Last Life

Book 5: Chapter 18

“PRETTY SIMILAR, DON’T YOU THINK?” Kiko asked as we took a seat on the rim of one of the fountains. There were little schools of multicolored fish swimming around in its waters.

There wasn’t anybody near us, but we had an excellent view of the royal park, where courtiers could be seen walking in little groups according to their “princely colors.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“The fish in the fountain and the people in the park,” the jester explained. “Both are equally bright. Both are racing to and fro in search of the richest meal ticket they can find.”

I smiled. I squinted slightly as I looked down into the fountain, then over at the groups of courtiers, as if making a comparison.

“Something’s missing here, though,” I nodded at the fish.

“Whatever might that be?” The jester asked as he swung his legs from the edge of the fountain; bending over to take a look, he very nearly dipped his long nose into the water.

“Green fish,” I answered.

“Ha!” I could see Kiko’s smiling reflection in the water. “So it is! But I must assure you — up until quite recently, when our renowned Lord Gray made his glorious departure from Vintervald, the royal garden was so full of green that it looked like a field of spring onions. Your participation, and victory, in the Great Trial also added a certain shade of green to life in the capital.”

“Oh, certainly!” Kiko chortled as he sat back up on the fountain’s rim, his legs still bouncing happily in the air and provoking a cheerful jingling from the magical bells on his feet. “The king loves variety! And he also loves balance when it comes to colors and shading. Don’t you?”

“Who am I to judge such lofty matters?” I replied evasively.

“Still, though?” He wasn’t going to let me off the hook so easily. “Is a mono-color painting really preferable to one where there’s a rich variety of different colors? After all, such is our world — many-faceted and multicolored.”

“Possibly,” I shrugged as I bent down over the water and ran my hand along its surface. “But it doesn’t really matter anyway.”

“Might I inquire why?” The jester glanced over at my face.

“Because even the most illustrious, richly-colored painting always has a golden frame,” I said, nodding toward the royal seal carved into the stone next to us. “Stern and unbending.”

“How bold,” said Kiko with a wry smile.

For the first time in the few minutes we’d been talking, the look in his amber-colored eyes suddenly turned rigid and cold. His true colors shone through his ridiculous mask. There was something poisonous in him. Serpentine, even...

I shrugged.

“I warned you. Contemplation of such lofty matters isn’t my specialty.”

“Oh, Monsieur Bastard!” Kiko threw up his hands. The serpentine seriousness that I had noticed for a moment was gone. “Who could’ve guessed that such a brave warrior could also be so modest?! Tell me — how did you manage to obtain such a rich reward for your valiant deed? Rumors abound at court that Princess Astrid allowed you access to her personal storehouse, and after all, she’s notoriously tight-fisted.”

“Her Highness was very generous to me,” I replied evasively.

“Come again?” Kiko asked. “Princess Astrid? They say she’s every bit as beautiful as she is intelligent and educated.”

“It’s true,” I nodded. “I wouldn’t be far off in saying that the Konung of Vintervald’s daughter is one of the most outstanding representatives of her people.”

“And she’s also a powerful mage,” added Kiko. “Prince Louis is a lucky man. They say the princess is motivated not only by duty to her country, but also by a genuine devotion to the young prince. Is that so?”

“It seemed to me that they were both very much in love,” I replied, trying to make my voice sound sincere.

“Haha!” The jester clapped his hands down onto his knees. “Monsieur Bastard, you’re not only modest, but also cautious! I think I now understand how you managed to emerge victorious in the tournament. All that remains is to understand why you’ve come to the palace today.”

I showed him the letter.

“I was summoned to the royal secretariat...”

Kiko waved the letter aside; his eyes narrowed as he cast me an appraising look.

“I’m referring to something else... I’d like to ask you what reward you’re hoping to receive from His Majesty? You must be of the opinion, of course, that if it hadn’t been for your victory, our king’s plans would have been doomed to failure? Such is the case, is it not?”

I shrugged.

“My thoughts on the matter are unimportant. What matters is the opinion of His Majesty. Whether he wishes to reward his faithful servant is entirely his decision.”

“Monsieur Bastard, you remember, of course, that your father — “ The jester began, but I interrupted him.

