Chapter 187 - The Castle in the Sea VIII
Claire eyed the old military man with a mix of suspicion and irritation. The look on his face annoyed her to no end, it was smug and confident, like that of a fool already assured of his victory. In the water, the husks that were his pencil thin limbs came to life. His muscles puffed up to several times the size they were on land, and the loose mess of skin that had been his face was filled again with vigour—he looked twenty years younger, most of his wrinkles were gone, his greying hair the only indication of his advanced age.
The dress he previously wore was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by a tight-fitting military uniform that emphasized the extreme bulk of his frame. The evening gown had been formal wear. Those of sufficient status were meant to dress in clothes for the opposite gender, tailor made to suit them, as displays of wealth and etiquette.
If the witch’s raised brow was any indication, his advent lay beyond the realm of whatever scheme it was they had in mind.
“It’s because he realised,” said Claire. “That I spotted him.”
The witch began with a nod, but soon opened her eyes wide as she realised that the thought had never left her mouth. For a moment, she felt as if she could see a smirk on the longmoose’s face, but it was gone by the time she blinked, replaced by the same perfectly neutral expression she had worn throughout the massacre.
“How exactly did you manage to spot me? I thought I was perfectly hidden.”
“Uhmmmm… I really don’t think you should’ve asked that,” said Sylvia. The fox could already hear her companion cackling internally, even though her outward demeanor had yet to show even the slightest bit of change.
“Because I know how it feels to be stared at by an old pervert.” She smiled at him, sweetly. “It isn’t normal. To only be attended to by children.”
“Those are the children left behind by my fallen comra—”
“The oldest looked like she might have been twelve. And there were boys among them too. You are a sick and twisted man, and I doubt you are capable of seeking the path of recourse.”
The admiral put a hand to his brow and lightly rubbed the side of his head. “I’m starting to see why Natalya was left in charge of communication.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Claire. She glanced at one of the room’s far corners before making a chair of vectors floating opposite the witch’s blood throne. The messy amalgamation was nowhere near as refined as Alfred’s, but it was functional enough to support her weight. “Now stop stalling and talk. Why am I here?”
“Your party happened to be on the smaller side, so I was thinking that it might be worthwhile for you to join forces with Arciel, as she’s also working in a group of two,” explained the admiral. “But she isn’t the sort to work with someone that doesn’t have her explicit approval.”
“So you put together a test.” Claire fiddled with the daggers hidden in her sleeves as she spoke.
“Yes, exactly,” said the muscular sea creature.
The lyrkress almost rolled her eyes. The negotiation was a farce, and she had no intention of following through. “Because you wanted to see if I would be of help, when you set out to assassinate the queen.”
The witch cocked a brow and laughed, but her companion gave it away with a curious stare.
“Did you really have to say it straight like that?” complained the old man. “Is that how they taught you to parley in the Cadrian court, Lady Augustus?”
“The old men that plague it are every bit as bullheaded as you. It often takes a good shock or two to dust off their brains,” said Claire.
“Being a bit dusty ain’t all bad,” said the admiral. “Sometimes, you need a bit of that extra spice, like how confectionaries are often sweeter with a tad bit of salt.”
“Perhaps you should have a doctor examine the state of your tongue, Admiral. The need for salt is a sign of rot.”
“It is not my tongue that ails, Lady Augustus, but our nation.” Count Ray’esce adjusted his hat, nestling it in place atop his spikey head. “The Vampire Queen is the source of its rot. She was never supposed to be in line for the throne. She was a filthy prostitute, picked off the street by the previous queen and made a concubine for her leisure.”
“Not my problem.”
The next to speak was the woman upon the blood throne. “Should we allow that wretched whore to continue her operations, Vel’khan shall only strengthen its ties to your homeland. Our lack of an aspect ensures that we will be taken for a vassal state or a colony, with no hope of standing against the Cadrian word. And our people will not stand for such absurd treatment.”
“I don’t care.”
“Your ailing health is the only excuse that your nation has used to back this war effort. We shall capture and expose the contradiction should you refuse to lend your aid,” said the witch. “Abide by our commands, and Cadria will lose only one vassal. Disregard them, and all the northern states will all know of your treachery. They will take up arms, ally themselves against your lands, and topple your kingdom.”
