Chapter 14
The chateau from which Countess Marie Bourbon ruled was perhaps the grandest building Mara had ever seen. Surrounded by high hedges, interspaced with trees along the wall’s length, the expansive grounds were opulent. They held many finely maintained bushes, hedge mazes and statues of what Mara presumed were dignitaries from Idhara’s past. Possibly present, given many of them were vampires. The centrepiece of these gardens, barely visible from the high wrought iron gates, was a stone fountain. Upon the central plinth, the cold edifice of either a vampire or elvish woman stared challengingly at all those who would enter. Faced with such grandeur, Mara clutched the letter Renaud had received and her papers as a shield.
Situated just outside the gates, a small alcove had been carved into the thick stone pillars that flanked the gate. Within, the bored-seeming member of the Idharan army emerged. From her face, she clearly intended on shooing them away but quickly changed tack seeing the masked mage. As if possessed by sudden propriety, the soldier smartly saluted and dusted the crumbs from her crimson dress uniform. She wore thick black boots, trousers and white gloves covering the hand that rested upon her sabre. Mara had heard tales of the Chevaliers and their bravery in the final days of the war, leading an almost suicidal relief charge on Bortun.
“We’re here to see Countess Bourbon. She is expecting Renaud, but he unfortunately cannot make it just yet.” Mara smiled after returning the salute in the Gardish style, as she’d been trained. Idharans favoured an arm across the chest while Gardish soldiers held their palm outwards against the brow. The guard nodded at this statement, holding out a hand and asking affirmation. As she checked the paperwork, an eyebrow was quirked at the job descriptions upon them. “Due to the recent unwanted celebrity, Renaud thought it best we don’t attract attention.” Mara added, her voice raising slightly at the guard’s dour expression.
“Any irregularities must be passed by the countess. I can’t risk doing otherwise, you understand.” The guard placated, partially turning to her post which held a round stone with a face carved into it. A speaking stone, which allowed one who did not know magical messaging to do so. Incredibly useful on the battlefield, even with their limited range. Mara’s envy twinged once more, remembering how her classmates had perfected its more powerful version whilst she barely managed a single word.
“Now you don’t have to do that.” Solvi intervened with a bright smile, prompting the woman to turn around, challenge leaving her throat before realising just how tall Solvi was. No mere coblini by any stretch, the guard still only managed eye level with Solvi’s throat. Fred would most likely need a step to meet her eye. “You’ve done a good job. But look at my compatriot. Can you imagine dressing some random Gardish girl up, hauling her here only to get into the mansion?” Solvi spoke incredulously, Fred giving her an almost imperceptible prod in the back. Solvi seemed to reel back her efforts, standing a few feet away from the flustered guard.
“Ver Fatuil’s unique appearance aside, I don’t know the rest of you. The skitti especially. I heard stories about how tricky they can be.” The guard affirmed, Fred’s prodding hand jerking with sudden anger. Yet not a trace of it showed on his face, which remained impressively stoic to Mara’s eye. Solvi however seemed undeterred by the guard’s statement, instead shifting to a more delicate, friendly posture than the intimidating one she’d seen before.
“They certainly can be. Although if not knowing me is the problem, perhaps you’d like to?” Solvi flirted as her confident eyes met the guard’s. The reaction was instantaneous. The guard’s cheeks suddenly flushed, a hand brushing up against the earring dangling from her left ear. A small blue crystal that glowed gently in the low afternoon light. Fred took this as his cue, opening the gate with a roll of his eye. The guard weakly tried to voice protest, only to find Solvi’s expectant impression again. Arthur dragged Mara through the gate by the shoulders whilst the pair talked in hushed tones. Solvi even used her cloak to block the wind for her companion, laying it on thick from Mara’s perspective. Angrily craning her neck around the pillar wasn’t the best vantage point, in hindsight.
The gravel paths that the party now walked led them to the fountain, branching off into approaches to the house and other segments of the gardens. There, as if summoned by his purpose alone, a coblini man stood with his snout upturned and a slim book under his arm. His scaled body had been cared for so diligently that their dull bronze colour had a sheen, while the tufts of feathers that were analogous to hair were delicately arranged. In his small, three-fingered hand he held a silver watch which he observed with a contentious expression. Upon arrival, the party awkwardly stood before the man who could not have been scarcely taller than Fred was.
“Twenty minutes past the hour. The countess does not like to be kept waiting, least of all by her sister. I assume she has imposed herself upon you?” The man asked, adjusting the tartan he wore over his tailored suit as he returned the watch to its pocket. Noting the confused, introspective party for a few moments, the coblini man seemed to recognize his mistake. “Ah. Apologies, she is known for her japes and pranks. My name is Geoffrey, the butler of the house.” The coblini added, before pointing directly above and behind the party. “That is Duchess Madeline.” Geoffrey indicated, causing the party to whip about to see a small bat flapping discreetly behind them. It swooped low over their heads, Fred batting at it with a hand before it landed upon the shoulder of the statue atop the fountain. With an elegant forward flip, the form of an adult humanoid emerged seemingly from thin air dressed in the baggy trousers, work boots and billowing shirt of a sailor. A fact that irritated the Coblini, who wore a defeated expression.
“The courtiers call me Madeline. My name is Maddie.” The woman smirked, tossing her long curling locks of dark hair over her shoulder as she reached out a hand for Mara to shake. Automatically, Mara shook the other woman’s hand while her eyes, thankfully covered, did not stray from the elongated fangs that rested within this woman’s smile. Arthur came forward to shake her hand, returning her beaming expression with surprising warmth. Clearly, Maddie thought so. “A cleric of Sirona giving me the time of day? My, things must have changed in temple since I was a neophyte!” The woman chuckled, standing upright and casting her eyes to Geoffrey. The coblini returned her gaze with a courteous smile, the shorter snout making it possible for coblini to mimic humanoid expressions without threat.
“Many of my contemporaries may act like they know the will of Sirona, but I would never be so presumptuous. If the Lady did not wish for your existence, then you simply wouldn’t.” Arthur replied in kind, attracting a wink from Maddie who soon after clapped her hands together and began walking towards the mansion, followed by a beleaguered Geoffrey regretting his loss of the situation. He called after Maddie, who seemed not to hear him as she called back.
