Book 9: Chapter 6
Vestonia
Herouxville. New Capital
The mansion of Baron de Levy
“THE BARON DE LUSIGNAN requests an audience, Your Ladyship.” The footman’s voice trembled slightly as he addressed Helga, who was carefully studying a famous work by one Master Decuse entitled “On Shadow Plants,” which she had purchased at a capital-city shop.
“You know your master isn’t home today,” she replied in her usual gruff tone, without looking up from her book. “Tell him to leave.”
The footman gulped involuntarily. Baron de Levy had returned several months prior, bringing with him this strange northern Marchioness, who hadn’t so much as looked up from her reading upon hearing the name of one of the most dangerous men in the capital.
At first, the servants in the home could talk only of her manners — or rather, her complete lack of them. Gradually, however, the residents of this mansion of Prince Louis’ personal perfumer had gotten used to the strange young woman and her quirks. And after she had quickly and easily healed a terrible burn that the head cook had suffered in the kitchen, leaving clean, clear skin when there should have been a terrible scar, the general attitude toward Helga underwent a drastic change. Healer Mages always enjoyed particular respect from the general population.
“But this visitor has come to see you personally,” the footman replied piteously. “Shall I escort him into the fireplace hall?”
“No,” said Helga, as she finally looked up from her book. A thin wrinkle had appeared on her forehead. This strange visitor worried her. “Bring him here.” When the footman left, she let out a frustrated sigh. If only the Abyss would swallow these bureaucrats from the Royal Chancery! It was a vicious cycle... And apparently, it was one that she’d be stuck in for quite a long time to come. Her papers still hadn’t come through. Neither bribes, nor meetings with “the right people,” seemed to have produced any concrete results. More surprisingly, Baron de Levy assured her that this was all perfectly normal, and warned Astrid that they might run into even more delays before it was all over.
The slow, awkward pace of work among these southerners was annoying Helga more and more all the time. Hardly a day passed by when she didn’t regret that she hadn’t insisted on taking the roundabout journey through the Free Baronies. Sure, the situation there was unstable: many Barons and Counts were at war with one another. All the same, she couldn’t help feeling that she’d have reached Bergonia a long time before if she’d taken that route.
Jean-Louis, by contrast, seemed to be enjoying the delay. It almost seemed like the Baron had awoken after a long slumber. He was happy and jovial, like some young man who had just been allowed out into high society for the first time.
The first thing Jean-Louis did upon arriving in the capital was change out his wardrobe for one that was more in keeping with current Herouxville trends. That done, he insisted on dragging Helga (who was likewise totally re-outfitted with new clothes) along with him to the theater.
What followed was one of the strangest, most nerve-wracking, and most humiliating experiences of her life. On the one hand, she felt like some sort of exotic beast, decked out as she was in her weird, brightly-colored clothing. On the other hand, the wealth of Vestonian high society was absolutely mindboggling.
After that came a never-ending round of balls, receptions, and outings. Baron de Levy insisted that while the trip to Max Renard was undoubtedly important, Prince Louis’ bride-to-be would need allies at court. And as Princess Astrid’s representative in the capital, Helga found herself introduced to practically every member of Herouxville’s upper crust.
The multitude of unfamiliar faces and names made her head spin. Remembering her sister’s goal of becoming Queen of Vestonia, however, Helga always tried to make the best impression she possibly could. It was only after arriving in Herouxville, in comparison with which Fjordgrad was little more than an average fishing village, that Helga truly realized just how ambitious Astrid’s plan actually was.
And that, of course, is who would have loved all this hullaballoo. Astrid would probably have taken to the capital like a fish to water. But this was most definitely not the life for Helga. For the last week, therefore, she had decided to take a little pause, and barely left the mansion. Instead, she buried herself in reading books — something of which Northland never had enough. Baron de Levy was socializing for the both of them, and he didn’t seem to mind it in the least.
Helga turned her head at the sound of the door opening, and when she did she froze for just a moment. Her eyebrows rose slightly, but she managed to regain her composure almost immediately. From there, she tried to hide any sign of how tense she was feeling. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end, exactly like that of a lynx who finds itself next to a poisonous snake.