“I remember very well exactly who my father was, Monsieur Jester.” I stood up and shot a challenging glance right into the hunchback’s eyes. “And I know how dearly my family has had to pay for his mistake. Alas, I can’t rectify it on my own, but I’m trying as hard as I can to be useful to His Majesty.”

Kiko’s expression turned serious, and he stood up as well. For just a moment, the jester’s costume seemed to vanish. The man who stood opposite me was one of the most dangerous, most influential people in the government, maybe in all of Mainland.

“You’re right, Monsieur Renard,” he said in a matter-of-fact tone. “Only the king can decide whom he showers with favors, and whom he leaves without reward. To be perfectly honest with you, you’ve managed to attract His Majesty’ attention. You gave a heroic account of yourself on the frontier, and then in the north, but alas — this is still insufficient to bring you closer to the king. There are nobles in the kingdom who are much better known, much wealthier, and much more influential than you, who also need to expiate the sins of their fathers. And they have their own lands, connections at court stretching back centuries, their own armies...”

“I understand, Monsieur de Lusignan,” I nodded when the jester trailed off and looked over at me expectantly. “A traitor’s bastard can’t count on the favor of His Majesty while a count or duke is still waiting. It could be years, maybe even decades, before my turn comes. This is what you mean?”

“Don’t despair, Monsieur Bastard!” The jester smiled with an airy wave of his hand. “There are many ways to speed the process along! I’m certain that a man like you will be fairly rewarded sooner or later.”

“And if my efforts never bear result, Monsieur Jester?” I asked, tilting my head to the side slightly. “What if there are so many nobles that my turn never comes? Hm... On second thought, though, I have a solution for such an eventuality.”

“Even for that?” Kiko asked. I noticed that he was slightly tense. “Might I inquire what it is?”

“Well, I might, for example, return to the north and take a place alongside Princess Astrid,” I replied, watching the smile disappear from the jester’s face. “Especially since she’s already suggested that I do so herself. Her Highness couldn’t care less that I’m a traitor’s bastard. She needs loyal people, now more than ever. And as I mentioned, Princess Astrid was very generous to me. And I’ve also heard that Otto II’s court is always happy to receive people like myself.”

I rubbed my chin pensively. Then I looked around at the royal gardens, deliberately avoiding Kiko’s tense gaze.

“You know, Monsieur Jester, you’ve given me a wonderful idea. I thank you kindly! That’s probably exactly what I’ll do. I’ve been stagnating here in the capital anyway... I’ll head back to Vintervald. And I won’t further encumber His Majesty with my presence. It’s been an honor!”

I was about to turn around and show that I was ready to leave, but Kiko stopped me.

“Monsieur Bastard!” He spoke up in an icy tone of voice. “You never answered my question!”

“Which one?” I turned around and answered in the same tone: “It seemed to me that we’ve got all the answers we need.”

“Your reward,” he replied as he sat back down on the edge of the fountain. “What sort of reward are you hoping His Majesty will grant you for your victory?”

“As far as I remember, Lord Gray was promised new lands and titles in exchange for victory in the Great Trial,” I replied bluntly.

“Lord Gray is one of His Majesty’ best strykers,” Kiko pointed out, folding his arms across his chest.

“That didn’t prevent him from disobeying his king and leaving Vintervale,” I objected in turn.

“Lord Gray’s lands and family were under attack,” the jester countered.

I noticed a spark of malicious joy in his eyes, along with a feeling that he approved of what I was saying. It seemed that Kiko himself didn’t exactly have the highest opinion of the head royal stryker.

“That doesn’t change the fact that he abandoned Prince Louis to his fate,” I shrugged. “As far as I know, Lord Gray’s family was in a place of safety. And the lands wouldn’t have gone anywhere. They could have been reconquered after the Trial. He could even have reconquered a little extra in compensation.”

“I know that the prince failed to treat him with the proper respect at times,” noted the jester.

Judging by the expression on his face, he understood very well that this was a weak argument. I could imagine to myself approximately what Lord Gray must have said before his departure from Fjordgrad — specifically, something about the king’s inability to protect his stryker’s property — but I decided not to mention it.

“Irrelevant,” I snorted. “There was an agreement between him and the king.”

“And if Lord Gray had died?” The jester tried once again, although he didn’t sound hopeful at all that this new line of reasoning would bear much fruit. “He couldn’t afford to take such a risk.”