“My sister can be a bit intimidating but don’t worry! She enjoys the novelty of guests!” Maddie shouted as she strode up the surprising number of stairs to the front door. Such as the splendour of the manor they entreated to enter that Maddie stood well above their heads on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. As the rest of the group caught up to her, Fred awkwardly attempting to climb the bannisters rather than the stairs to the balcony, Maddie turned and twisted the ring handles of two great wooden doors. As they swung inward, allowing a flood of warm orange light to highlight them, Mara had to admire the carved allegs that stood, roaring at the world beyond. Each paw clutched a brazier which the industrious Geoffrey lit as he passed.
As they filed into the entrance hall, Maddie called out to her sister. Mara was in awe of the opulence on display. The rich, wood-panelled walls carved with Bourbon heraldry, the golden candelabra that hung from the ceiling and the warm crackling fireplace came together to make cosy a space where low tables served drinks of all kinds. Many foods had been laid out with racks of ribs, soups, skewers and dishes so exotic Mara could not name them. Arthur and Fred wasted no time picking their favourites, much to Geoffrey’s dismay. But he could not stop them before his mistress appeared atop a beautiful grand staircase that granted access to the upper wings of the house. She looked every inch the countess she was, draped in jewellery and a fine dress that clung to her figure. Her fingers were adorned with rings and a single silver finger cuff on her left index finger. Mara could not be sure, but she felt magical emanations from the cuff and grinned to herself under the mask. Marie Bourbon’s stern red eyes were framed by flaming coppery curls kept under tight control by ties and pins aplenty.
“Mr. Béarnaise they are guests in my house. They shall be fed and watered. Instruct the cooks to prepare additional food for the banquet. It would not do for them to fill up on hors d’oeuvres.” The countess instructed in a confusing mix of imperious yet friendly tones that attracted a head tilt from Mara. Yet Geoffrey bowed his head and obediently exited to see his mistress’ orders done. All the while, Marie herself descended the staircase and embraced her sister, warm smile gracing her features before she turned her attention to the party. With an analytical gaze, she sized each up individual. She seemed, to Mara, less impressed than anticipated. “Ah, but where is Renaud? His protegee was not who I was expecting to greet first!” Marie spoke with a light, even welcoming tone yet it still stung Mara’s pride. Pride that was already smarting from Solvi’s sudden new friend.
“Renaud wanted to see that Idhara was represented in the room that holds the Crook.” Mara answered with a stilted voice, attracting a look from Fred between bites of miniature sandwiches. Marie regarded her with a confident stare, circling her like a vulture as the sentence hung between them. Maddie pursed her lips, as if pondering something.
“Strange. I am no mage, but I have a talent for these things. Renaud commands a room when he enters. Lorana was like standing before a maelstrom. But you? I feel nothing. How can that be?” Marie’s words were said with curiosity yet had a bite to them from insight alone. Mara had to confess she did not have the presence or command mages of significant talent did. “Why is it that, but for Renaud’s word, I would think you a regular woman?” Marie added, coming to stand directly before Mara’s affixed stare with a tilted head.
“It’s my curse to understand magic but not wield it particularly well.” Mara laughed awkwardly, taking a step from the curious countess. The answer seemed satisfactory for the noble who nodded and almost dismissively moved her attention to Arthur, commenting on his strength of mind and body. Mara could definitely attest to that. Between the two of them, Arthur was probably the superior magic user as well. She shrunk in place, shoulders dropping.
The evening progressed then as Mara had expected it to with Marie trading stories with the group from her extensive life as a navy officer and her retirement since. Even Fred managed to regale the countess with selectively edited stories from his own past. Mara had sat herself in an armchair by the fire, quite content it seemed not to eat or engage with the group. It was only when Maddie peeled herself away from the gathering that Mara resumed paying attention after toying with something in her bag. A noise of frustration caused Maddie to settle herself in the armchair opposite, a large grin splitting her features.
“Pay my sister no mind. She has insight but not wisdom.” Maddie observed as she took a swig from the audacious goblet she’d found somewhere. Mara’s mind briefly wondered whether it was the vampire’s beverage of choice or simply wine. Blood was so core to their existence. What was she thinking when choosing that particular requirement? “Your mind is inquisitive. The only trait required to be a mage.” Maddie added, seemingly reading Mara’s thoughts. The mask was meant to prevent strangers knowing her mind. Somehow, this woman had peered beyond the veneer to the woman beneath. Even so, Mara couldn’t stop the derisive scoff escaping her lips.
“Your sister is right. Despite appearances, Renaud is my junior in years. Compare our talents. He is able to work wonders without so much as a whisper of burnt flesh. I can’t even sustain fire bolts.” Mara replied, rebuffing the sentiment almost forcefully. Evidently, there was some innate quality or disposition that created the greatest mages. Lorana had told her definitively that this was not the case, yet Mara could find no other explanation. She knew the formulations, the arcanography and the ratios of input to output. Why then did she struggle so? Maddie’s expression shifted as she considered Mara’s words, staring into the contents of her goblet. Mara was somewhat afraid that she’d offended one of their hosts.
“You are both my junior in years. The reason Renaud, Merddyn and Lorana are so talented is simply because they understand something about the Arcane that you do not. It is not something to be learned from a book or gleaned in a lab. It must be experienced.” Maddie spoke with a dignity and authority that had been absent from the persona so far presented. She leaned forward as she spoke, holding her hand open. Without gesture, murmur nor component, a fire sprung to life in her palm. “You speak with another’s voice. Meditate on what it is to find your own. Your friend can most likely help.” The vampire’s confident smile returned as she gestured with her flameless hand behind Mara. She then stood herself up, returning to the others as Mara leaned around the armchair to see if Solvi had returned.
Standing behind her was her old companion, the staunchest of her friends. Her saviour in times of need. He floated gently in a dim corner of the entrance hall, two blazing orange eyes dulled with an expression of shame. Wordlessly, Mara gestured for him to join her and obediently he sat himself opposite her, fingers interlaced.