“Greetings, Your Ladyship,” said Kiko with an awkward bow, and a smile that showed off all his crooked teeth. “I hope you’ll pardon my unexpected intrusion. I was passing by the Baron de Levy’s mansion and suddenly remembered that you’ve stopped gracing us with your presence as of late. So I decided to check in and ask after your health.”
Baron de Lusignan, Helga thought... That was why the name had sounded so familiar! Her first meeting with Carl III’s jester had taken place several months previously, at a reception at the Duke de Bauffremont’s palace. They had only exchanged a few meaningless pleasantries at the time.
Nothing special, at least at first sight. And yet Helga had immediately sensed a hidden, predatory force of nature inside the ugly little man, who was openly considered one of the most dangerous and influential people not only in Vestonia, but in all of Mainland as well.
Helga’s eyes narrowed. Without the makeup and the clown suit, the Vestonian King’s jester looked a bit different than he usually did. Although this was undoubtedly just another mask, behind which he would hide in order to keep a watchful eye on other people.
Helga tried to focus on the rhythm of his heart, but quickly found that she couldn’t. It was like there was some invisible barrier surrounding Kiko. The young woman’s eyes widened ever so slightly. Witching magic... Catching his smirking glance, Helga suddenly realized that Kiko had noticed her attempted scan without the least bit of difficulty.
“Not much of a justification,” she scoffed. “Especially considering who I am.”
Helga’s answer sounded excessively harsh. She was annoyed at herself for showing her hand so foolishly. Like some new initiate, who had only just come into contact with the power of the Wing of Stryx.
“Ha!” The jester’s crooked smile grew even wider. “A fair point! You’ve caught me! Asking a Healer Mage whether she’s well is like asking a jester whether he’s got any jokes about fools and idiots.”
“So you find it easy to make fun of fools?” Helga asked as she gestured for Kiko to sit down on a couch next to the fireplace. The legs of the couch were shorter than those of any chair in the room.
“Only if there’s at least one bright spark among all the fools,” the jester chortled, hobbling over to take the indicated seat. But he didn’t actually sit on the couch.
Without any apparent difficulty, Kiko jumped up onto a tall chair next to a small table by the window. There was a jug of wine on the table — and it just so happened to be the same table Helga was sitting at herself.
“Otherwise,” the jester continued, kicking his legs back and forth ludicrously, “all my efforts would be pointless. After all, it wouldn’t really matter how witty I was — the fools wouldn’t notice it anyway.”
“I take it, you number yourself among the bright sparks, then?” Helga bent forward across the table, picked up the jug, and poured some wine into a pair of glasses.
“Oh, perish the thought, Mademoiselle!” Kiko replied with a dismissive wave. Then, after accepting a cup from Helga, he added: “I’m just a jester. And as you know, jesters are exempt from the privileges that come with being smart or being foolish.”
“By whose authority?”
“That of our Kings, of course,” Kiko shrugged with a laugh. “Don’t you have a similar practice in your homeland?”
“We don’t have jesters,” Helga shook her head. “And I don’t think they’d last very long if they did make an appearance. Jokers don’t tend to live very long up north.”
“Brr...” said Kiko with a melodramatic wince. “How fortunate, then, that we’re not up north. Although I might point out that it’s not just jesters who don’t tend to live very long up there. The same seems to be true for Kings. Actually, on that note, please accept my condolences... I believe that Konung Olaf the Gray was your cousin, as well as your ruler?”
Kiko wasn’t smiling, but there were still jovial sparks dancing in his eyes.
Helga just nodded silently. The news of the change of management in Vintervald had reached them midway through their journey. To say that Helga was upset by Olaf’s death would have been a lie. Astrid’s move had her full support. In fact, had she been in her sister’s place, Olaf would have met his end many years earlier.
“It wasn’t just Konung Olaf who died that day. A lot of worthy warriors died as well,” Kiko sighed, his voice full of grief. The jester was overacting the part, and it was quite intentional. “And the most absurd thing about it is that these valorous warriors didn’t die in battle at all. To think that some small mollusk did them all in... Your ambassadors informed us that the tragedy at that feast was an unfortunate accident. Something about their suppliers selling a shipment of clams to the palace. They tend to accumulate a lot of toxins during a certain part of the year, and they’re normally eaten raw, so...”
