Chapter 278 - Cooks and Crooks X
Claire slowly straightened her back, yawning as she pushed herself out of a warm, fluffy bed. Even without fully opening her eyes, she could already tell that she was back in Cadria. The first days of spring had already passed, but the castle was still a little colder than it was in the summer. Not quite enough to bother her, given her inbuilt resistance, but chilly enough that she could easily feel the difference through her false skin.
Perhaps because of their last shared experience, the fake was giddy, readily welcoming her into her body, and even greeting her with a mental glomp. She was excited as a small child, bouncing up and down inside her mind as she begged to see the faraway land again. Alas, the request was denied with a shake of the head. Claire had a goal in mind. And she couldn’t just up and leave without attempting to see it through.
The fake was a little reluctant at first, citing the whole act’s futility, but it soon acquiesced and relinquished full control. Claire couldn’t help but agree. Even as she changed out of her nightgown and into a dress, she found herself dreading all the possible encounters. The guards had likely just wrapped up their training, given the hour. They were sure to be out and about, doing whatever they wanted on the castle’s grounds, and Durham was not the only one she wished to avoid.
She could only enviously recall her squid friend’s circumstances as she pried open the window and climbed outside. The castle was more difficult to scale than the manor, but her vector magic was more than enough to make up the difference, even with her prowess greatly diminished.
Floating unsteadily, she landed on top of the building and scampered along its slanted roof. The guards positioned across the sky were quick to take note, but while some immediately grew ripe with concern, their worries were quickly dismissed by their more seasoned peers. Had she still been alive, Lady Violet surely would have scolded anyone that got in the way of the half-snake’s climbs. And her wishes were well respected by those that still had her in recent memory.
Claire carefully scanned the castle grounds from her elevated position and plotted a route that would evade most persons of interest. She had no idea where her father was, but avoiding the barracks would steer her clear of most of the fighters she had in mind. Durham would likely still be in the library, meditating in silence while his direct reports patrolled the halls.
The gardens were to be avoided as well, as Alice was likely to be visiting them. Claire had nothing against the younger girl. In fact, she would have loved for a chance to see her, but she had no time for the resulting distraction. The longer she stayed, the more likely it was that she would be discovered.
Sprouting wings from her back, she hopped from roof to roof with all the speed and grace the fake’s body could produce. For the most part, the journey was smooth. The guards hovered nearby, in case she fell, but otherwise stayed out of her way. Better yet, no one had made any mention of sending word for her father, or any of her other family members, for that matter. And despite what some of the greener knights thought, it was every bit the right decision. She had no intention of hearing a sermon given by anyone besides her mother.
There was the rare occasion where she took Allegra’s advice as well, but that was mostly because the rabbit refused to stay silent. For a moment, Claire felt an old twitch in the back of her chest, a faint longing. It was less a set of words or sounds, and more so an intangible stream of feelings. Sadness, lament, concern, and affection. They were not her emotions, but the fake’s. And though they hadn’t quite gone through the same experiences, she was not entirely inclined to disagree.
The grand magus had always been an eccentric woman. And it was precisely said eccentricity that was the source of her charm. She always made ridiculous decisions in complete defiance of common sense and got herself in all sorts of trouble, but every time, she would keep her wits about her and power through with her head held high. Claire respected that part of her—not the whole ridiculous part, of course, but her ability to follow through on her commitments. She surely would have been willing to learn from the woman had she only been a little less naggy and annoying. It didn’t help that the witch had never been able to read the room; she always got carried away whenever her favourite topics were discussed, in spite of the other party’s disinterest.
But for all her faults and flaws, the rabbit was still the woman to have raised her following her mother’s passing. Allegra was there when her father never was. And that was why she missed her. She didn’t want to talk to her, gods forbid her ears were lectured off, but she still did want to see her. At least briefly.
Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. She hadn’t the slightest clue where she had gone in the wake of the previous king’s death. The fake had heard nothing, even after asking around. Though it was perhaps thanks to her dubious methods that she had hardly seen any results. Because she couldn’t talk, the homunculus had run around the castle pointing to an illustration that she had personally crafted. And that therein lay the problem.
The snide remark immediately earned an indignant huff from the creature in her head, but she ignored it and pressed on. After all, a few random squiggly shapes did not a rabbit witch make. The continued protest echoing through her mind was cute in a way. She almost wanted to pet the fake’s head, or perhaps tug her cheeks like she often did to her favourite cheese-coloured dog, but she refrained. Performing any such action on her own body felt ridiculous and undignified at best.
After a long trek across the rooftops, Claire finally arrived at her destination, all the way on the far end of the northern wing. It was there that the king went about his business in private and performed his duties throughout the day, and it was there that his meals would be prepared.
Her presence was certainly a surprise to the servants inside. The northern wing was meant to function as the king’s private quarters, wherein only he and his servants were allowed, but no one openly objected to her presence. Though there was much reasonable doubt—given his reputation as an invincible commander and hers as a lazy wallflower—that she would ever come close to outliving him, the lyrkress was technically her father’s designated successor.
If he was to fall, for whatever reason, she would take his place for the brief few moments in the country’s history to follow. It was her job to serve as Cadria’s final ruler, and to bring about an amicable ending for its populace as the enemy armies closed in. And to take the fall so that the Cadrian flame could one day be ignited again.
In short, her role was unchanged. In the fatherland’s eyes, she was still a sacrifice.
The mere thought was maddening. Had she been in private, she surely would have shattered her teeth with a violent grit, bloodied her hands with her fists clenched, and perhaps even pulled out her hair in a last-ditch attempt to cope with her rage. She wanted nothing more than to strangle everyone around her for daring to consider the possibility.
But she showed exactly none of that on the surface. She walked around silently instead, avoiding the various guards and maids as she carefully navigated the halls.
By following a woman with a half-empty trolley, she eventually found her way to the kitchen, where she spotted a familiar chef. Amereth was bouncing back and forth as quickly as her giant shark tail could carry her. There were six other cooks in the space, but she was personally putting everything together and watching over all her subordinates to ensure that the results met her standard of quality.
She continued fussing about for a few minutes before she noticed the guest in her domain.
“Good morning, Claire.” She hopped over after a brief delay. The way she smiled was intimidating for the uninitiated, but Claire had known, for a long, long time, that she only meant well when she flashed her teeth. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since we moved into the castle. Have you been doing well? Frank isn’t botching your meals, is he?”
Claire paused for a moment before nodding her head and opening her mouth. “I’m fine, Amereth. Never happier.”
There was a bit of a pause, with the kelpfin nearly dropping the half-frosted cake she had in her fins, but she caught herself in time to prevent the freshly baked sweet from slipping off the plate. Setting it down on the nearest countertop, she took a few breaths and finally returned her eyes to the lady whose meals she had once carefully handcrafted.
“So you really can talk again.” She pressed a fin to her apron and breathed a sigh. “I’m glad there was some truth to the rumours.”
“Only sometimes,” she said, at the fake’s behest. “It depends. On a few things.”
“Better than never,” said the shark, with a smile. “Are you here for a snack?”
“Not this time.” Claire shook her head as she reached behind her back, and after pretending to fiddle around, produced an ice-cold vial. “This is for my Father.” Its contents were a deep, saffron gold, produced by envenom and concentrated enough that even a bull moose was sure to feel its effect.
“Is that… honey?” asked the shark.
Claire shook her head. “Close. It’s royal jelly from a thrice ascended daggerwasp hive. It’s a rare Vel’khanese import, but I managed to get some through my connections.”