“I’m worried she can see you. Aside from the recent malfunctions, you’ve been quite stable all things considered.” Mara observed with a deceptively neutral tone, the leather of her gloves creaking against the leather of the armchair. The ghostly man seemed mortified, preparing for the inevitable telling off he would surely receive. “Strangely enough, you’re still bound to me. Which makes your instructions regarding this little toy rather perplexing.” Mara continued, removing Frigg’s sickle from her bag and analysing it. Her critical eye passed over the modifications to the etchings, the new bindings along the handle and most importantly the ruby that now sat in its pommel. Without a second’s breath, the ghost immediately lashed out a hand and attempted to grab it. Mara allowed herself a small chuckle at his antics, placing the sickle back within the bag. “Funnily enough, I made sure you couldn’t touch it. Because you’ve proven to be a duplicitous cad before now. Remember the trick you pulled in Annun?” Mara’s tone became accusatory, the ghostly man fidgeting with the fur hem of his robe. The expression of shame shifted to indignance.
“That was to your benefit! I give you knowledge, you give me the means to escape. That was the agreement!” The ghost retorted like a cannon, content to speak louder around those who couldn’t normally hear him. “Saving you from Frigg, from Annun and telling you where my spell book is has all been to your benefit. Babysitting you has become a full-time occupation!” The ghost added while threatening to transform into a full rant. Mara silenced him by holding a hand up. A hand that swiftly turned to a pointing finger directed at Maddie’s deliberately turned back. “Sorry if my amnesia is inconveniencing you.” The ghost whispered harshly, the flames in his eyes burning brighter with anger. Mara also leaned forward, not content to let the ghost have his tantrum alone.
“Remind me, which psychotic elvish nationalist has your book again? Your amnesia excuse has run its course too. I heard you mentioned someone called Vanya.” Mara quipped, relaxing back in her seat with legs crossed. “Secrets I am content with. Lies, however, I cannot abide.”
“It is truly a wonder how your mind doesn’t implode with sheer hypocrisy. You lie about me, and you lie about your desires. Even your principles. The only consistent thing about you is your mask.” The ghost replied after a somewhat long pause. Mara drew breath in anger, but the ghost held a hand up just as she had done moments before. “You will listen to me. Throughout my undeath I have caught mere snippets of who I once was. Though I remember Vanya, Cato and Darius, the man in those memories is foreign to me. If I were to report falsehoods to you what then? The thoughtless Gardish and their worship of the Yandites would never conduct an unbiased history of themselves. I don’t want to be the villain of this story.” The ghost’s voice choked, though he had no vocal cords to constrict. Mara felt sympathy for him in that moment but dared not show it. He seemed to have exhausted his misgivings on the matter of his history and Mara could only think to convey a single sentiment to him.
“No matter how terrible or unflattering the truth may be, we have to face it. We mortals are blessed with the wisdom to accept cruel truths and the power to alter them. Even if you were a monster five centuries ago, you are not that man now.” Mara spoke with conviction, her voice coloured with a rare passion. “Redemption is a hard path to walk. But I believe most can make it to the end.” She added, cutting off the ghost’s retort before he could voice it. He shook his head, regarding her with a condescending look. His opinions on her naivety aside, Mara took the sickle from her bag and placed it under his nose for inspection. As he leaned forward to pass judgement on the runes, she’d painstakingly carved into it, his vision was hooked upwards to the space behind Mara’s chair.
Standing behind Mara, just outside her eyeline, Solvi had emerged from the cold night. She and the guard had only escaped when the cavalcade of fine guests had arrived at the manor for the evening’s festivities. They now filed in through the open doors, all while Mara obliviously toyed with the sickle. Judging from her noises of dissatisfaction, she had assumed the work was met with disapproval. Solvi had frozen with the guard on the crook of her arm, staring at the ghost with a mixture of contempt and confusion. After a moment, Mara looked around to see what the ghost was staring at.
“Ah Solvi, I was just asking the ghost what it wanted.” Mara lied as if the hypocrisy did not phase her. She made an ingratiating gesture before making a dismissive one towards the ghost, who dutifully stood and appeared as if he intended to walk through the fireplace and leave them be.
“Oh no. Not this time. Outside.” Solvi breathed, nostrils flaring with barely contained rage. Mara was taken aback and, in her shock, followed the pointing finger to the outside courtyard where the fountain had been lit with myriad candles. “You too, spectre. I will not have you escaping.” Solvi added with such force that even the ghost, in all his arrogance, complied. Solvi sat her date for the evening down and beckoned Arthur and Fred to her from their contented position recounting their exploits at the temple. Arthur seemed particularly aggrieved to be separated from a gaggle of women paying rapt attention to his tales of bravery. It probably helped that Arthur was hardly worst looking of their troupe.
The trio then joined Mara and her ghostly companion. The pair had settled within the sheltered wooden walls of a gazebo not frequented by the other guests. Thankfully, it seemed they were more a sideshow than the main attraction. As Solvi and her cadre entered the small wooden shelter, vampires stalked gracefully by discussing politics and commerce with an insulated arrogance about them. Mara should fit right in, Solvi thought viciously. She soon stamped on that impulse, however. Now was not the time for anger. Now was the time for answers.
“You and your cursed friend are going to tell me exactly what’s going on.” Solvi ordered as she sat down. Her arms were crossed yet she had quite deliberately placed the Guillotine on the doorframe. A silent threat not to Mara but perhaps to the ghost, given its preternatural powers. “Perhaps more importantly, you’re going to tell me why you’re lying about it.” Solvi appended, unable to keep the hurt from entering her voice. Fred and Arthur looked to each other with confusion before regarding Solvi as if she were unwell. Solvi met their stares defiantly, almost expecting their challenge.
“Ghost, please manifest.” Mara requested, a small trail of black mist flitting from her hand to the air near the portion of bench Arthur sat upon. Almost immediately, the flaming orbs of the ghost’s eyes breached into the visible world followed by his incredibly disapproving face. “Seems you’re more like your mother than you realise.” Mara observed with deliberate hostility. Solvi resisted her anger, knowing full well what Mara’s game was. When no reaction was forthcoming, the mage seemed to concede defeat and looked to her companion with a challenging air that he simply rolled his eyes at.