The jester sighed, then continued:
“Poor Princess Astrid. So many losses in such a short span of time. She only has one brother left. By the way — what’s this I hear about the Princess being betrothed to one Arik Thunder? I must say, the news that Princess Astrid’s suitor was dead sent quite a shock through our court. Only later did we learn that this news wasn’t in reference to His Highness Prince Louis.”
Helga had been expecting this question.
“All the rumors about Princess Astrid being engaged to someone else are fabrications by our enemies,” she snapped back. “My cousin will wed His Highness Prince Louis in very short order. I’ve already sent an invitation to His Majesty’s secretary.”
Inside, Helga squirmed. She recalled the conversation she’d had with Baron de Levy when they first heard the rumors of the false betrothal. It was all Helga could do to convince Jean-Louis that Astrid had no intention of calling off her wedding to the Prince, and that these rumors were false.
“The King thought as much,” said Kiko. “I’ll make sure to pass your words on to him. As I recall, though, you didn’t just come to Herouxville to invite His Majesty to the wedding of his own son. I was told that your request for permission to visit Bergonia is lying in the Chancery offices as we speak.”
“You’re right,” replied Helga. She suddenly felt anxious. “And I really don’t understand why they haven’t given me permission yet. A simple merchant or wandering artist can cross the border, but the daughter of a Jarl can’t?”
“Oh, Your Ladyship!” Kiko threw up his hands. “Of course not! It’s just that this Kingdom suffers from two particular maladies above all others.”
He started to count off on his long, ring-studded fingers.
“The first is officials who take bribes. The second is bureaucracy. Even getting a cell in prison requires a bribe, and a request filled out in triplicate. I’m sure your request will drift into a dead end before too long. If you ask me, though, I’d advise you not to visit a country that was so recently the scene of military operations. The roads are full of bandits and deserters.”
“I’m not afraid of marauders,” scoffed Helga.
“Ah, yes, of course!” Kiko threw up his hands again. “I’ve forgotten who I’m talking to. Helga the Valiant, whose deeds are common knowledge. And yet this is a truly massive risk, even for such a vaunted warrior as yourself. It can only be that something of even more massive importance is urging you into such a dangerous journey...”
With that, Kiko fell into an expectant silence. It wasn’t an outright question, but Helga understood that Carl III would want to know what Princess Astrid’s closest companion intended to do in Bergonia. And the Vestonian King needed clear, concise answers.
Without a word, Helga stood up and strode over toward a table by the opposite wall, which was stacked with her books and scrolls. As she moved, Helga could feel the jester’s sharp, inquisitive eyes on her skin. It felt like she had a poisonous snake staring at her, ready to strike a lethal blow at any moment.
Opening a long, thin, rune-engraved case made from the bone of some Shadow beast, Helga took out a small scroll and walked back over to the jester. She handed him the scroll, which bores the personal seals of Astrid and Prince Louis, and then said:
“Here. You can read it for yourself. It’s not sealed. We have nothing to hide from His Majesty.”
Kiko took the scroll and ran his eyes quickly across its contents; they were written in Vestonian.
“I see...” He said, raising his eyes to look at Helga once again. “So the Margrave de Valier is also invited to Their Highness’ wedding?”
“My cousin and her husband-to-be are on friendly terms with His Lordship,” Helga shrugged. “If it hadn’t been for the Margrave’s victory at the Great Trial, this wedding wouldn’t be happening in the first place. That’s why the Princess wants one of her own closest relatives to extend the Margrave his invitation. This is an important way of showing respect for one’s friends in the North.”
“Yes, yes. You’re absolutely right, of course,” agreed Kiko. “I now understand what this mission means to you. But here’s the thing...”
Helga tense up.
“I don’t think you’re going to be able to meet with the Margrave de Valier any time soon,” said the jester, watching carefully for Helga’s reaction.
“Why?” Helga leaned forward a little bit. A chill ran down her spine.
Apparently, the rumors (shared with Helga by Baron de Levy) that Carl III was afraid of his own vassal were true after all. That was why Max had been ordered to remain in his Margraviate.
“It’s quite simple,” Kiko smiled. “According to our latest information, His Lordship the Margrave de Valier isn’t in his Margraviate at the moment. And as far as I understand, it’ll be some time before he returns.”