A half-truth. While the country of origin was certainly correctly enumerated, the product itself was not. Daggerwasps, after all, were entirely fictional beings that she had made up on the spot. In the most technical terms, the yellow-red fluid was leviathan urine, a powerful laxative and diuretic taken straight from the bladder of a legendary beast with a thousand levels. She had learned to produce it following an unfortunate incident, wherein an unorthodox attack had subjected her to its unfortunate effects.
Amereth was no fool, of course. She raised a brow when confronted with the unknown ingredient and carefully inspected it. She even popped the cork and sniffed its contents for good measure. But perhaps because it was genuinely considered a food-grade ingredient, to be used in alchemy and the like, her suspicions were soon dismissed. “Since when have you had connections?”
“Since a few months ago,” said Claire. “You would have known. If you still cooked my meals.”
The shark grimaced. “I would if I could.”
“I know.” Claire met the former vagrant with a kind smile before pointing her finger at the vial. “It’s sweet. A little bit acidic, but it’ll go well with a bitter drink.”
“Let’s see.” Amereth dipped a fin into the vial and gave it a lick. It was a choice that she would later regret, but for the time being, it had no effect. The slow-acting poison would only show up in her logs when its effect took hold. “It does seem quite pleasant. I’ll make sure to put some in your father’s breakfast.”
“Thank you, Amereth. And please don’t tell him it was from me until he’s finished it. I’d like to know his unbiased opinion.”
“Sure thing,” said the shark. “Do you want me to skip the preamble altogether? He might end up a bit suspicious, but it’s probably better than mentioning it.”
“It’ll be fine. He’s probably too busy to listen in the fir—”
The claim was cut off by a sudden motion; the whole world seemed to shift as she was lifted into the air, held by the scuff like an unintelligent pet. Claire glanced into the shark’s eyes, and nearly scoffed when she saw the familiar figure reflected within them.
“Good morning, Father.” The pricey clothing that adorned his frame was hidden beneath an equally pricey cloak. It wasn’t quite as decorated as the various silks and velvets that made up his wardrobe, but as could be seen from the runes woven into its fabric, it was a rare enchanted artifact that provided a unique ability to its wearer. And in the case of the silvery-red garment, said ability was stealth. It had perfectly silenced his footsteps and kept her from taking notice.
“Good morning, Claire. It is always a pleasure to see you so full of energy.” He restrained her arms before she could reach for her key. “Now if you will excuse us, there is a matter that we are due to discuss.”
“Please, be my guest,” said the chef. “You’re the king around here.”
Nodding, the giant moose turned around with the girl still in his grasp, and silently walked down the hall. She started to struggle as soon as the door closed behind them, kicking and scratching, but his grip remained as tough as iron.
“Let go of me.”
“I will, once we speak.”
“I have nothing to say to the likes of you.”
“Then you will remain restrained.”
Rolling her eyes, the halfbreed warped her hands into sludge and wriggled out of his grasp. She reached for her chest immediately, but a hoof caught her in the back before she could hit the ground. The fake’s body reeled and deformed from the force of the blow, breaking into a thousand pieces as it splattered against a faraway wall.
“Resorting to violence is not my intention, Claire. Do not force my hand.”
“Yeah, right.” She broke into a fit of laughter as she pulled her borrowed body together. The bits splattered all over the wall were sucked towards her core, where they were remodelled and reformed. “Violence is the only answer you know. It’s the only answer you’ve ever known.”
The older moose breathed a sigh. “Goad me all you wish. But you know just as well as I that there is hardly any other choice. You will escape, the moment I allow you to do as you please.” He stepped over and mutilated her arms with another light kick, right before they could assume their usual shape.
“And what’s wrong with that?” She tried to fix her expression, to reset it to neutral and speak in her usual tone. But she was unable. Her face was scrunched, her teeth were clenched, and her eyes were glowing with a bitter rage. “Are you so insecure that you’d rather kill your own daughter than allow her to escape your influence? I guess you would be, with a heart so shrivelled and dry.”
“I will take care not to kill you.” He crushed her arms again as he spoke. “Now tell me, Claire Augustus. Where are you?”