“I think my name is Armin. I think I was a necromancer. I think I was born some seven hundred years ago. I think my family were butchered at the dawn of the Yandite Empire.” Armin recounted with a tedious expression, toying with the hem of his robes as he did so. This did not seem to satisfy Solvi, who lifted her chin sceptically. “I do not know any of this for certain because like most people who die and pass on, I lost my memories.” Armin explained with such spiteful condescension that Mara was sure he’d been a teacher in his past life. Yet unlike Mara, he was not restrained by the threat of poverty if he allowed his temper off its leash. She doubted the Guillotine was a true threat. At least, she hoped it was.
“Impossible. Ghosts are the spirits of those who refuse to move on. Nobody returns from Annun.” Arthur spoke with such conviction that Mara believed him for a moment, Fred sounding his agreement. Fred did not know much of the gods or the frightful weaves they’d constructed, but he knew that the dead did not return. Their meat, their bones and the traces of who they once were could be leveraged by necromancers but the hereafter was not for mortal meddling. “Which makes you, of course, a demon that has no flesh.” Arthur’s tone turned considerably more threatening as he clutched his armlet. Armin didn’t seem to take his threat very seriously, even laughing at the man’s assertion. Mara impotently passed a hand through his shoulder in an attempt to stop him.
“Given that I’ve done it twice, that’s not really true is it, Arthur?” Mara asked with a decidedly more ingratiating tone than the one she’d used for Solvi. “I found Armin, as he wishes to call himself, on my first visit. As I was slowly succumbing to necrotic poisoning, he manipulated Annun to give me a path out.” Mara spoke fearfully, fists tightening on her thighs as she did so. The memories, even so distant, were painful. Her recent sojourn had turned the dull, dusky glimpses of memory to frightening realism. Had the voice been there that time as well? She took a deep breath. “I agreed to take him with me. It was the least I could do for such an act of kindness.” Mara smiled over to Armin then, as impotent as the gesture was. Armin laid a spectral hand on her shoulder with a boyish grin and a wink, attracting a scornful scoff from Solvi.
“Where was your mother in all this? Toying with the fabric of reality is hardly what a young shaman should be engaging in.” Solvi questioned as if expecting yet another lie from Mara. She could hardly blame her companion. She had done much to trample on the faith Solvi had placed in her. “Your rescue of me. Was that a lie, too? Did Armin do all the work as well?” She accused insistently. More insistent than either Fred or Arthur deemed necessary. Wisely, perhaps, the pair silently agreed to allow it to play out.
“My mother and father are good people. But I was young and brilliant. And happy.” Mara remembered with a nostalgic tinge to her voice, as memories of the sunny Ruran countryside flooded back to her. Edmund, her human friend and his jar of frogspawn. Lyra her first love. Then the memories soured, a coiling sob escaping her throat. She could not answer the second question, which Solvi found mightily convenient. She stared at Mara with uncharacteristically cold eyes, summoning the memories of her mother to guard her against these manipulations.
“This can’t be all there is, Ghost. I know what happens after, please. Spare someone. Anyone.” Armin iterated in a dispassionate tone, the fires within his sockets burning as tiny pinpricks of light in the dark. “I cast the spells. I sent those vampires into a frenzy.” Armin growled, his voice boiling with a furious condemnation. Solvi shrank back, blindsided by the man’s sudden change of tone. “You still breathe because Mara willed it. Were it up to me, the primitive culture that spawned you would have had their justice.” Armin spat, standing and moving closer to Solvi who grasped her weapon with a dreadful glare. “I am better for having known her. If you cannot say the same, then why are you here?” The ghost challenged, not seeming to register fear of the weapon any longer.
“I’m here because I have to protect her. From Renaud, from monsters, from Ranva and, it seems, you.” Solvi answered, her voice suffused with emotion. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to speak from the heart. The Guillotine, inert since Solvi had first laid hands on it, rattled in her hand. Solvi did not seem to notice. “You heard her. She was happy before him, you, all of it! When she was in Lemuria, I saw the real Mara. She means everything to me! In spite of her infuriating, idiotic ways.” Solvi confessed with such resolution that Armin took a step back, his eyebrows raised. The surprise was but temporary, however. A devilish grin curled his features as he closed the distance once more, defiantly staring up into the face of the taller woman.
“I was in the mask in Lemuria. I heard everything she did.” Armin began innocently, tracing his hand through the air with a trail of black mist following suit. “You didn’t follow her around like a lovesick puppy or condescend orders to her. You got on with your job, hoping she’d notice your affections from afar.” Armin chuckled. It was a sinister sound given the depths of his voice. “Sorry, darling, but Renaud is the mind reader. Maybe she was happy because you’d lost interest.” The ghost accused before dodging a slap from Solvi instinctively. He righted himself only to dodge backwards as another slap came his way. Solvi’s fury at his seemingly trained reflexes intensified as she hefted the Guillotine. The intended strike passed through the cloud of black mist where once he’d been, his taunting laughter echoing into whatever pocket of reality ghosts sequestered themselves in.
Arthur grabbed Solvi’s weapon, wrestling it from her agitated grip and pushing her back. He searched for Mara, hoping to ensure she was unharmed and relatively calm. He did not envy the mage’s position. Even so, he condemned the string of lies she’d been telling. As his eyes came to rest on the seat Mara had been occupying, he found naught but a stuffed blampie in her place.
With sudden desperation he called for order, pointing out the missing Mara. Fred turned his whiskered features toward the seat. With a shrug he lit his pipe. Solvi followed Arthur’s pointing finger to the empty chair. Her expression changed from anger to sorrow to abject fury. The orsan woman’s shoulders flexed before she became stony and resolute.
“Find her yourself. I’m not dealing with her games anymore.” Solvi grunted, hefting the Guillotine over her shoulder. “Do it fast. Looks like snow.” Solvi observed spitefully, looking up to the sky as she walked towards the interior of the manor. Arthur, rather than condemn her or shout, turned his gaze away with shame. Fred stood himself up and tipped the smouldering embers of his pipe onto the ground.
“Dysfunctional lot, n’ they?” Fred sighed as he twisted his boot on the ashes. “She’ll catch ‘er death out there. ‘Specially if the Army finds ‘er first.” The skitti man advised as he began buttoning up his coat. Arthur agreed, pondering how she’d managed to slip out without so much as a whisper.