“Where has he gone?” Helga asked. “I could go find him.”
“Oh!” The jester chuckled. “He’s gone somewhere most mortals can’t really go. Maximillian de Valier has gone into the Shadow. So you might say that by holding up processing of your transit papers, the lazy fools down at the Chancery have actually done you a favor.”
Without a word, Helga sat back down on her chair and stared pensively down into her glass. A vicious circle.
“I see I’ve upset you, Your Ladyship.” A flash of understanding shot through the jester’s narrowed eyes. It seemed like he could see right through Helga. “I’ll have to rectify the situation.”
Helga was slightly startled by this, and she turned her eyes back up to stare at her guest.
“The thing is, I haven’t come to see you with empty hands,” said Kiko, smiling his serpentine smile. “Here. Allow me.”
He jumped deftly down off his chair; with a bow, he handed Helga a scroll bearing the Royal Seal. Helga had no idea where he had been keeping it the whole time.
“His Majesty Carl III invites you to be his guest at the upcoming festivities in honor of his recovery. More than that, he invites you to visit him in his palace before the holidays begin. The King desires to hear your opinion as a Healer Mage. And then you can head off to visit Maximillian in peace after the holidays.”
After the jester took his leave and walked out, whistling a happy melody, Helga snarled and threw the scroll against the wall as hard as she possibly could. Clenching her fist, she walked over to a window and leaned her head up against the cold glass. Her mission was a failure. To leave Herouxville now would insult the King himself, and put Astrid in a worse position than those rumors possibly could have.
“Vicious circle...” She whispered as she calmed herself down.
Then Helga turned and strode briskly out of the room. It was time to send a bird to Vintervald.
* * *
Vestonia. Herouxville
Northern district of the New Capital
Legrand Mansion
“Father!” Isabelle sounded insistent as she burst into the office of her father Pascal Legrand. “This can’t continue!”
The eldest daughter of the founder and head of the Legrand and Sons Trading House moved with a firm, confident stride. Her cheeks were pale, her facial features sharp — Isabelle was enraged.
The walls of the office were paneled with dark slabs of oak and hung with expensive paintings. A massive mahogany desk, bearing the engraved monogram of the trading house on its surface, stood in a corner of the room. In short, Pascal Legrand’s office was the very incarnation of restrained luxury and power.
Her father was sitting at the desk, staring anxiously out the adjacent window.
“Father!” Isabelle repeated after stopping in front of the desk. “Can you hear me?”
“What’s upsetting you, daughter?” He asked, eyes still locked on the window. Big, dark thunderclouds were flying in quickly to cover the sky. A downpour was about to start.
“What’s upsetting me?” Isabelle scoffed as she sat down in the chair opposite her father. “Let’s think about that. For one, the fact that you keep drafting promissory notes for enormous sums without consulting me. The fact that you’re sending bribes to judges and city clerks. I wouldn’t say a word if this was somehow to the benefit of our own house, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. And I won’t even broach the subject of the astronomical sums you’ve been sending to the Duke de Bauffremont. Shall I go on?”
“Have I really ceased to be the head of this house?” Pascal asked, after finally turning to look at his daughter. “Since when have I been obligated to render accounts to you?”
“Since you decided to dump all our house’s business onto my shoulders,” replied Isabelle without a moment’s hesitation. “Instead of sitting at a window and sewing, like a normal woman, I’m carrying on what you’ve started, and I’ve multiplied our house’s value. I’ll admit that I couldn’t have done it without you. But now you’ve stopped helping me, and you’ve started to harm our collective enterprise.”
Pascal slammed his palm down violently onto his desk. He leaned forward, and in a voice seething with fury, he hissed:
“So I’m a menace now, am I?”
“I didn’t say that,” Isabelle replied calmly. After so many years, she was used to her father’s flashes of rage. “But since you’re asking — “
“Silence!” He shouted, slapping the desk once again.
“Is this all because of HIM?” Isabelle wasn’t even considering the idea of complying. “Are you really so full of hatred for your own grandson that you’re prepared to ruin everything you’ve been building all these years?”
Pascal did a double-take, as though he’d been slapped in the face. He jumped to his feet.
“Don’t you dare refer to that bastard as my grandson!”