He gave her a calm look, equal parts expectant and disappointed. He was more sober than he had been back then, but she recognised it in a heartbeat. It was the same look that he had given her when he asked her to die.
Her rage flared. But so too did an equal dose of fear. She couldn’t stop her fingers from trembling, nor her eyes from wavering. Because it was the same cold, confident look he always wore when he was in control.
“Two strands of magic, divinity, a hint of close combat,” he said, nonchalantly. “You should have chosen two close combat classes instead. As it stands, you’ll be too reliant on your spells.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“I happened to learn it from a group of travelling merchants, several of whom sank into prayer immediately upon seeing your portrait. They weren’t as specific, of course, but they provided enough information for me to deduce your abilities. And your location as well.” He bludgeoned her arms again and locked his gaze on hers. “You are operating from Vel’khan. And in all likelihood, you have negotiated some sort of deal with Lord Pollux.”
Claire said nothing. She slowly worked away at her emotions, suppressing them in a bid to return her face to neutral. She knew that he couldn’t read her. It was her one chance to prevent a leak.
“I will not ask you to come home.”
The claim that followed nearly ruined her plans. It took every last bit of her willpower to stop herself from stiffening up and staring at him with her mouth agape.
“You will do that in due time, on your own accord.”
“I won’t.”
“There is no way to escape Vella’s web, Claire. You may not see it yet, but you were trapped from the very moment of your birth.” The older moose chuckled. “For now, I would like you to meet me in the garden on the second morning of each week. I will teach you to fight.” He stepped away once he said his piece and allowed the fake’s arms to be restored.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you would be a fool.” A self-derisive smile on his face, her father spun around and walked down the empty hall. “Choose reason, Claire, not sentiment, or you will only come to regret your mistakes.”
It appeared that he had achieved his goal. But so too had she hers. Because later that day, the moose would find his bowels so violent that the castle would lose a wall.
Chapter 278 - Cooks and Crooks X
Claire slowly straightened her back, yawning as she pushed herself out of a warm, fluffy bed. Even without fully opening her eyes, she could already tell that she was back in Cadria. The first days of spring had already passed, but the castle was still a little colder than it was in the summer. Not quite enough to bother her, given her inbuilt resistance, but chilly enough that she could easily feel the difference through her false skin.
Perhaps because of their last shared experience, the fake was giddy, readily welcoming her into her body, and even greeting her with a mental glomp. She was excited as a small child, bouncing up and down inside her mind as she begged to see the faraway land again. Alas, the request was denied with a shake of the head. Claire had a goal in mind. And she couldn’t just up and leave without attempting to see it through.
The fake was a little reluctant at first, citing the whole act’s futility, but it soon acquiesced and relinquished full control. Claire couldn’t help but agree. Even as she changed out of her nightgown and into a dress, she found herself dreading all the possible encounters. The guards had likely just wrapped up their training, given the hour. They were sure to be out and about, doing whatever they wanted on the castle’s grounds, and Durham was not the only one she wished to avoid.
She could only enviously recall her squid friend’s circumstances as she pried open the window and climbed outside. The castle was more difficult to scale than the manor, but her vector magic was more than enough to make up the difference, even with her prowess greatly diminished.
Floating unsteadily, she landed on top of the building and scampered along its slanted roof. The guards positioned across the sky were quick to take note, but while some immediately grew ripe with concern, their worries were quickly dismissed by their more seasoned peers. Had she still been alive, Lady Violet surely would have scolded anyone that got in the way of the half-snake’s climbs. And her wishes were well respected by those that still had her in recent memory.
Claire carefully scanned the castle grounds from her elevated position and plotted a route that would evade most persons of interest. She had no idea where her father was, but avoiding the barracks would steer her clear of most of the fighters she had in mind. Durham would likely still be in the library, meditating in silence while his direct reports patrolled the halls.