“I could have died, too,” I said, spreading my arms out to the sides. “But I’m still here.”

Kiko thought for a moment, then sarcastically informed me of something:

“Lord Gray was promised the County de Vendôme. Don’t you think that would be a little much, Monsieur Bastard?”

“Indeed,” I replied with total frankness.

I genuinely wasn’t ready for anything that big. Therefore, I came back with an alternative:

“A small, out-of-the-way barony, on the other hand, would fit the bill nicely.”

Kiko grunted and rubbed his thickly-painted chin with his hand.

“And I suppose you’ve already got one in mind?” He asked with a cunning smile.

“I do.” There was no point in pretending otherwise. “The Barony de Valff, part of the County de Gramont. It’s in northeast Vestonia.”

The jester’s smile widened.

“So you want the king to take these lands from your uncle and give them to you?” He asked with a little bit of mockery.

“No,” I shook my head. “I did some investigating — the Barony de Valff was confiscated by the Crown after the revolt.”

Kiko raised a hand to scratch the back of his head underneath his cap and thought for a moment.

“Even so, it would raise a bit of a fuss,” he shook his head.

Despite the doubt in his tone, it seemed like my idea interested him. And this whole “heart-to-heart” made it very clear that there was general interest in me among the higher echelons of government. So I decided to announce what I’d been planning for a long time.

“It won’t,” I replied confidently. “It’s one thing to reward a bastard, and another thing entirely to pay off debts for which the Hero of the Northland happens to be the creditor.”

“What do you mean?” Kiko leaned forward.

“My father managed to draft quite a number of promissory notes using that barony as collateral — “ I was about to continue, but the jester interrupted me.

“And you went and bought them all up!” He threw his hands excitedly up into the air. “Stunning! You’ve managed to show me a whole new side yet again, Monsieur Bastard!”

“Thank you,” I said with a slight bow of the head.

The jester jumped down off the edge of the fountain and shook the dust off his socks.

“Well, Monsieur Renard, your story about the north was most illuminating,” he said. “A shame we must now say our goodbyes. I hope that we’ll have a chance to talk again some time. And yes, please don’t waste your time. I wasn’t lying to you — Lambert de Courtenay really isn’t in the !”

Kiko and I exchanged a bow, and then he lumbered off on his bent little legs, headed toward a large group of nobles, still happily whistling the song of the bastard sword to himself.

For my part, I went back into the secretariat’s reception room, where my people were waiting for me. I was actually happy to be finishing earlier than expected. I had a meeting scheduled that promised to be very interesting. The matagot from the weaver’s shop had informed the nisse that he wanted to talk to me about something.

* * *

Outskirts of Herouxville

The hunting lodge of Carl III

“Where have you been?” The king grumbled when Kiko walked into his presence, still whistling something happily to himself.

Despite the attentions of the best healers in Vestonia, Carl’s wound still wasn’t healing. The only thing the mages had managed so far was a temporary block on the effect of the black magic in the rest of the king’s body.

“I’ve just come from the palace, Your Majesty,” explained Kiko with a bow.

“So I’ve been told,” the king snorted before wincing in pain. “Who were you talking to for such a long time? And more importantly, how did that young nobleman restrain himself from beating you senseless?”

Kiko knew that Carl already knew who he’d been talking to. Sometimes, the king just liked to double-check things... Or triple-check them. A habit, acquired after several assassination attempts and conspiracies

“I was carrying out your orders, Your Majesty,” Kiko bowed again.

“Which one?”

“The one where you decided to reward Chevalier Renard for his victory in the Great Trial.”

“Ah, yes, him,” Carl grumbled; it didn’t sound very convincing. “What did you think?”

Smart, cold-blooded, quick on the draw, knew what he wanted — a true fox. That was what first came to the jester’s mind when he thought about chevalier Renard, but he decided to limit himself to a simpler conclusion.

“A young man with fair prospects,” said Kiko.

“And how did you reward him on my behalf?” The king inquired.

“I haven’t yet,” Kiko replied as he watched the sarcastic expression on Carl’s face.

