Last Life

Herouxville

The de Gramont manor

HEINRICH DE GRAMONT sat at his desk, whose surface was strewn with various papers, broken quills, and ledger books. The windows of his office were shut tight and drawn with heavy curtains, leaving a small oil lamp on the table as the only source of light in the room.

For what felt like the hundredth time, the Count picked his unfinished letter up off the desktop. It was an attempt to reach out to the Duke de Bauffremont. Reading his own apology and its pathetic phrasing yet again, however, Heinrich experienced another wave of anger and shame. All his previous messages had gone unanswered.

In years past, he would never have stooped to such a humiliation. But now... Well, there was quite simply no other way to rectify the situation. It wasn’t just his honor as a nobleman that was at stake — it was the very survival of his family line.

Alas... As if by wave of some malevolent magic wand, all doors now seemed to slam shut in the Count de Gramont’s face. It had all started the day Heinrich had tried to take over that accursed bastard’s mansion — a mansion which had turned out to be far less empty than it had seemed.

What should have been a triumphal march had turned into a disgraceful, humiliating flight. Heinrich still couldn’t find any explanation for what had happened. But that wasn’t the bad part... The fallout from the ill-fated campaign had been absolutely catastrophic. Like a huge, all-consuming tidal wave, it had crashed down on the de Gramont household the very evening following the assault. News of the disgraceful flight of the Count and his fifty men had spread across the capital like a fire through a dry prairie.

Heinrich felt like he had traveled back in time. But this time, the consequences for the Count de Gramont were even worse than they had been after that accursed ball — and worse, they seemed to be all but irreversible.

The Duke de Bauffremont wouldn’t see him. Neither would the Duke de Gondy. Representatives from Prince Heinrich’s court stubbornly continued to act like they had never even heard of the unfortunate Count, and even the few remaining representatives of Prince Louis and his “green party” had sent a polite note stating that “their plans did not coincide with the interests of House de Gramont.” Hot on the heels of this total ostracism by Vestonia’s most illustrious individuals, Heinrich started to receive letter after letter from the various families with whom he’d been negotiating for the past year, announcing that they were no longer interested in discussing betrothal contracts with him or his house. Long story short, the Viscount and Viscountesses de Gramont were soon left without any prospect of making profitable marriage alliances.

All his attempts to meet with these erstwhile prospective relatives ended in total failure. Only the elderly Count de Charme agreed to see Heinrich, and then only on the very threshold of his palace. The puffed-up old man bluntly informed Heinrich that at the moment, not even the most bankrupt Chevalier in the country had any desire to tie his name to that of the de Gramonts.

A further humiliation came during a visit from the Duchess du Bellay, who — without even bothering to listen to her brother’s objections — took Ferdinand’s daughters away to live in her own house. Before leaving, she informed Heinrich in a frigid tone of voice that she intended to request an audience with the King, in order to request that His Majesty start the process of appointing someone else as head of their family line. Right to Heinrich’s face, Jeanne said that she was fully in support of making that damnable bastard into the official head of the de Gramont family.

Worst of all, there were more than enough reasons to justify such a request. Heinrich had already made himself into a laughingstock, not once but twice — a situation that could indeed pose a threat to the continued existence of a noble house.

Without even bothering to soften the blow, Jeanne told him that if it weren’t for their nephew’s fearsome reputation, people would probably already have started trying to bite off bits of the de Gramont inheritance. What, she asked, was the point of a family patriarch who couldn’t protect his line? Especially now, when most of his men-at-arms were hurrying to leave the Count’s service, hoping to get as far away as possible from the storm that seemed to be swirling around their master.

But there was another reason, even more terrifying than those, which Jeanne du Bellay didn’t even know about. It had to do with the intrigues that Heinrich had been spinning with the Duke de Bauffremont behind the King’s back. It wouldn’t be long before Carl found out (if he hadn’t already) who exactly had unmasked Princess Verena’s secret identity. The King was unlikely to appreciate the fact that Heinrich hadn’t come straight to his ruler with the news, still less that he had decided instead to get involved with the shady dealings of the Astlanders.

Thinking about this always sent a cold sweat trickling down the Count’s spine. Left without powerful patrons, he was seriously considering the idea of leaving the capital and returning to his family castle, back on his ancestral lands, for an indefinite period of time...

