Last Life

Book 5: Chapter 21

Herouxville, Old Capital

Mansion of the Countess de Puzet

“WHAT DO YOU SAY, dear brother?”

Countess Francoise de Puzet, nee de Clairmont, was addressing her elder brother, Duke Édouard de Clairmont, who was engrossed in examining the contents of his glass.

He was so engrossed, in fact, that he almost totally missed his little sister’s entire monologue. Although to be fair, what could there possibly have been to hear?

Yet again, her sister was praising her eldest son, the Viscount Jean de Puzet, who at that very moment had an irritating, ingratiating grin on his face as he pretended to be excited to be in his uncle’s presence.

Édouard snickered at his own thoughts. His sister was trying to convince him that her beloved Jean, the capital-city dandy with soft hands, thin, delicate wrists, a fragile body and shiny blond hair, conceived a desire to depart for the front as an aide-de-camp to the Marshal of Vestonia. “The boy wishes to cover his name with martial glory?” That was what she’d said, wasn’t it? Well, well...

Édouard was having difficulty holding back a sharp-tongued rebuke to his sister. Francoise didn’t quite realize what she was asking for. War, he thought, is blood, sweat, dirt, and death. It’s no capital-city ball or reception, the kind of thing her son was used to dancing his way through before sleeping till midday in his warm, soft bed in the palace.

There were no armies of footmen and nannies ready to carry out dear little Jean’s slightest whim at the snap of his fingers.

Alas... He would probably have to take one of his nephews along with him. And that necessity annoyed Édouard more than anything else. He and his wife, Louisa de Clairmont, had long ago concluded that it was time to decide the question of an heir. But finding a worthy one was proving problematic. All of those who’d been suggested to Édouard so far were distinctly lacking from his point of view.

Jean, for example, whom Francoise had just finished praising to the heavens. The little idiot was already on track to drive the duchy to financial ruin, just like his idiot daddy before him. At the same time, Édouard could appreciate the wisdom of Louisa’s plan. It involved the following: first, they would find the most suitable candidate. They would declare him heir. They would marry him to an equally-suitable girl of noble blood. Then they would wait for a grandson, and raise him to be the real heir. The only problem was that they would have to live long enough to make it happen. And Carl III was sending the duke off to war. With only three legions to oppose the five commanded by the Golden Lion...

But even that wasn’t all. The king wanted to reconquer Shadow Pass from the priests. Carl even had a margrave in those lands. The very same chevalier Renard who was raising such a ruckus with his exploits.

Édouard could understand Carl’s motives. The margraviate was the perfect place for a cutthroat like Renard. And if he ended up dying, it wouldn’t be too great a loss. And for Édouard, it would be a positively joyous development. After all, Renard was the bastard of Ferdinand de Gramont, the scoundrel and traitor whose friends killed his dear Gauthier. Renard may have been acquitted of any wrongdoing, but that didn’t matter to Édouard. The man’s father’s friends had killed his son!

Édouard remembered the way his spouse reacted to the news of the new margrave. Poor Louisa went pale, and almost fainted. Apparently the wound in her heart still hadn’t healed. Any mention of anyone connected to her son’s death, no matter how indirectly, caused her terrible pain.

“My brother,” the countess continued, a note of anxiety audible in her voice. “Is everything okay? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost...”

Édouard wiped his forehead, then cast a pensive glance at his sister. Then at Jean... So this boy wanted to become his heir? He didn’t seem like a suitable candidate. Maybe bringing him along to war was a good idea? Édouard quickly banished such evil thoughts from his mind. The boy hadn’t done anything wrong. And his mother would never forgive Édouard if he brought her beloved son’s body back in a box. He knew for himself just how painful it was to lose a child...

The decision about their hair hadn’t come easily to him, or to Louisa. After all, the pain of losing their only son, dead at the hands of plotters, was still raw in their hearts. Édouard let out a heavy sigh. Gauthier, his boy... A true warrior! He fought heroically and died defending his king. Carl wept together with Édouard over Gauthier’s body. Just as Édouard had wept with his old friend when they learned of the death of Prince Bastien.