Though the end result was not one that Claire found particularly undesirable, she had little choice but to acknowledge the threat of exposure. If used as a tool in their negotiations, then she would only find herself back at her father’s side. Assuming they managed to succeed.
Farenlight’s horns still in her hands, Claire was tempted to turn the discussion back into a brawl. The admiral and the supposed royal were both well within reach. The bloodsucker had proven herself obnoxious to kill, but the seahorse was an easy mark. His body was no more robust than that of the prisoners’. A few finely tuned vectors was all she needed to tear him to bits.
“Then let them. I don’t care for your empty threats, whether you believe yourselves capable of following through on them or not.” She slowly looked between the two of them in turn. “But I do care for payment. I’ll cooperate if you can give me something that makes this worth my time.”
The admiral appeared dissatisfied. He even lowered his stance, as if preparing to strike, but the bloodsucker held her sceptre in front of him. “What manner of payment?”
“Gold. Five hundred pounds.”
The moon-sworn vampire shook her head. “Look around you, Lady Augustus. This is the state of our headquarters. We lack even the funds to resolve its state of disrepair. Monetary compensation on such a scale is beyond our means.”
“How much is five hundred pounds of gold anyway?” asked Sylvia, in a whisper.
“Enough to buy a castle.” replied the lyrkress, under her breath.
“Oh! That sounds like it’d be kinda nice. I’ve always wanted to play around in a castle!”
“You did that last week.”
“That doesn’t count! We weren’t actually in the actual castle, and I didn’t get to play around!”
“The castle’s grounds are a part of it.” Petting the fox through the bubble, Claire turned her eyes back up to the aquatic humanoid, who was still tapping her armrest and wracking her brains.
“Will a favour not suffice?”
Claire narrowed her eyes. “Do you have nothing else of value?”
“I do not.” The black-haired witch squeezed the arms of her chair, hard enough for her knuckles to turn white. “The harlot falsified my aunt’s will following her death and claimed all of the assets that I should have inherited. The one valuable thing I have to give, Lady Augustus, is my word. Should you aid me in striking down the treacherous whore that has slain my family, then I, Arciel Vel’khan, final survivor of Queen Arcenia’s bloodline, will swear to return this favour in your time of need.”
Claire pulled her hood further over her eyes. “I have a number of conditions.”
“And what might they be?” asked the princess.
“My involvement is to be kept a secret from all parties that I do not expressly note as exceptions. For now, that list extends only to my traveling companions.”
“Naturally,” said Arciel. “And the others?”
“I operate on my terms. I will not take orders from you. Only suggestions and requests.”
Again, the vampire nodded.
“And I shall not be joining you in proving that you are worthy of the throne. I will assist you in reaching her, but if you wish to seize your place from the ruler of this land, then you must fell her in single combat.” Claire smiled, devilishly. “Do that, and none of my countrymen will stand opposed to your legitimacy.”
The Cadrian throne was always one handed down from warrior to warrior, a tradition preserved from when it was naught but a tiny wandering tribe. And it was not just the royal seat that could be contested. Siblings close in power would often duel for the right to inherit their households, and commoners would even sometimes challenge their lords if frustrated by the management of their lands.
There was certainly an argument to be made against passing the torch to the most powerful. Some believed that it ostracized the intelligent, and while it certainly did produce the odd musclehead or two, it was rare for an incompetent to take or remain in a position of power. Those with good heads on their shoulders knew full well the value of personal strength, and they were often quick on the uptake in battle. The eleven-horned king had only remained atop his throne for as long as he had because his detractors were unable to match his valor. He was an aspect; the only man in the country capable of contesting his might was his nephew—Claire’s father—but said man was kept satisfied enough to keep his ambitions away from his uncle’s seat.
“Consider your conditions accepted, Claire Augustus,” said the witch.
The monarch-to-be rose from her seat, approached the halfbreed, and extended a hand. Arciel’s smile broadened when Claire reluctantly took it. Her eyes sparkled, her hair danced, and she even reached to greet the lyrkress’ neck with her fangs.
