The Vampire & Her Witch

Argidir smiled warmly when his son, Amren, managed to arrive at his father’s private office a few minutes ahead of Count Dylan DuCoumont.

The young, gangly boy who had left for the Royal Academy a decade ago had grown into a fine young man. In many ways, Argidir felt like his son had received the best of his mother’s traits, from his well-proportioned features to his inky, dark hair, while matching the trim, athletic physique that his father possessed in his youth.

As much as Argidir would have preferred to give Amren another few years to roam the kingdom as he had done, it was impossible with the impending Holy War in Lothian. Come the spring, hundreds of lords, knights and their fortune-seeking soldiers would cross the sea, and they would all pass through Keating on their way to the battlefields in Lothian.

It was no time for his heir to be away from home, and the connections he stood to make during the next few years could prove invaluable when the time came for Amren to succeed his father. Thankfully, Amren hadn’t complained in the summer when he received his father’s summons to return home, and he’d made it back to Keating well before winter started.

"Father," Amren said, bowing slightly as he entered in case his father had company. "I came as soon as I heard. Did you get any other details about Lord Dylan’s visit?"

"Nothing," Argidir said, shaking his head while gesturing for his son to take his place at his side behind the desk. "Whatever it is, Dylan doesn’t trust servants to carry the message for him. We should find out soon, though."

"I’d wager this month’s allowance that it’s about Lothian," Amren said. "With Bors Lothian and Ashlynn Blackwell dead and demon raids getting worse, I expect trouble will start flowing through Otker Canyon before winter ends. People will try to escape well before the Holy Soldiers arrive from across the sea to fight the demons."

"You’d almost think the demons knew what was coming," Argidir said, nodding in agreement. "Winter raids have troubled Lothian March for decades, but this time, it seems like they’re planning further ahead. If they keep attacking Lothian’s food supplies, those Holy Soldiers will struggle to fight on lean rations."

"Better for us then, isn’t it?" Amren said. "What Lothian cannot supply, we can. If you’d like, I can meet with the Master of the Grocers about establishing additional trading posts in DuCoumont to sell provisions to the foreigners before they leave the Duchy."

"Don’t do anything yet," Argidir cautioned. "If DuCoumont is preparing to receive a surge of refugees, any supplies we send for the war effort will only be absorbed by the crisis Dylan is facing. We might need to consider alternatives if... Ah, and there he is," Argidir said, interrupting himself when a knock at the door announced the count’s arrival.

One look was all that Argidir needed to know that the journey from DuCoumont had been rough on Dylan. The count’s normally neatly trimmed mustache had grown ragged over his lip, and his cheeks and jaw, usually shaved clean before any audience, bore traces of yesterday’s pale, scraggly stubble. There were dark circles under his eyes from sleeping in carriages or on river boats, and his boots still dripped from the rain outside.

Perhaps the strangest thing, however, was the leather messenger’s satchel that the count carried personally, as if he couldn’t bear to hand it to a servant long enough for him to pay his respects to his liege lord.

"Your Grace," Dylan said, dropping to one knee and bowing his head as soon as he entered Argidir’s office. "Thank you for seeing me so quickly," he said, sounding slightly breathless from the speed at which he’d walked through the long, winding corridors of the duke’s palace.

"Get up, get up, there’s no need for all that," Argidir said, standing up from his seat behind the desk and walking around it to help Dylan to his feet. "Light above, man, look at you," the duke said, resting a hand on Dylan’s shoulder as he examined him from head to toe.

"Join me by the fire, Dylan," Argidir said, gesturing to the plush armchairs sitting by the hearth. "It’s just the three of us; there’s no need for formality here."

"Thank you," Dylan said with a relieved smile, pleased to see that, despite everything, Argidir was still willing to receive him as a friend. "Given everything that’s happened, I half expected to be turned away at the gate. I’m glad it hasn’t come to that," he said as he slumped into a chair.

"I know things are hard," Argidir said, taking his own seat and accepting the cup of wine that Amren poured for him. "But not so hard as to drive a wedge between us, no matter what I think about what’s happening in Lothian," he said as he tipped his cup and spilled a few drops of wine in honor of the dead.

"To Ashlynn," Argidir said. "Your niece deserved better, and I’m sure the world is a colder place without her in it," he said. "I can’t say that I approve of Owain remarrying so quickly, but congratulations," he said, trying to put the best face on it that he could.

"I’m sure your sister is proud that her youngest daughter has been able to secure an alliance that could have been shattered by something as nonsensical as a demon raid," Argidir said charitably.

"To Ashlynn...?" Dylan said, taking the cup that Amren passed to him and staring at Argidir with a bemused look on his face. "You... You mean you haven’t heard?" Dylan said as understanding dawned on him. "She really managed to hold the news back long enough for me to arrive first? I knew she was extraordinary, but I didn’t expect she’d manage this."

"Manage what?" Argidir asked. "What has your sister been up to? Or is it your young niece?"

"No, the older niece," Dylan said, tensing in the comfortable chair as he realized he’d have to be the one to break the news. "Ashlynn. She’s not dead. She survived Owain’s attempt to murder her last spring. Everything else you’ve heard, and what I heard until recently, has been a lie."