Chapter 14
The chateau from which Countess Marie Bourbon ruled was perhaps the grandest building Mara had ever seen. Surrounded by high hedges, interspaced with trees along the wall’s length, the expansive grounds were opulent. They held many finely maintained bushes, hedge mazes and statues of what Mara presumed were dignitaries from Idhara’s past. Possibly present, given many of them were vampires. The centrepiece of these gardens, barely visible from the high wrought iron gates, was a stone fountain. Upon the central plinth, the cold edifice of either a vampire or elvish woman stared challengingly at all those who would enter. Faced with such grandeur, Mara clutched the letter Renaud had received and her papers as a shield.
Situated just outside the gates, a small alcove had been carved into the thick stone pillars that flanked the gate. Within, the bored-seeming member of the Idharan army emerged. From her face, she clearly intended on shooing them away but quickly changed tack seeing the masked mage. As if possessed by sudden propriety, the soldier smartly saluted and dusted the crumbs from her crimson dress uniform. She wore thick black boots, trousers and white gloves covering the hand that rested upon her sabre. Mara had heard tales of the Chevaliers and their bravery in the final days of the war, leading an almost suicidal relief charge on Bortun.
“We’re here to see Countess Bourbon. She is expecting Renaud, but he unfortunately cannot make it just yet.” Mara smiled after returning the salute in the Gardish style, as she’d been trained. Idharans favoured an arm across the chest while Gardish soldiers held their palm outwards against the brow. The guard nodded at this statement, holding out a hand and asking affirmation. As she checked the paperwork, an eyebrow was quirked at the job descriptions upon them. “Due to the recent unwanted celebrity, Renaud thought it best we don’t attract attention.” Mara added, her voice raising slightly at the guard’s dour expression.
“Any irregularities must be passed by the countess. I can’t risk doing otherwise, you understand.” The guard placated, partially turning to her post which held a round stone with a face carved into it. A speaking stone, which allowed one who did not know magical messaging to do so. Incredibly useful on the battlefield, even with their limited range. Mara’s envy twinged once more, remembering how her classmates had perfected its more powerful version whilst she barely managed a single word.
“Now you don’t have to do that.” Solvi intervened with a bright smile, prompting the woman to turn around, challenge leaving her throat before realising just how tall Solvi was. No mere coblini by any stretch, the guard still only managed eye level with Solvi’s throat. Fred would most likely need a step to meet her eye. “You’ve done a good job. But look at my compatriot. Can you imagine dressing some random Gardish girl up, hauling her here only to get into the mansion?” Solvi spoke incredulously, Fred giving her an almost imperceptible prod in the back. Solvi seemed to reel back her efforts, standing a few feet away from the flustered guard.
“Ver Fatuil’s unique appearance aside, I don’t know the rest of you. The skitti especially. I heard stories about how tricky they can be.” The guard affirmed, Fred’s prodding hand jerking with sudden anger. Yet not a trace of it showed on his face, which remained impressively stoic to Mara’s eye. Solvi however seemed undeterred by the guard’s statement, instead shifting to a more delicate, friendly posture than the intimidating one she’d seen before.
“They certainly can be. Although if not knowing me is the problem, perhaps you’d like to?” Solvi flirted as her confident eyes met the guard’s. The reaction was instantaneous. The guard’s cheeks suddenly flushed, a hand brushing up against the earring dangling from her left ear. A small blue crystal that glowed gently in the low afternoon light. Fred took this as his cue, opening the gate with a roll of his eye. The guard weakly tried to voice protest, only to find Solvi’s expectant impression again. Arthur dragged Mara through the gate by the shoulders whilst the pair talked in hushed tones. Solvi even used her cloak to block the wind for her companion, laying it on thick from Mara’s perspective. Angrily craning her neck around the pillar wasn’t the best vantage point, in hindsight.
The gravel paths that the party now walked led them to the fountain, branching off into approaches to the house and other segments of the gardens. There, as if summoned by his purpose alone, a coblini man stood with his snout upturned and a slim book under his arm. His scaled body had been cared for so diligently that their dull bronze colour had a sheen, while the tufts of feathers that were analogous to hair were delicately arranged. In his small, three-fingered hand he held a silver watch which he observed with a contentious expression. Upon arrival, the party awkwardly stood before the man who could not have been scarcely taller than Fred was.
“Twenty minutes past the hour. The countess does not like to be kept waiting, least of all by her sister. I assume she has imposed herself upon you?” The man asked, adjusting the tartan he wore over his tailored suit as he returned the watch to its pocket. Noting the confused, introspective party for a few moments, the coblini man seemed to recognize his mistake. “Ah. Apologies, she is known for her japes and pranks. My name is Geoffrey, the butler of the house.” The coblini added, before pointing directly above and behind the party. “That is Duchess Madeline.” Geoffrey indicated, causing the party to whip about to see a small bat flapping discreetly behind them. It swooped low over their heads, Fred batting at it with a hand before it landed upon the shoulder of the statue atop the fountain. With an elegant forward flip, the form of an adult humanoid emerged seemingly from thin air dressed in the baggy trousers, work boots and billowing shirt of a sailor. A fact that irritated the Coblini, who wore a defeated expression.
“The courtiers call me Madeline. My name is Maddie.” The woman smirked, tossing her long curling locks of dark hair over her shoulder as she reached out a hand for Mara to shake. Automatically, Mara shook the other woman’s hand while her eyes, thankfully covered, did not stray from the elongated fangs that rested within this woman’s smile. Arthur came forward to shake her hand, returning her beaming expression with surprising warmth. Clearly, Maddie thought so. “A cleric of Sirona giving me the time of day? My, things must have changed in temple since I was a neophyte!” The woman chuckled, standing upright and casting her eyes to Geoffrey. The coblini returned her gaze with a courteous smile, the shorter snout making it possible for coblini to mimic humanoid expressions without threat.
“Many of my contemporaries may act like they know the will of Sirona, but I would never be so presumptuous. If the Lady did not wish for your existence, then you simply wouldn’t.” Arthur replied in kind, attracting a wink from Maddie who soon after clapped her hands together and began walking towards the mansion, followed by a beleaguered Geoffrey regretting his loss of the situation. He called after Maddie, who seemed not to hear him as she called back.