Édouard had also had a daughter, once upon a time. But Christine had died many years before. Édouard learned of her death while stationed at the front. It was during the second year of the northerners’ invasion, so he couldn’t even come to bid his daughter farewell. His wife wrote of a mysterious illness that even the healer-mage couldn’t subdue.

“Sister,” Édouard replied with a heavy sigh as he stood up from his desk. “I’ll think about it, and inform you of my decision.”

“Thank you,” said Francoise, before adding: “Just don’t delay the decision too long, brother. If you agree, we’ll need time to prepare Jean for the campaign. That will cost a lot, and I’ll need time to get the money together.”

Édouard snickered in his mind. Same old sister. Always trying to extract money from him. And he didn’t blame her. The late Count de Puzet, her husband, had been a rare breed of idiot. He had managed not only to burn through his own inheritance, left to him by his father, but also his wife’s considerable dowry. And Francoise was left to dig herself out of the mess. The worst thing about it, though, was that Jean seemed to be a chip off his father’s block.

“You need not worry about that, sister,” said the duke as he kissed Francoise’s hand. “If I should decide in the affirmative, my own treasury will handle everything. Now, however, I must take my leave...”

* * *

Château de Tour?

County de Marbot

“Aurie!” Émile burst into his sister’s room like a hurricane. “Aurie!”

A self-satisfied smile danced on his hideous face. The wooden floorboards groaned and creaked piteously beneath the weight of his body.

“Yes, my brother?” Aurélie laid her knitting aside and tried to pretend to be overjoyed to see her “beloved” brother, but inside she flinched, sensing something bad in the offing. “What happened?”

“The Most Luminous Mother has finally heard your prayers!” Émile exclaimed as he wrapped his sister in a hug that felt to Aurélie like the hug of the grim reaper itself. The smell of sweat, campfire smoke, and blood radiated off her brother’s clothing.

“W-what prayers?” The viscountess squeaked; nevertheless, she decided not to back away from her brother. She didn’t want to provoke his wrath. He still truly believed that his sister loved him with all her heart.

Émile moved his sister gently back, and then looked into her eyes as he held her firmly by the shoulders. Then he smiled enigmatically and exclaimed:

“Come now, Aurie! How could you forget?! The prayers in which you ask the Most Luminous Mother to send you a worthy husband!”

“Brother, I...” Aurélie began, feeling dumbfounded. But Émile interrupted her.

“See?! You remember!”

Trying feverishly to collect her thoughts, the viscountess was unable to respond. She knew, of course, that she had to avoid any response that would betray her fear to her brother.

Meanwhile, Émile let go of his sister and started pacing back and forth through the room, regaling his sister with the latest news with a devilish smile on his monstrous face.

“That old fool de Gramont has finally given his consent. By the way, I learned the reason for the delay. Imagine it — Thomas Gilbert had designs on the bastard! That old shopkeep wanted to marry him to his own daughter. And Heinrich seriously considered the proposal! Think about that! You had a rival, sister! But it seems that your prayers to the Most Luminous Mother were more sincere. Although I should point out that Betty Gilbert is a very wealthy bride, and still a young one, at that. Unlike you, she would have borne Gilbert some heirs for their trading empire. He is, of course, unimaginably wealthy! As a matter of fact, the Bergonian we drank at dinner last night was brought into Vestonia by his trading firm.”

Humiliation and umbrage brought a massive lump welling up in Aurélie’s throat that not only made it hard to breathe, but actually hindered her from thinking clearly. Only by some inexplicable strength of will did she manage to suppress the wave of hysterics that was threatening to sweep over her. Once, when her father was still healthy and energetic, she visited a slave market. She saw a girl there, roughly her own age, led out onto a platform by a slave-seller, who proceeded to undress her and start singing her praises in public to prospective buyers. He forced her to open her mouth and show her teeth, to sing, and to dance around.

The poor girl appeared to Aurélie in her dreams for a long time afterward. Her tears, and the doomed look in her green eyes. She tried to convince her father to buy the poor slave girl, but without success. Her father seemed deaf to her pleas.

Now, Aurélie almost felt that she was that girl, standing naked for all to see as she waited to be given away to the highest bidder.