“One of my knights and I will be joining your par—”
“I refuse.” Having sensed the red flag from a mile away, Claire grabbed the princess by the face and created an arm’s worth of distance between them. “I agreed to aid you. Not become one of your companions.”
“Oh, you do not have to be so cold, Claire,” said the bloodsucker. “Our fates are tied now, joined together until we pay our respective dues.”
“I don’t care.” Having decided that an arm wasn’t enough, Claire kicked the mage with one of her front talons, but Arciel’s lower half turned into a bloody mist as she made contact.
“Whether you care or not, your companion has already been convinced.”
Claire immediately looked at the fox in her arms, who returned her gaze and vehemently shook her head.
“I had a quick chat with Natalya right after you left,” said Admiral Ray’esce, “and she said that she would be fine with a quick trial run at least. Oh, and speaking of, I should mention that you’re going to need a dress, or maybe a suit if you’re feeling particularly formal. The Cadrians are going to be setting off tonight, with you in tow of course, and they’ll be hosting a banquet to commemorate the occasion.”
Claire narrowed her eyes. “Tell us that earlier next time.”
“Natalya mentioned that the timing wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Stupid cat.” Claire muttered under her breath as she magically pushed the witch into the ceiling.
“I, for one, am looking forward to the event,” said the vampire. “It will serve as an excellent opportunity for us to strengthen our ties.”
“If you live.”
The princess looked at her with confusion, but the lyrkress only smiled.
“Wait, you’re not about to do what I think you are, are you?” asked Sylvia.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Claire’s throat was already glowing a pale, magical blue, a sign that her mana was building up in one of the glands she had recently acquired.
With a fang showing through her smile, Claire opened her mouth and launched her attack. At first, it seemed like nothing but a blast of air. It pushed the water aside at an incredible speed, but had no other obvious effects. The destruction that followed came only after the projectile finished running its course.
Everything it touched was instantly turned to ice. And then, after exactly three seconds, the frozen remnants shattered into bits and disappeared. No residue was left behind. No water, ceiling, blood, or shadow was able to remain. The half of the building that the draconic chimera faced was removed, erased, deleted alongside the ice’s departure.
It was a dragon’s breath. Or at least a lackluster something that tried its best to resemble one. She managed to obliterate the vampire’s last second blood barrier, as well as the area around it, but the bloodsucker in question had lasted. Her clothes were tattered all over and there were bits and pieces missing from the various parts of her body. Most notable was her arm, which had been frozen and removed.
Had the fledgling been more successful in executing the attack imprinted in her blood, it would have been a far deadlier blow, but by draconic standards, Claire was still immature, and the requisite glands underdeveloped.
“What the hell are you doing!?” screamed the admiral. He swam up to the lyrkress as he drew a blade, but she paralyzed him with a glare and kicked him against a wall. She followed the attack by grabbing his neck and striking him with her talons another three times. Each gouged his flesh and brought him closer to death, but unlike the soldiers caught up in her destructive blast, he failed to meet his end.
“You tested me. So I tested her,” Claire tightened her grip on his neck, her eyes as cold as her breath. “An attack of this caliber will be far from what she will have to face if she wishes to claim the throne with violence.”
The bloodied seahorse tried to speak, but his mouth was just as bound as the rest of his body. The most he could squeak out was a primal groan.
“And it appears, Admiral, that you don’t quite understand what it means to deal with a member of House Augustus,” she said. “I will aid your princess as promised, but do not think for a moment that I will hesitate to meet malice with violence.” She delivered another kick to his side as she released him, sending him tumbling through the hall. “Consider this a warning. Attempt to undermine my will again, and it will not just be the two of you I attack.” Another paralyzing glare hit him as she walked through the rubble, in the direction of the city whose borders she had left. She stopped only briefly to look upon the wounded, half-conscious princess, but soon continued on her way.
“Uhmmm… Claire?” Sylvia raised a paw and poked her mount’s cheek as she approached the missing front door. “I know you dressed it up nicely, but you actually just did that ‘cause you wanted an excuse to use your breath attack again, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her eyes averted and her grievances freshly aired, she scratched the fox’s head and continued on her way.