“My sister can be a bit intimidating but don’t worry! She enjoys the novelty of guests!” Maddie shouted as she strode up the surprising number of stairs to the front door. Such as the splendour of the manor they entreated to enter that Maddie stood well above their heads on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. As the rest of the group caught up to her, Fred awkwardly attempting to climb the bannisters rather than the stairs to the balcony, Maddie turned and twisted the ring handles of two great wooden doors. As they swung inward, allowing a flood of warm orange light to highlight them, Mara had to admire the carved allegs that stood, roaring at the world beyond. Each paw clutched a brazier which the industrious Geoffrey lit as he passed.
As they filed into the entrance hall, Maddie called out to her sister. Mara was in awe of the opulence on display. The rich, wood-panelled walls carved with Bourbon heraldry, the golden candelabra that hung from the ceiling and the warm crackling fireplace came together to make cosy a space where low tables served drinks of all kinds. Many foods had been laid out with racks of ribs, soups, skewers and dishes so exotic Mara could not name them. Arthur and Fred wasted no time picking their favourites, much to Geoffrey’s dismay. But he could not stop them before his mistress appeared atop a beautiful grand staircase that granted access to the upper wings of the house. She looked every inch the countess she was, draped in jewellery and a fine dress that clung to her figure. Her fingers were adorned with rings and a single silver finger cuff on her left index finger. Mara could not be sure, but she felt magical emanations from the cuff and grinned to herself under the mask. Marie Bourbon’s stern red eyes were framed by flaming coppery curls kept under tight control by ties and pins aplenty.
“Mr. Béarnaise they are guests in my house. They shall be fed and watered. Instruct the cooks to prepare additional food for the banquet. It would not do for them to fill up on hors d’oeuvres.” The countess instructed in a confusing mix of imperious yet friendly tones that attracted a head tilt from Mara. Yet Geoffrey bowed his head and obediently exited to see his mistress’ orders done. All the while, Marie herself descended the staircase and embraced her sister, warm smile gracing her features before she turned her attention to the party. With an analytical gaze, she sized each up individual. She seemed, to Mara, less impressed than anticipated. “Ah, but where is Renaud? His protegee was not who I was expecting to greet first!” Marie spoke with a light, even welcoming tone yet it still stung Mara’s pride. Pride that was already smarting from Solvi’s sudden new friend.
“Renaud wanted to see that Idhara was represented in the room that holds the Crook.” Mara answered with a stilted voice, attracting a look from Fred between bites of miniature sandwiches. Marie regarded her with a confident stare, circling her like a vulture as the sentence hung between them. Maddie pursed her lips, as if pondering something.
“Strange. I am no mage, but I have a talent for these things. Renaud commands a room when he enters. Lorana was like standing before a maelstrom. But you? I feel nothing. How can that be?” Marie’s words were said with curiosity yet had a bite to them from insight alone. Mara had to confess she did not have the presence or command mages of significant talent did. “Why is it that, but for Renaud’s word, I would think you a regular woman?” Marie added, coming to stand directly before Mara’s affixed stare with a tilted head.
“It’s my curse to understand magic but not wield it particularly well.” Mara laughed awkwardly, taking a step from the curious countess. The answer seemed satisfactory for the noble who nodded and almost dismissively moved her attention to Arthur, commenting on his strength of mind and body. Mara could definitely attest to that. Between the two of them, Arthur was probably the superior magic user as well. She shrunk in place, shoulders dropping.
The evening progressed then as Mara had expected it to with Marie trading stories with the group from her extensive life as a navy officer and her retirement since. Even Fred managed to regale the countess with selectively edited stories from his own past. Mara had sat herself in an armchair by the fire, quite content it seemed not to eat or engage with the group. It was only when Maddie peeled herself away from the gathering that Mara resumed paying attention after toying with something in her bag. A noise of frustration caused Maddie to settle herself in the armchair opposite, a large grin splitting her features.
“Pay my sister no mind. She has insight but not wisdom.” Maddie observed as she took a swig from the audacious goblet she’d found somewhere. Mara’s mind briefly wondered whether it was the vampire’s beverage of choice or simply wine. Blood was so core to their existence. What was she thinking when choosing that particular requirement? “Your mind is inquisitive. The only trait required to be a mage.” Maddie added, seemingly reading Mara’s thoughts. The mask was meant to prevent strangers knowing her mind. Somehow, this woman had peered beyond the veneer to the woman beneath. Even so, Mara couldn’t stop the derisive scoff escaping her lips.
“Your sister is right. Despite appearances, Renaud is my junior in years. Compare our talents. He is able to work wonders without so much as a whisper of burnt flesh. I can’t even sustain fire bolts.” Mara replied, rebuffing the sentiment almost forcefully. Evidently, there was some innate quality or disposition that created the greatest mages. Lorana had told her definitively that this was not the case, yet Mara could find no other explanation. She knew the formulations, the arcanography and the ratios of input to output. Why then did she struggle so? Maddie’s expression shifted as she considered Mara’s words, staring into the contents of her goblet. Mara was somewhat afraid that she’d offended one of their hosts.
“You are both my junior in years. The reason Renaud, Merddyn and Lorana are so talented is simply because they understand something about the Arcane that you do not. It is not something to be learned from a book or gleaned in a lab. It must be experienced.” Maddie spoke with a dignity and authority that had been absent from the persona so far presented. She leaned forward as she spoke, holding her hand open. Without gesture, murmur nor component, a fire sprung to life in her palm. “You speak with another’s voice. Meditate on what it is to find your own. Your friend can most likely help.” The vampire’s confident smile returned as she gestured with her flameless hand behind Mara. She then stood herself up, returning to the others as Mara leaned around the armchair to see if Solvi had returned.
Standing behind her was her old companion, the staunchest of her friends. Her saviour in times of need. He floated gently in a dim corner of the entrance hall, two blazing orange eyes dulled with an expression of shame. Wordlessly, Mara gestured for him to join her and obediently he sat himself opposite her, fingers interlaced.