The Count’s gloomy train of thought was brought abruptly to a halt as Francois strode briskly into the room. He moved with a hasty decisiveness that Heinrich had never liked. He’d already admitted it to himself a number of times: he’d have given just about anything for the chance to go back and choose which of his sons had lived, and which had died... The Count fixed the Viscount with a heavy stare.

“No news,” said Heinrich in a hushed tone, before Francois could even ask his question.

His son clenched his fists:

“Maybe one of Prince Heinrich’s supporters?”

Count de Gramont shook his head; with a wry smile, he said:

“They prefer to keep their distance. To quote them, they don’t intend to have anything to do with a man who, in their opinion, “fails to respect the laws of honor.”“

The young man’s mother made a habit of sparing her son’s feelings, but Heinrich had no such intention. The Viscount had also been at the Fox Den, and as such he was obligated to share the burden of his father’s disgrace. ᴛhis chapter is ᴜpdated by novel✦fire.net

Francois was silent for a minute. A mixture of rage and disappointment boiled in his eyes. Finally, he let out a sigh, sank into the chair opposite his father, and folded his arms across his chest:

“We won’t let them nudge us into the abyss. We’ve got resources, we’ve got connections...”

The Count replied with a derisive chuckle. What he wouldn’t have given to have Gabriel sitting in front of him at that moment...

“What resources, you fool?” Heinrich replied in a muffled, rage-choked snarl. “Our treasury is empty. We’re in debt. Or did you think that the gold I gave the Atalians for your ransom just fell into my hands from the sky? And what connections are you talking about? Today or tomorrow, those vulture bankers will realize that we’re isolated, and they’ll start hammering down our doors.”

He stopped, having heard the sound of footsteps approaching from beyond the door. Heinrich recognized the knocking sound of those heels immediately. Mommy dearest had come to help her little baby boy.

Sure enough, not a minute passed before the Countess de Gramont burst into the office. Fear and desperation were etched into every feature of her face. Heinrich frowned, however, because it didn’t seem like Catherine had come running to the sound of the argument. She was holding a badly-crumpled letter in her hands. Her eldest daughter was flitting around in the doorway behind her back. A pale-faced Marielle was staring at her mother, her eyes wide with shock.

“Henri!” The Countess gasped, pressing the paper to her chest. “It’s from Yveline... She... She’s run away!”

Francois leapt out of his chair, almost knocking it over in the process. He strode across the room in two steps and tore the letter out of his mother’s hands. As he ran his eyes quickly across the lines, his face began to turn a deep shade of red.

“My dear mother!” He started reading out loud at a furious pace. “I can no longer stand to live in this house, surrounded by nothing but disgrace and hopelessness. I’m leaving with the Baron de Rochand...”

Francois paused; his pale fingers had dug themselves into the parchment. Heinrich walked over and snatched the letter out of his hands.

“Louis has asked for my hand...” The Count began to read, his face darkening with every word. “And I’ve agreed... We’ll be marrying soon, and the Baron de Rochand will take care of me from then on. I beg you, mother — please don’t let father come looking for us. I don’t want you to worry about my wellbeing, so I’ve taken all my jewelry with me...”

The Count tore his eyes away from the page. A tense silence hung in the office. Heinrich covered his face with his free hand. He was ruined. In every possible sense of the word, he was ruined. A feeling of emptiness yawned inside the Count’s chest, as though it were trying to tear him asunder from within. Traitors. He was surrounded by traitors. Even his beloved Yveline...

Without a word, Francois turned and headed for the door. There was no confusion on his face anymore — there was only furious, smoldering rage.

“I’m going to find her,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “And bring her back. Whatever it takes.”

“Francois!” The Countess shouted, but the Viscount was already halfway down the hall by that point.

Heinrich de Gramont took a step forward, as though meaning to follow his son, but suddenly he realized that his knees were shaking. For the first time in his life, he felt drenched in a feeling of total helplessness. He froze, leaning heavily on the table, before realizing that he was falling. He didn’t feel the impact; a merciful darkness had swooped out to envelop his mind.

* * *

Herouxville

The Duke de Bauffremont’s Palace

The Duke de Bauffremont was sitting in the shadow of one of his palace’s spacious balconies, slapping his palm impatiently against the edge of a table. The courtyard below was filled with warm midday sun, whose reflected light was dyed turquoise by the water of a glittering, tiled fountain.