The gardens were to be avoided as well, as Alice was likely to be visiting them. Claire had nothing against the younger girl. In fact, she would have loved for a chance to see her, but she had no time for the resulting distraction. The longer she stayed, the more likely it was that she would be discovered.
Sprouting wings from her back, she hopped from roof to roof with all the speed and grace the fake’s body could produce. For the most part, the journey was smooth. The guards hovered nearby, in case she fell, but otherwise stayed out of her way. Better yet, no one had made any mention of sending word for her father, or any of her other family members, for that matter. And despite what some of the greener knights thought, it was every bit the right decision. She had no intention of hearing a sermon given by anyone besides her mother.
There was the rare occasion where she took Allegra’s advice as well, but that was mostly because the rabbit refused to stay silent. For a moment, Claire felt an old twitch in the back of her chest, a faint longing. It was less a set of words or sounds, and more so an intangible stream of feelings. Sadness, lament, concern, and affection. They were not her emotions, but the fake’s. And though they hadn’t quite gone through the same experiences, she was not entirely inclined to disagree.
The grand magus had always been an eccentric woman. And it was precisely said eccentricity that was the source of her charm. She always made ridiculous decisions in complete defiance of common sense and got herself in all sorts of trouble, but every time, she would keep her wits about her and power through with her head held high. Claire respected that part of her—not the whole ridiculous part, of course, but her ability to follow through on her commitments. She surely would have been willing to learn from the woman had she only been a little less naggy and annoying. It didn’t help that the witch had never been able to read the room; she always got carried away whenever her favourite topics were discussed, in spite of the other party’s disinterest.
But for all her faults and flaws, the rabbit was still the woman to have raised her following her mother’s passing. Allegra was there when her father never was. And that was why she missed her. She didn’t want to talk to her, gods forbid her ears were lectured off, but she still did want to see her. At least briefly.
Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. She hadn’t the slightest clue where she had gone in the wake of the previous king’s death. The fake had heard nothing, even after asking around. Though it was perhaps thanks to her dubious methods that she had hardly seen any results. Because she couldn’t talk, the homunculus had run around the castle pointing to an illustration that she had personally crafted. And that therein lay the problem.
The snide remark immediately earned an indignant huff from the creature in her head, but she ignored it and pressed on. After all, a few random squiggly shapes did not a rabbit witch make. The continued protest echoing through her mind was cute in a way. She almost wanted to pet the fake’s head, or perhaps tug her cheeks like she often did to her favourite cheese-coloured dog, but she refrained. Performing any such action on her own body felt ridiculous and undignified at best.
After a long trek across the rooftops, Claire finally arrived at her destination, all the way on the far end of the northern wing. It was there that the king went about his business in private and performed his duties throughout the day, and it was there that his meals would be prepared.
Her presence was certainly a surprise to the servants inside. The northern wing was meant to function as the king’s private quarters, wherein only he and his servants were allowed, but no one openly objected to her presence. Though there was much reasonable doubt—given his reputation as an invincible commander and hers as a lazy wallflower—that she would ever come close to outliving him, the lyrkress was technically her father’s designated successor.
If he was to fall, for whatever reason, she would take his place for the brief few moments in the country’s history to follow. It was her job to serve as Cadria’s final ruler, and to bring about an amicable ending for its populace as the enemy armies closed in. And to take the fall so that the Cadrian flame could one day be ignited again.
In short, her role was unchanged. In the fatherland’s eyes, she was still a sacrifice.
The mere thought was maddening. Had she been in private, she surely would have shattered her teeth with a violent grit, bloodied her hands with her fists clenched, and perhaps even pulled out her hair in a last-ditch attempt to cope with her rage. She wanted nothing more than to strangle everyone around her for daring to consider the possibility.
But she showed exactly none of that on the surface. She walked around silently instead, avoiding the various guards and maids as she carefully navigated the halls.