“I’m worried she can see you. Aside from the recent malfunctions, you’ve been quite stable all things considered.” Mara observed with a deceptively neutral tone, the leather of her gloves creaking against the leather of the armchair. The ghostly man seemed mortified, preparing for the inevitable telling off he would surely receive. “Strangely enough, you’re still bound to me. Which makes your instructions regarding this little toy rather perplexing.” Mara continued, removing Frigg’s sickle from her bag and analysing it. Her critical eye passed over the modifications to the etchings, the new bindings along the handle and most importantly the ruby that now sat in its pommel. Without a second’s breath, the ghost immediately lashed out a hand and attempted to grab it. Mara allowed herself a small chuckle at his antics, placing the sickle back within the bag. “Funnily enough, I made sure you couldn’t touch it. Because you’ve proven to be a duplicitous cad before now. Remember the trick you pulled in Annun?” Mara’s tone became accusatory, the ghostly man fidgeting with the fur hem of his robe. The expression of shame shifted to indignance.
“That was to your benefit! I give you knowledge, you give me the means to escape. That was the agreement!” The ghost retorted like a cannon, content to speak louder around those who couldn’t normally hear him. “Saving you from Frigg, from Annun and telling you where my spell book is has all been to your benefit. Babysitting you has become a full-time occupation!” The ghost added while threatening to transform into a full rant. Mara silenced him by holding a hand up. A hand that swiftly turned to a pointing finger directed at Maddie’s deliberately turned back. “Sorry if my amnesia is inconveniencing you.” The ghost whispered harshly, the flames in his eyes burning brighter with anger. Mara also leaned forward, not content to let the ghost have his tantrum alone.
“Remind me, which psychotic elvish nationalist has your book again? Your amnesia excuse has run its course too. I heard you mentioned someone called Vanya.” Mara quipped, relaxing back in her seat with legs crossed. “Secrets I am content with. Lies, however, I cannot abide.”
“It is truly a wonder how your mind doesn’t implode with sheer hypocrisy. You lie about me, and you lie about your desires. Even your principles. The only consistent thing about you is your mask.” The ghost replied after a somewhat long pause. Mara drew breath in anger, but the ghost held a hand up just as she had done moments before. “You will listen to me. Throughout my undeath I have caught mere snippets of who I once was. Though I remember Vanya, Cato and Darius, the man in those memories is foreign to me. If I were to report falsehoods to you what then? The thoughtless Gardish and their worship of the Yandites would never conduct an unbiased history of themselves. I don’t want to be the villain of this story.” The ghost’s voice choked, though he had no vocal cords to constrict. Mara felt sympathy for him in that moment but dared not show it. He seemed to have exhausted his misgivings on the matter of his history and Mara could only think to convey a single sentiment to him.
“No matter how terrible or unflattering the truth may be, we have to face it. We mortals are blessed with the wisdom to accept cruel truths and the power to alter them. Even if you were a monster five centuries ago, you are not that man now.” Mara spoke with conviction, her voice coloured with a rare passion. “Redemption is a hard path to walk. But I believe most can make it to the end.” She added, cutting off the ghost’s retort before he could voice it. He shook his head, regarding her with a condescending look. His opinions on her naivety aside, Mara took the sickle from her bag and placed it under his nose for inspection. As he leaned forward to pass judgement on the runes, she’d painstakingly carved into it, his vision was hooked upwards to the space behind Mara’s chair.
Standing behind Mara, just outside her eyeline, Solvi had emerged from the cold night. She and the guard had only escaped when the cavalcade of fine guests had arrived at the manor for the evening’s festivities. They now filed in through the open doors, all while Mara obliviously toyed with the sickle. Judging from her noises of dissatisfaction, she had assumed the work was met with disapproval. Solvi had frozen with the guard on the crook of her arm, staring at the ghost with a mixture of contempt and confusion. After a moment, Mara looked around to see what the ghost was staring at.
“Ah Solvi, I was just asking the ghost what it wanted.” Mara lied as if the hypocrisy did not phase her. She made an ingratiating gesture before making a dismissive one towards the ghost, who dutifully stood and appeared as if he intended to walk through the fireplace and leave them be.
“Oh no. Not this time. Outside.” Solvi breathed, nostrils flaring with barely contained rage. Mara was taken aback and, in her shock, followed the pointing finger to the outside courtyard where the fountain had been lit with myriad candles. “You too, spectre. I will not have you escaping.” Solvi added with such force that even the ghost, in all his arrogance, complied. Solvi sat her date for the evening down and beckoned Arthur and Fred to her from their contented position recounting their exploits at the temple. Arthur seemed particularly aggrieved to be separated from a gaggle of women paying rapt attention to his tales of bravery. It probably helped that Arthur was hardly worst looking of their troupe.
The trio then joined Mara and her ghostly companion. The pair had settled within the sheltered wooden walls of a gazebo not frequented by the other guests. Thankfully, it seemed they were more a sideshow than the main attraction. As Solvi and her cadre entered the small wooden shelter, vampires stalked gracefully by discussing politics and commerce with an insulated arrogance about them. Mara should fit right in, Solvi thought viciously. She soon stamped on that impulse, however. Now was not the time for anger. Now was the time for answers.
“You and your cursed friend are going to tell me exactly what’s going on.” Solvi ordered as she sat down. Her arms were crossed yet she had quite deliberately placed the Guillotine on the doorframe. A silent threat not to Mara but perhaps to the ghost, given its preternatural powers. “Perhaps more importantly, you’re going to tell me why you’re lying about it.” Solvi appended, unable to keep the hurt from entering her voice. Fred and Arthur looked to each other with confusion before regarding Solvi as if she were unwell. Solvi met their stares defiantly, almost expecting their challenge.
“Ghost, please manifest.” Mara requested, a small trail of black mist flitting from her hand to the air near the portion of bench Arthur sat upon. Almost immediately, the flaming orbs of the ghost’s eyes breached into the visible world followed by his incredibly disapproving face. “Seems you’re more like your mother than you realise.” Mara observed with deliberate hostility. Solvi resisted her anger, knowing full well what Mara’s game was. When no reaction was forthcoming, the mage seemed to concede defeat and looked to her companion with a challenging air that he simply rolled his eyes at.