Chapter 187 - The Castle in the Sea VIII
Claire eyed the old military man with a mix of suspicion and irritation. The look on his face annoyed her to no end, it was smug and confident, like that of a fool already assured of his victory. In the water, the husks that were his pencil thin limbs came to life. His muscles puffed up to several times the size they were on land, and the loose mess of skin that had been his face was filled again with vigour—he looked twenty years younger, most of his wrinkles were gone, his greying hair the only indication of his advanced age.
The dress he previously wore was nowhere to be seen, replaced instead by a tight-fitting military uniform that emphasized the extreme bulk of his frame. The evening gown had been formal wear. Those of sufficient status were meant to dress in clothes for the opposite gender, tailor made to suit them, as displays of wealth and etiquette.
If the witch’s raised brow was any indication, his advent lay beyond the realm of whatever scheme it was they had in mind.
“It’s because he realised,” said Claire. “That I spotted him.”
The witch began with a nod, but soon opened her eyes wide as she realised that the thought had never left her mouth. For a moment, she felt as if she could see a smirk on the longmoose’s face, but it was gone by the time she blinked, replaced by the same perfectly neutral expression she had worn throughout the massacre.
“How exactly did you manage to spot me? I thought I was perfectly hidden.”
“Uhmmmm… I really don’t think you should’ve asked that,” said Sylvia. The fox could already hear her companion cackling internally, even though her outward demeanor had yet to show even the slightest bit of change.
“Because I know how it feels to be stared at by an old pervert.” She smiled at him, sweetly. “It isn’t normal. To only be attended to by children.”
“Those are the children left behind by my fallen comra—”
“The oldest looked like she might have been twelve. And there were boys among them too. You are a sick and twisted man, and I doubt you are capable of seeking the path of recourse.”
The admiral put a hand to his brow and lightly rubbed the side of his head. “I’m starting to see why Natalya was left in charge of communication.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Claire. She glanced at one of the room’s far corners before making a chair of vectors floating opposite the witch’s blood throne. The messy amalgamation was nowhere near as refined as Alfred’s, but it was functional enough to support her weight. “Now stop stalling and talk. Why am I here?”
“Your party happened to be on the smaller side, so I was thinking that it might be worthwhile for you to join forces with Arciel, as she’s also working in a group of two,” explained the admiral. “But she isn’t the sort to work with someone that doesn’t have her explicit approval.”
“So you put together a test.” Claire fiddled with the daggers hidden in her sleeves as she spoke.
“Yes, exactly,” said the muscular sea creature.
The lyrkress almost rolled her eyes. The negotiation was a farce, and she had no intention of following through. “Because you wanted to see if I would be of help, when you set out to assassinate the queen.”
The witch cocked a brow and laughed, but her companion gave it away with a curious stare.
“Did you really have to say it straight like that?” complained the old man. “Is that how they taught you to parley in the Cadrian court, Lady Augustus?”
“The old men that plague it are every bit as bullheaded as you. It often takes a good shock or two to dust off their brains,” said Claire.
“Being a bit dusty ain’t all bad,” said the admiral. “Sometimes, you need a bit of that extra spice, like how confectionaries are often sweeter with a tad bit of salt.”
“Perhaps you should have a doctor examine the state of your tongue, Admiral. The need for salt is a sign of rot.”
“It is not my tongue that ails, Lady Augustus, but our nation.” Count Ray’esce adjusted his hat, nestling it in place atop his spikey head. “The Vampire Queen is the source of its rot. She was never supposed to be in line for the throne. She was a filthy prostitute, picked off the street by the previous queen and made a concubine for her leisure.”
“Not my problem.”
The next to speak was the woman upon the blood throne. “Should we allow that wretched whore to continue her operations, Vel’khan shall only strengthen its ties to your homeland. Our lack of an aspect ensures that we will be taken for a vassal state or a colony, with no hope of standing against the Cadrian word. And our people will not stand for such absurd treatment.”
“I don’t care.”
“Your ailing health is the only excuse that your nation has used to back this war effort. We shall capture and expose the contradiction should you refuse to lend your aid,” said the witch. “Abide by our commands, and Cadria will lose only one vassal. Disregard them, and all the northern states will all know of your treachery. They will take up arms, ally themselves against your lands, and topple your kingdom.”