By following a woman with a half-empty trolley, she eventually found her way to the kitchen, where she spotted a familiar chef. Amereth was bouncing back and forth as quickly as her giant shark tail could carry her. There were six other cooks in the space, but she was personally putting everything together and watching over all her subordinates to ensure that the results met her standard of quality.
She continued fussing about for a few minutes before she noticed the guest in her domain.
“Good morning, Claire.” She hopped over after a brief delay. The way she smiled was intimidating for the uninitiated, but Claire had known, for a long, long time, that she only meant well when she flashed her teeth. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since we moved into the castle. Have you been doing well? Frank isn’t botching your meals, is he?”
Claire paused for a moment before nodding her head and opening her mouth. “I’m fine, Amereth. Never happier.”
There was a bit of a pause, with the kelpfin nearly dropping the half-frosted cake she had in her fins, but she caught herself in time to prevent the freshly baked sweet from slipping off the plate. Setting it down on the nearest countertop, she took a few breaths and finally returned her eyes to the lady whose meals she had once carefully handcrafted.
“So you really can talk again.” She pressed a fin to her apron and breathed a sigh. “I’m glad there was some truth to the rumours.”
“Only sometimes,” she said, at the fake’s behest. “It depends. On a few things.”
“Better than never,” said the shark, with a smile. “Are you here for a snack?”
“Not this time.” Claire shook her head as she reached behind her back, and after pretending to fiddle around, produced an ice-cold vial. “This is for my Father.” Its contents were a deep, saffron gold, produced by envenom and concentrated enough that even a bull moose was sure to feel its effect.
“Is that… honey?” asked the shark.
Claire shook her head. “Close. It’s royal jelly from a thrice ascended daggerwasp hive. It’s a rare Vel’khanese import, but I managed to get some through my connections.”
A half-truth. While the country of origin was certainly correctly enumerated, the product itself was not. Daggerwasps, after all, were entirely fictional beings that she had made up on the spot. In the most technical terms, the yellow-red fluid was leviathan urine, a powerful laxative and diuretic taken straight from the bladder of a legendary beast with a thousand levels. She had learned to produce it following an unfortunate incident, wherein an unorthodox attack had subjected her to its unfortunate effects.
Amereth was no fool, of course. She raised a brow when confronted with the unknown ingredient and carefully inspected it. She even popped the cork and sniffed its contents for good measure. But perhaps because it was genuinely considered a food-grade ingredient, to be used in alchemy and the like, her suspicions were soon dismissed. “Since when have you had connections?”
“Since a few months ago,” said Claire. “You would have known. If you still cooked my meals.”
The shark grimaced. “I would if I could.”
“I know.” Claire met the former vagrant with a kind smile before pointing her finger at the vial. “It’s sweet. A little bit acidic, but it’ll go well with a bitter drink.”
“Let’s see.” Amereth dipped a fin into the vial and gave it a lick. It was a choice that she would later regret, but for the time being, it had no effect. The slow-acting poison would only show up in her logs when its effect took hold. “It does seem quite pleasant. I’ll make sure to put some in your father’s breakfast.”
“Thank you, Amereth. And please don’t tell him it was from me until he’s finished it. I’d like to know his unbiased opinion.”
“Sure thing,” said the shark. “Do you want me to skip the preamble altogether? He might end up a bit suspicious, but it’s probably better than mentioning it.”
“It’ll be fine. He’s probably too busy to listen in the fir—”
The claim was cut off by a sudden motion; the whole world seemed to shift as she was lifted into the air, held by the scuff like an unintelligent pet. Claire glanced into the shark’s eyes, and nearly scoffed when she saw the familiar figure reflected within them.
“Good morning, Father.” The pricey clothing that adorned his frame was hidden beneath an equally pricey cloak. It wasn’t quite as decorated as the various silks and velvets that made up his wardrobe, but as could be seen from the runes woven into its fabric, it was a rare enchanted artifact that provided a unique ability to its wearer. And in the case of the silvery-red garment, said ability was stealth. It had perfectly silenced his footsteps and kept her from taking notice.