“Back at your games again, I see?” The king grunted. “You could’ve given him some gold, and been done with it. Otherwise he’ll get offended and run off to the north, or maybe to the east. I’ve already lost so many promising people! How many times do I need to tell you that? We can’t afford a repeat of what happened with Zoë de Namur! We’re at war, and we need every gifted person we have!”

“He doesn’t want gold,” the jester answered.

“Nonsense!” The king spat back. “Everyone wants gold! Even kings! ESPECIALLY kings!”

“And yet,” the jester shook his head. “Renard wants something else...”

“What?” Carl furrowed his brows.

“Lord Gray was promised lands and titles...” Kiko repeated Renard’s words almost verbatim.

“Ah, so that’s it!” The king’s face darkened. “Out of the question! He’s Ferdinand de Gramont’s bastard! That traitor and turncoat! It’s far too early to bring people like him back into the fold. If he doesn’t want a reward, then he can go wherever his heart desires for all I care!”

Carl was contradicting himself. This was fairly typical for him when he was tired or (as in this instance) sick. True, it was usually someone from the court who had to answer for bad decisions made during one of these exhaustion- or illness-fueled rages. This was precisely what happened with Zoë de Namur. Blame for her flight fell squarely on the shoulders of one of the chancery’s employees.

“What if we change tactics here?” The jester asked. He quickly recounted part of his conversation with Renard. And then he offered his version of a possible solution.

After listening to Kiko attentively, the king sat in silence for a while, and then — his tone already softer and calmer — he gave a simple command:

“Do it.”

* * *

The outskirts of Herouxville

Convent for the mentally ill at the Church of the Most Luminous Mother

“You can’t treat me like this!” Adeline Beauchard hissed through gritted teeth.

If she could have, she’d have thrown herself onto Isabelle and strangled her with her bare hands. Alas... She couldn’t do that. Her Alain — her sweet little boy, the whole point of her existence — was now in the custody of her father and sister. And even more terrifyingly, he was about to be sent to live in the house of that horrible monster!

She had prayed to every god she knew of, thousands of times, but her prayers had fallen on deaf ears. Somehow, that bastard Renard managed to avoid death.

The news about the destruction of the Nightwolves’ den, followed by a conversation with her father and sister, put a final stop to their confrontation. She would never forget the disappointment on her father’s face. She was dead to him...

And they didn’t even let her say goodbye to her son. Alain didn’t even know who was responsible for her misfortune...

“We most certainly can,” Isabelle replied in an icy tone.

“Sister — “ Adeline tried to reach out for Isabelle’s hand, but she yanked it away in disgust and snapped back:

“Sister? I don’t have a sister anymore. You put our whole family in mortal danger to further your own ambitions. Your son, more than anyone else. Get out!”

Despite her gaunt frame, Isabelle had always been the stronger of the two sisters. She shoved Adeline out of the carriage with ease and jumped down after her.

At the gates of the Church of the Most Luminous Mother, to which the psychiatric hospital was attached, there were already several people waiting for her. The Mother Superior and two muscular junior sisters, who moved toward Adeline at their mistress’ command like attack dogs.

“NO!” Adeline Beauchard screamed, stopping the two beastly nuns with a gesture. “I’ll go voluntarily.”

“As you wish, Madame,” said one of the nuns in a dull, low voice as she pointed the way into the gates.

As she walked, Adeline turned to look back. As she watched, Isabelle handed a big, puffy bag to the Mother Superior; then, having received a blessing from the old nun, she turned and walked back to her carriage without a second look at her sister.

Later on, Adeline wouldn’t remember the minutes during which she made her way to the cell that, to all appearances, would be her permanent home. Without looking to either side, she collapsed onto the firm bed with its rough, mildewy blanket, and broke down into anguished sobs. All her schemes had come to the surface over the preceding few days. But only now did Adeline finally realize that it was all over...

She regained her composure as someone started stroking her hair and whispering something quietly into the air above her.

Adeline looked up and wiped away her tears with her sleeve.

At the edge of her bed sat a woman approximately her own age, dressed like one of the junior nuns, with a meek smile on her face.

“Here, my dear — drink this,” the woman urged her gently, still smiling, as she held out a clay mug filled with something warm and motioned for Adeline to drink. “You’ll feel better right away.”

“W-w-who are you?” Adeline asked through her sobs as she accepted the cup.

“I’m Sister Margarita.”