“What does daddy say?” Aurélie made one final attempt. Her brother had long ago stopped allowing her to see her father, whom he had moved into the far western wing of the mansion. He was cared for by a mute servant, who seemed to have an order from her brother not to appear in front of Aurelie at any time.

“Our father is happy for you, sister,” Émile laughed, before adding: “He blesses the match.”

“When can I go see him?” Aurélie blurted out, and immediately cursed herself for her intemperance.

Émile moved in closer to her and ran his wide palm across her hair. Aurélie’s heart felt frozen beneath the weight of his unblinking gaze. She noticed long ago that slowly but surely, her brother’s appearance was beginning to change. His shoulders were broader, and he seemed taller. His fingers were beginning to change shape. They were becoming sharper. More and more, Émile’s face began to resemble that of a reptile.

At first, Aurélie thought that this was a figment of her imagination, but when she finally shared her observations with Geraldine, the latter confirmed her fears. More than that, in fact — she said that all the servants were also noticing the changes in the viscount.

“My dear sister,” Émile replied with a palpable hissing sound to his voice. “Father and I do everything we can to shield you from the unpleasantness and misfortune of this world. You appreciate this, don’t you?”

“Of course,” came Aurélie’s hoarse reply.

“Very good.” Émile ran his cold hand down his sister’s cheek. “You will most certainly see father, but only when he feels better and is fully recovered from his illness. That’s his decision. Not mine.”

Aurélie knew her brother was lying. But all she could say out loud was:

“I thank you, dear brother.”

Having said this, she overpowered her disgust and fear and pressed herself into Émile’s embrace. With her right cheek, she could feel hard lumps on her brother’s chest. Were Geraldine’s rumors of growths on his chest really true? Did the witch’s curse really exist after all?

Tears welled up in the corners of her eyes. She remembered, however, that her brother didn’t like it when she cried, and that he would always take out his anger on servants and serfs after seeing her cry. So she tried to wipe her tears off gently against his wide collar without him noticing.

“My silly little sister.” Émile embraced Aurélie and ran his hand across her head again. “You’ll be marrying this Renard very soon. Aren’t you excited about becoming the wife of the Hero of the Northland? What a lovely pair you’ll make! True, you’ll only be a baroness, but that’s the price of happiness in your case. I promise you, however, that he won’t be bothering you for long. I always remember my promises, and I’m a man of my word.”

When Émile finally left her room, Aurélie collapsed like a rag doll onto her bed and released her pent-up emotions as big, heaving sobs directed into her pillow.

A while later, Geraldine came to check on her.

“My brother and the Count de Gramont have thought up something terrible,” Aurélie whispered into her faithful servant’s ear. “We need to warn Chevalier Renard...”

* * *

Herouxville. New Capital

The Duke de Bauffremont’s palace

“There you are, Monsieur!” The Duke de Bauffremont saluted me with a cut-crystal glass filled with wine before putting it greedily to his lips and draining it in several big gulps.

I had received the note with the duke’s invitation to visit earlier that morning. Actually, the note was worded more like an order than an invitation, but I decided to ignore that for the time being. Let him think what he wants, I thought. I’ll have the last word, no matter what he says.

When I arrived at the appointed time, I was led into the rear courtyard of his palace, where certain distinctive smells and the sound of barking suggested that the duke had his kennels.

Claude de Bauffremont, it seemed, was only recently returned from a hunt. His whole riding outfit was covered in dust, and there were drops of blood visible on his sleeves and the legs of his pants.

A healthy redness shone on the duke’s clean-shaven cheeks, and the thrill of the chase still burned in his eyes.

“Your Grace,” I bowed. “I’m glad to see you in good health.”

“I certainly hope so,” the duke replied with a wry smile. “You’re probably wondering why I’ve summoned you?”

I bowed in silence, waiting for him to continue. Claude de Bauffremont nodded at the wine glasses, and his footman immediately filled them with wine. The duke took one, and the servant brought the other over to me.

“A toast!” The duke shouted with a big smile on his face. He lifted his glass and exclaimed: “To the health of the new Margrave de Valier! Haha! I hope he survives longer than his predecessor!”

After draining his glass in one huge gulp, the duke burst into raucous laughter. I also drained my glass and replied with a modest smile.