Though the end result was not one that Claire found particularly undesirable, she had little choice but to acknowledge the threat of exposure. If used as a tool in their negotiations, then she would only find herself back at her father’s side. Assuming they managed to succeed.
Farenlight’s horns still in her hands, Claire was tempted to turn the discussion back into a brawl. The admiral and the supposed royal were both well within reach. The bloodsucker had proven herself obnoxious to kill, but the seahorse was an easy mark. His body was no more robust than that of the prisoners’. A few finely tuned vectors was all she needed to tear him to bits.
“Then let them. I don’t care for your empty threats, whether you believe yourselves capable of following through on them or not.” She slowly looked between the two of them in turn. “But I do care for payment. I’ll cooperate if you can give me something that makes this worth my time.”
The admiral appeared dissatisfied. He even lowered his stance, as if preparing to strike, but the bloodsucker held her sceptre in front of him. “What manner of payment?”
“Gold. Five hundred pounds.”
The moon-sworn vampire shook her head. “Look around you, Lady Augustus. This is the state of our headquarters. We lack even the funds to resolve its state of disrepair. Monetary compensation on such a scale is beyond our means.”
“How much is five hundred pounds of gold anyway?” asked Sylvia, in a whisper.
“Enough to buy a castle.” replied the lyrkress, under her breath.
“Oh! That sounds like it’d be kinda nice. I’ve always wanted to play around in a castle!”
“You did that last week.”
“That doesn’t count! We weren’t actually in the actual castle, and I didn’t get to play around!”
“The castle’s grounds are a part of it.” Petting the fox through the bubble, Claire turned her eyes back up to the aquatic humanoid, who was still tapping her armrest and wracking her brains.
“Will a favour not suffice?”
Claire narrowed her eyes. “Do you have nothing else of value?”
“I do not.” The black-haired witch squeezed the arms of her chair, hard enough for her knuckles to turn white. “The harlot falsified my aunt’s will following her death and claimed all of the assets that I should have inherited. The one valuable thing I have to give, Lady Augustus, is my word. Should you aid me in striking down the treacherous whore that has slain my family, then I, Arciel Vel’khan, final survivor of Queen Arcenia’s bloodline, will swear to return this favour in your time of need.”
Claire pulled her hood further over her eyes. “I have a number of conditions.”
“And what might they be?” asked the princess.
“My involvement is to be kept a secret from all parties that I do not expressly note as exceptions. For now, that list extends only to my traveling companions.”
“Naturally,” said Arciel. “And the others?”
“I operate on my terms. I will not take orders from you. Only suggestions and requests.”
Again, the vampire nodded.
“And I shall not be joining you in proving that you are worthy of the throne. I will assist you in reaching her, but if you wish to seize your place from the ruler of this land, then you must fell her in single combat.” Claire smiled, devilishly. “Do that, and none of my countrymen will stand opposed to your legitimacy.”
The Cadrian throne was always one handed down from warrior to warrior, a tradition preserved from when it was naught but a tiny wandering tribe. And it was not just the royal seat that could be contested. Siblings close in power would often duel for the right to inherit their households, and commoners would even sometimes challenge their lords if frustrated by the management of their lands.
There was certainly an argument to be made against passing the torch to the most powerful. Some believed that it ostracized the intelligent, and while it certainly did produce the odd musclehead or two, it was rare for an incompetent to take or remain in a position of power. Those with good heads on their shoulders knew full well the value of personal strength, and they were often quick on the uptake in battle. The eleven-horned king had only remained atop his throne for as long as he had because his detractors were unable to match his valor. He was an aspect; the only man in the country capable of contesting his might was his nephew—Claire’s father—but said man was kept satisfied enough to keep his ambitions away from his uncle’s seat.
“Consider your conditions accepted, Claire Augustus,” said the witch.
The monarch-to-be rose from her seat, approached the halfbreed, and extended a hand. Arciel’s smile broadened when Claire reluctantly took it. Her eyes sparkled, her hair danced, and she even reached to greet the lyrkress’ neck with her fangs.
