’s eyes lit up with more than mere greed. There seemed to also be curiosity and a desire to find out how far he could push this negotiation. How far was she willing to go to convince him to take part in the trial?

“You’re no less aware than I am that I am currently not able to award lands or titles,” Astrid responded, coming over to the edge of the fountain. She glanced pensively at the supple backs of the colorful fish, for which her father had to pay a pretty penny to transport here from the eastern isles.

Renard stood next to her in silence. Astrid saw the reflection of his face in the water. The Vestonian’s eyes looked more attentive and penetrating. She seemed to be aware of what might catch his interest.

“At our last conversation, you mentioned that you visited the Crafting District and acquired some rare potions there. If I am able to convince you to take part in the tournament, you’ll need magic potions. Nonmages are allowed to use them. That way, you’ll have better chances against gifted people.”

“Potions won’t help against strykers,” Renard shook his head.

“Tournament rules forbid strykers from using magic armor or weapons, and shapeshifters from taking combat form,” Astrid responded, which seemed to catch the Vestonian by surprise. “That condition was forwarded by the priests of the Forefather and my father had to agree.”

“That of course improves my chances, but…”

“That is precisely why ungifted contenders are allowed to use elixirs,” Astrid interrupted and, lowering her voice, added: “Which is why I will provide you with powerful elixirs and, beyond that, take you to my personal treasure chamber where you can choose from among several artifacts for payment, all collected recently from the Frosty Gloom, a part we know as the Svartvald. I promise you will not regret it.”

Astrid glanced searchingly at Renard and realized she had finally hit her mark.