Meanwhile, the duke continued:

“So far, only a handful of people know about your change in status, but I think that by the end of the week it will have been announced at the palace. It seems that getting involved in all sorts of danger runs in your blood. As does a talent for striking up new acquaintances. What did that disgusting hunchback want with you?”

The duke was no longer laughing. There was no trace of his former mirth anymore. His icy stare seemed to be trying to see right into my soul.

“To be honest, it was strange for me as well,” I shrugged, speaking calmly. “A few days ago I received a letter from the royal secretariat, but it turned out that the secretary wasn’t around.”

“But by pure coincidence, the little freak happened to be walking by at that exact time,” snickered the duke.

“Indeed,” I confirmed, still quite calm.

“What did you talk about?”

“My reward,” I admitted.

“Reward?”

“For my victory in the north, Your Grace,” I explained.

“And he offered you a title immediately?”

“Not immediately... We met again after a few days, and he gave me the decree from His Majesty.”

“A jester handing a bastard a decree of title at Moneychangers’ Square,” the duke chuckled as his eyes drilled into me. “It’s like the plot of some folk song. Minstrels might well fight each other over the idea. A few more stories like that and you’ll turn yourself into a character from folklore legend. What do you think of that?”

He was trying to create the impression that he had eyes on me at all times. Totally predictable. I’d met plenty of people like him before.

“I don’t care for it all that much, to be honest,” I said.

“Somehow or other, you’re becoming popular not only among the aristocracy, but among the masses as well,” the duke shook his head. “And popularity among the common people is a very dangerous thing. Mind you, once you die they’ll forget all about you soon enough.”

“Quite a grim prognosis,” I noted.

“If someone asked me what was the second most dangerous place in the world after the Svartvald, I would answer without hesitation that it must be Shadow Pass.”

“What’s so dangerous about the area?” I asked.

“Frequent ebbs and flows, attacks by dangerous monsters from the Shadow,” Claude de Bauffremont chuckled as he signaled for his footman to pour him some more wine. “And most importantly, Shadow Pass is famous for its frequent ghost raids.”

The duke looked me right in the eyes.

“So what do you think of your new title, Monsieur?”

“Well, one doesn’t turn down a royal reward,” I shrugged.

Claude de Bauffremont shook his head, then turned around and waved to his kennel hands. The courtyard erupted into loud barking, and within a moment, the duke’s assistants hauled a tightly-locked cage into the fence-ringed enclosure in the middle of the courtyard.

They opened the small door, and a big red-furred fox (about the size of a wolf) shot out from inside it. Scraps of fur were hanging down from its sides in several places. There was a big blotch of deep-brown dried blood on its chest. While the fox darted this way and that in its search for a way to freedom, the duke looked on, and then began to speak:

“We caught this one today. It was in the habit of breaking into chicken coops at night. It’s strong. Cunning. It almost got away. Killed two of my hounds.”

The duke nodded, and the kennel hands opened the gates to the enclosure and let all the hounds off their leashes at once. They piled themselves onto the fox. No matter that the latter was big and experienced — it couldn’t possibly survive long. Within a few minutes, one of the kennel hands brought the duke the fox’s severed head. It was wet and sticky, caked in blood and dirt.

“Monsieur Renard,” Claude de Bauffremont said as he examined his trophy, still suspended in the air in front of him in his employee’s hands. “I trust you don’t need to be reminded that my patronage is by no means easy to earn? We’ve always enjoyed full mutual understanding up to now. I’d rather not become disappointed with you. Is that clear, Monsieur Renard?”

“Most certainly,” I nodded

With that, the duke moved on from warnings and threats to more theatricality. Such people were always so alike. They were exactly the same in both worlds. When the one they threatened suddenly appeared in their bedroom in the middle of the night, however, and caught them totally unawares, few tended to leave with their dignity intact.

“That’s good,” said the duke with a smug nod. “As for your new status, I’ll consider how this might enable you to serve me further, and communicate the details to you in time. And we’ll talk about payment at that point. You may go...”

I bowed and turned around to leave, but the duke stopped me:

“Ah, yes, I almost forgot: the de Gondy reception is the day after tomorrow. Remember your assignment...”