“One of my knights and I will be joining your par—”
“I refuse.” Having sensed the red flag from a mile away, Claire grabbed the princess by the face and created an arm’s worth of distance between them. “I agreed to aid you. Not become one of your companions.”
“Oh, you do not have to be so cold, Claire,” said the bloodsucker. “Our fates are tied now, joined together until we pay our respective dues.”
“I don’t care.” Having decided that an arm wasn’t enough, Claire kicked the mage with one of her front talons, but Arciel’s lower half turned into a bloody mist as she made contact.
“Whether you care or not, your companion has already been convinced.”
Claire immediately looked at the fox in her arms, who returned her gaze and vehemently shook her head.
“I had a quick chat with Natalya right after you left,” said Admiral Ray’esce, “and she said that she would be fine with a quick trial run at least. Oh, and speaking of, I should mention that you’re going to need a dress, or maybe a suit if you’re feeling particularly formal. The Cadrians are going to be setting off tonight, with you in tow of course, and they’ll be hosting a banquet to commemorate the occasion.”
Claire narrowed her eyes. “Tell us that earlier next time.”
“Natalya mentioned that the timing wouldn’t be a problem.”
“Stupid cat.” Claire muttered under her breath as she magically pushed the witch into the ceiling.
“I, for one, am looking forward to the event,” said the vampire. “It will serve as an excellent opportunity for us to strengthen our ties.”
“If you live.”
The princess looked at her with confusion, but the lyrkress only smiled.
“Wait, you’re not about to do what I think you are, are you?” asked Sylvia.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Claire’s throat was already glowing a pale, magical blue, a sign that her mana was building up in one of the glands she had recently acquired.
With a fang showing through her smile, Claire opened her mouth and launched her attack. At first, it seemed like nothing but a blast of air. It pushed the water aside at an incredible speed, but had no other obvious effects. The destruction that followed came only after the projectile finished running its course.
Everything it touched was instantly turned to ice. And then, after exactly three seconds, the frozen remnants shattered into bits and disappeared. No residue was left behind. No water, ceiling, blood, or shadow was able to remain. The half of the building that the draconic chimera faced was removed, erased, deleted alongside the ice’s departure.
It was a dragon’s breath. Or at least a lackluster something that tried its best to resemble one. She managed to obliterate the vampire’s last second blood barrier, as well as the area around it, but the bloodsucker in question had lasted. Her clothes were tattered all over and there were bits and pieces missing from the various parts of her body. Most notable was her arm, which had been frozen and removed.
Had the fledgling been more successful in executing the attack imprinted in her blood, it would have been a far deadlier blow, but by draconic standards, Claire was still immature, and the requisite glands underdeveloped.
“What the hell are you doing!?” screamed the admiral. He swam up to the lyrkress as he drew a blade, but she paralyzed him with a glare and kicked him against a wall. She followed the attack by grabbing his neck and striking him with her talons another three times. Each gouged his flesh and brought him closer to death, but unlike the soldiers caught up in her destructive blast, he failed to meet his end.
“You tested me. So I tested her,” Claire tightened her grip on his neck, her eyes as cold as her breath. “An attack of this caliber will be far from what she will have to face if she wishes to claim the throne with violence.”
The bloodied seahorse tried to speak, but his mouth was just as bound as the rest of his body. The most he could squeak out was a primal groan.
“And it appears, Admiral, that you don’t quite understand what it means to deal with a member of House Augustus,” she said. “I will aid your princess as promised, but do not think for a moment that I will hesitate to meet malice with violence.” She delivered another kick to his side as she released him, sending him tumbling through the hall. “Consider this a warning. Attempt to undermine my will again, and it will not just be the two of you I attack.” Another paralyzing glare hit him as she walked through the rubble, in the direction of the city whose borders she had left. She stopped only briefly to look upon the wounded, half-conscious princess, but soon continued on her way.
“Uhmmm… Claire?” Sylvia raised a paw and poked her mount’s cheek as she approached the missing front door. “I know you dressed it up nicely, but you actually just did that ‘cause you wanted an excuse to use your breath attack again, didn’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Her eyes averted and her grievances freshly aired, she scratched the fox’s head and continued on her way.