“Other people would be happy to have a grandson like him,” Isabelle shook her head. “War hero, enormously wealthy, one of the most powerful combat mages in Mainland... He controls all of Northern Bergonia. But instead of working with him to strengthen our house, you’re trying to hinder him. I wonder what Max will say when he finds out about your little dealings with that useless Count de Gramont. Yes, father — don’t look at me like that. You thought I wouldn’t see through your little game? You taught me yourself: if there’s something you don’t understand, just follow the money. It’ll always lead you to the places where gold and silver are leaking. And we’ve got too many of those leaks already. If you don’t stop these shenanigans, we won’t have so much as a lifeboat left to save ourselves.”
Pascal Legrand sat slowly back down in his chair.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, his voice even softer than before. Then, with a heavy sigh, he added: “I won’t stop until I have my vengeance.”
“Vengeance?” Isabelle repeated. “I assume you’re talking about Anna’s death, like always? Father... How can a newborn baby be guilty of the death of his own mother? If there IS anyone to blame for that, it’s Anna herself. She fled the house before giving birth. And just think of how angry you are at this boy! He was a poor little baby...”
“A girl...” Pascal said quietly.
“What?” Isabelle frowned.
“Anna was supposed to have a girl.” Her father was staring straight into her eyes as he spoke.
“But how could you possibly — “ Isabelle was about to reply.
But Pascal interrupted her:
“When Anna was six months pregnant, I invited an old fortune teller to visit the house in secret,” he explained. “She was certain that Anna was carrying a girl.”
“A fortune teller?” Isabelle repeated skeptically. “Father — you believed the word of a fortune teller, but not Anna’s own letter?”
“It was written by that scoundrel Ferdinand de Gramont,” Pascal scowled.
“But it was dictated and signed by Anna,” Isabelle objected firmly. “And Bertrand was present at Max’s birth. You don’t believe him either? I mean, he’s your personal friend.”
“He betrayed me,” said Pascal, shaking his head. “And now he serves the very bastard who’s going to ruin us. He’s already started destroying our family. Adeline’s been committed to an asylum. Alain’s in the bastard’s home as a hostage. You’ve been helping him through it all... And yet somehow, after all that, you call ME a menace?”
“You’re forgetting that Adeline tried to have Max killed several times, and that it was only his intervention that saved us all from Maître Sarsonne’s rack. Need I remind you how many merchants from the Golden Hundred lost their lives during that affair? And where did their capital go? Max saved us all — not only from death, but also from ruin. His treatment of Adeline was frankly magnanimous. As for Alain... I visit him several times a month. The boy is learning his sciences, and he’s proud of his cousin. He’s going to be a worthy heir to your trading empire. Provided, of course, that you manage to refrain from destroying it with your rash actions.”
Isabelle was staring intently at her father the whole time she spoke. A spark seemed to be flitting through his eyes. It would flare up, then recede, from time to time as she spoke, as though something inside him was about to break its chains and burst out. She had never seen him like this. His obsession with such an ancient and absurd grudge frightened her. She suddenly realized that Pascal Legrand, who had been her role model, had actually died long ago. Left in his place was this obsessive old man, who was prepared to sacrifice his entire family onto the altar of his hatred.
“Are you done?” Pascal asked when Isabelle fell silent.
“Yes, father,” she replied as she stood up. “And I hope you’re able to truly listen to what I’ve been saying.”
Isabelle noted the look on his face. She had failed to get through to him. Her father was obviously going to continue what he had started.
“Then I won’t keep you any longer,” he said with a demonstrative nod at the door. “I’m sure you have a great deal of business to attend to.”
“Of course, father,” replied Isabelle coldly, before turning and walking out of the office.
After crossing the threshold and closing the door behind her, Isabelle stopped. She leaned her back up against the door, closed her eyes, and let out a heavy sigh. Over the course of the years, she had thought many times about what might happen — what it might look like when the fatal moment finally arrived, and she was forced to take full control over the affairs of her family into her own hands. Isabelle had always imagined that only death could stop her father. She had certainly never imagined that insanity and obsession might rob him of his senses.
With one more sigh, Isabelle opened her eyes. It seemed that she would have to take control a lot sooner than she had planned. And also, she knew she would need to warn her nephew about the old man’s mental deterioration and strange dealings.