“I think my name is Armin. I think I was a necromancer. I think I was born some seven hundred years ago. I think my family were butchered at the dawn of the Yandite Empire.” Armin recounted with a tedious expression, toying with the hem of his robes as he did so. This did not seem to satisfy Solvi, who lifted her chin sceptically. “I do not know any of this for certain because like most people who die and pass on, I lost my memories.” Armin explained with such spiteful condescension that Mara was sure he’d been a teacher in his past life. Yet unlike Mara, he was not restrained by the threat of poverty if he allowed his temper off its leash. She doubted the Guillotine was a true threat. At least, she hoped it was.
“Impossible. Ghosts are the spirits of those who refuse to move on. Nobody returns from Annun.” Arthur spoke with such conviction that Mara believed him for a moment, Fred sounding his agreement. Fred did not know much of the gods or the frightful weaves they’d constructed, but he knew that the dead did not return. Their meat, their bones and the traces of who they once were could be leveraged by necromancers but the hereafter was not for mortal meddling. “Which makes you, of course, a demon that has no flesh.” Arthur’s tone turned considerably more threatening as he clutched his armlet. Armin didn’t seem to take his threat very seriously, even laughing at the man’s assertion. Mara impotently passed a hand through his shoulder in an attempt to stop him.
“Given that I’ve done it twice, that’s not really true is it, Arthur?” Mara asked with a decidedly more ingratiating tone than the one she’d used for Solvi. “I found Armin, as he wishes to call himself, on my first visit. As I was slowly succumbing to necrotic poisoning, he manipulated Annun to give me a path out.” Mara spoke fearfully, fists tightening on her thighs as she did so. The memories, even so distant, were painful. Her recent sojourn had turned the dull, dusky glimpses of memory to frightening realism. Had the voice been there that time as well? She took a deep breath. “I agreed to take him with me. It was the least I could do for such an act of kindness.” Mara smiled over to Armin then, as impotent as the gesture was. Armin laid a spectral hand on her shoulder with a boyish grin and a wink, attracting a scornful scoff from Solvi.
“Where was your mother in all this? Toying with the fabric of reality is hardly what a young shaman should be engaging in.” Solvi questioned as if expecting yet another lie from Mara. She could hardly blame her companion. She had done much to trample on the faith Solvi had placed in her. “Your rescue of me. Was that a lie, too? Did Armin do all the work as well?” She accused insistently. More insistent than either Fred or Arthur deemed necessary. Wisely, perhaps, the pair silently agreed to allow it to play out.
“My mother and father are good people. But I was young and brilliant. And happy.” Mara remembered with a nostalgic tinge to her voice, as memories of the sunny Ruran countryside flooded back to her. Edmund, her human friend and his jar of frogspawn. Lyra her first love. Then the memories soured, a coiling sob escaping her throat. She could not answer the second question, which Solvi found mightily convenient. She stared at Mara with uncharacteristically cold eyes, summoning the memories of her mother to guard her against these manipulations.
“This can’t be all there is, Ghost. I know what happens after, please. Spare someone. Anyone.” Armin iterated in a dispassionate tone, the fires within his sockets burning as tiny pinpricks of light in the dark. “I cast the spells. I sent those vampires into a frenzy.” Armin growled, his voice boiling with a furious condemnation. Solvi shrank back, blindsided by the man’s sudden change of tone. “You still breathe because Mara willed it. Were it up to me, the primitive culture that spawned you would have had their justice.” Armin spat, standing and moving closer to Solvi who grasped her weapon with a dreadful glare. “I am better for having known her. If you cannot say the same, then why are you here?” The ghost challenged, not seeming to register fear of the weapon any longer.
“I’m here because I have to protect her. From Renaud, from monsters, from Ranva and, it seems, you.” Solvi answered, her voice suffused with emotion. For the first time in a long time, she allowed herself to speak from the heart. The Guillotine, inert since Solvi had first laid hands on it, rattled in her hand. Solvi did not seem to notice. “You heard her. She was happy before him, you, all of it! When she was in Lemuria, I saw the real Mara. She means everything to me! In spite of her infuriating, idiotic ways.” Solvi confessed with such resolution that Armin took a step back, his eyebrows raised. The surprise was but temporary, however. A devilish grin curled his features as he closed the distance once more, defiantly staring up into the face of the taller woman.
“I was in the mask in Lemuria. I heard everything she did.” Armin began innocently, tracing his hand through the air with a trail of black mist following suit. “You didn’t follow her around like a lovesick puppy or condescend orders to her. You got on with your job, hoping she’d notice your affections from afar.” Armin chuckled. It was a sinister sound given the depths of his voice. “Sorry, darling, but Renaud is the mind reader. Maybe she was happy because you’d lost interest.” The ghost accused before dodging a slap from Solvi instinctively. He righted himself only to dodge backwards as another slap came his way. Solvi’s fury at his seemingly trained reflexes intensified as she hefted the Guillotine. The intended strike passed through the cloud of black mist where once he’d been, his taunting laughter echoing into whatever pocket of reality ghosts sequestered themselves in.
Arthur grabbed Solvi’s weapon, wrestling it from her agitated grip and pushing her back. He searched for Mara, hoping to ensure she was unharmed and relatively calm. He did not envy the mage’s position. Even so, he condemned the string of lies she’d been telling. As his eyes came to rest on the seat Mara had been occupying, he found naught but a stuffed blampie in her place.
With sudden desperation he called for order, pointing out the missing Mara. Fred turned his whiskered features toward the seat. With a shrug he lit his pipe. Solvi followed Arthur’s pointing finger to the empty chair. Her expression changed from anger to sorrow to abject fury. The orsan woman’s shoulders flexed before she became stony and resolute.
“Find her yourself. I’m not dealing with her games anymore.” Solvi grunted, hefting the Guillotine over her shoulder. “Do it fast. Looks like snow.” Solvi observed spitefully, looking up to the sky as she walked towards the interior of the manor. Arthur, rather than condemn her or shout, turned his gaze away with shame. Fred stood himself up and tipped the smouldering embers of his pipe onto the ground.
“Dysfunctional lot, n’ they?” Fred sighed as he twisted his boot on the ashes. “She’ll catch ‘er death out there. ‘Specially if the Army finds ‘er first.” The skitti man advised as he began buttoning up his coat. Arthur agreed, pondering how she’d managed to slip out without so much as a whisper.