“Good morning, Claire. It is always a pleasure to see you so full of energy.” He restrained her arms before she could reach for her key. “Now if you will excuse us, there is a matter that we are due to discuss.”
“Please, be my guest,” said the chef. “You’re the king around here.”
Nodding, the giant moose turned around with the girl still in his grasp, and silently walked down the hall. She started to struggle as soon as the door closed behind them, kicking and scratching, but his grip remained as tough as iron.
“Let go of me.”
“I will, once we speak.”
“I have nothing to say to the likes of you.”
“Then you will remain restrained.”
Rolling her eyes, the halfbreed warped her hands into sludge and wriggled out of his grasp. She reached for her chest immediately, but a hoof caught her in the back before she could hit the ground. The fake’s body reeled and deformed from the force of the blow, breaking into a thousand pieces as it splattered against a faraway wall.
“Resorting to violence is not my intention, Claire. Do not force my hand.”
“Yeah, right.” She broke into a fit of laughter as she pulled her borrowed body together. The bits splattered all over the wall were sucked towards her core, where they were remodelled and reformed. “Violence is the only answer you know. It’s the only answer you’ve ever known.”
The older moose breathed a sigh. “Goad me all you wish. But you know just as well as I that there is hardly any other choice. You will escape, the moment I allow you to do as you please.” He stepped over and mutilated her arms with another light kick, right before they could assume their usual shape.
“And what’s wrong with that?” She tried to fix her expression, to reset it to neutral and speak in her usual tone. But she was unable. Her face was scrunched, her teeth were clenched, and her eyes were glowing with a bitter rage. “Are you so insecure that you’d rather kill your own daughter than allow her to escape your influence? I guess you would be, with a heart so shrivelled and dry.”
“I will take care not to kill you.” He crushed her arms again as he spoke. “Now tell me, Claire Augustus. Where are you?”
He gave her a calm look, equal parts expectant and disappointed. He was more sober than he had been back then, but she recognised it in a heartbeat. It was the same look that he had given her when he asked her to die.
Her rage flared. But so too did an equal dose of fear. She couldn’t stop her fingers from trembling, nor her eyes from wavering. Because it was the same cold, confident look he always wore when he was in control.
“Two strands of magic, divinity, a hint of close combat,” he said, nonchalantly. “You should have chosen two close combat classes instead. As it stands, you’ll be too reliant on your spells.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“I happened to learn it from a group of travelling merchants, several of whom sank into prayer immediately upon seeing your portrait. They weren’t as specific, of course, but they provided enough information for me to deduce your abilities. And your location as well.” He bludgeoned her arms again and locked his gaze on hers. “You are operating from Vel’khan. And in all likelihood, you have negotiated some sort of deal with Lord Pollux.”
Claire said nothing. She slowly worked away at her emotions, suppressing them in a bid to return her face to neutral. She knew that he couldn’t read her. It was her one chance to prevent a leak.
“I will not ask you to come home.”
The claim that followed nearly ruined her plans. It took every last bit of her willpower to stop herself from stiffening up and staring at him with her mouth agape.
“You will do that in due time, on your own accord.”
“I won’t.”
“There is no way to escape Vella’s web, Claire. You may not see it yet, but you were trapped from the very moment of your birth.” The older moose chuckled. “For now, I would like you to meet me in the garden on the second morning of each week. I will teach you to fight.” He stepped away once he said his piece and allowed the fake’s arms to be restored.
“And if I refuse?”
“Then you would be a fool.” A self-derisive smile on his face, her father spun around and walked down the empty hall. “Choose reason, Claire, not sentiment, or you will only come to regret your mistakes.”
It appeared that he had achieved his goal. But so too had she hers. Because later that day, the moose would find his bowels so violent that the castle would lose a wall.