Another time, perhaps, the Duke would have looked down at the whole scene with satisfaction: the sun dancing happily on the surface of the water, the petals of his exotic flowers fluttering in the breeze... He had ordered these personally, from a number of his favorite orangeries in the city. Today, however, Claude could find neither peace, nor even his usual feeling of confidence.

He looked up at the footman who had just stepped meekly into the arch of his balcony:

“Well?”

The footman was frozen in a half-bow, and seemed afraid to raise his eyes:

“They’ve already arrived, Your Grace.”

“Then what are you waiting for?” The Duke snapped as he leapt up from his chair and hurled a spotted pillow to the side in frustration. “My orders were that they be escorted to see me without delay!”

The servant hurried away, and the Duke de Bauffremont collapsed back into his chair, trying to regain his composure.

As it happens, the cause of Claude’s anxiety had a title: his distant relative, the Duchess von Dissen, had come from Astland with a large retinue and taken up temporary residence in the Queen of Vestonia’s portion of the Royal Palace.

She had come to visit shortly after her arrival. And once she and Claude were alone, Augusta von Dissen dispensed with any sense of decorum — she began to lecture him like an errant schoolboy. She reminded him of everything: his defeat in Bergonia, his captivity, and the sums she had sent for his ransom.

In addition, she accused Claude of failing to act. While he had been entertaining himself with new female favorites at his endless series of hunts and balls, the Duke de Gondy (or rather, his shrewd, calculating daughter) had practically laid siege to Prince Philippe.

Augusta informed him that Otto was extremely disappointed in Claude’s inaction, and that he had aired numerous concerns about the way the situation had developed. For the first time in decades, Bauffremont’s influence over Prince Philippe had waned. And everyone had noticed. He had dropped the ball that was Carl’s eldest son, and Blanca de Gondy had rushed in to pick it up. Which, she reminded Claude, was exactly what the Vestonian King had been intending when he gave his blessing to the marriage between his son and the Marchioness de Gondy.

After speaking with the Duchess von Dissen, a furious Claude decided to show everybody who exactly wielded the most influence over the Prince. The Duke de Bauffremont knew his nephew better than anyone else in the world. And he still had aces up his sleeve.

A footman opened the doors. Behind him, frozen in mid-bow, were two men in unassuming gray cloaks. One was a tall, elderly beanpole of a man, the other a shorter fat man with a black beard. At their feet stood a wooden chest, covered with a length of embroidered fabric. The Duke noticed that the chest had a strange covering of stout wrought-iron bars, as if the little cage somehow required a coat of chain-mail all its own. A faint scent of herbs hung in the air.

“Charles, Gustav...” The Duke’s lips spread into a smile. “So here you are. Did you get it done?”

“Your Graa-aace,” said the old man, drawing out the words for effect with a servile smile on his face. “Have we ever let you down before?”

“You’re right, Gustav,” sighed the Duke. He sounded completely genuine. “The two of you, it seems, are the only people who have never once broken your word to me these past twenty years.”

“It is a great honor to serve you, Your Grace,” rumbled the heavyset man.

“I hope, Charles, that you remember the importance of maintaining your silence on this matter?”

“Of course, Your Grace,” both men replied in near-perfect unison, before once again dropping into deep bows.

“Excellent,” nodded the Duke. “So... What have you brought to cheer me up this time? Something dangerous, judging by the double reinforcement on the cage?”

Gustav shook his head immediately:

“Oh no, Your Lordship! This beast is meek, and obedient as a goat’s kid. But there’s a catch. This creature recognizes only one master. It’s a connection that lasts for its entire life. At the moment, it has no master. The beast has never been tamed, never been petted. It hasn’t even seen who’s feeding it. Hence the double reinforcement on the cage: we don’t want anyone to be able to touch it.”

“Show me,” de Bauffremont replied tersely.

The men exchanged a glance; then one of them began to lift the embroidered cloth covering the cage. Moving slowly and carefully, he removed the pin from a latch and gently slid open the side panel of the cage. A furry little ball glanced out from within. It had a short, stubby little nose; its ears jutted out to the sides; and its long fur was a very strange shade of light gold, with occasional dark patches along the sides.

The Duke felt a sense of nervous excitement: he was used to seeing all sorts of savage beasts, but this animal was uniquely charming. Its little amber eyes stared out at him. They were attentive and (in the Duke’s mind, at least) keen in appraising every feature of his reaction. The Duke leaned forward, as though he wanted to touch the creature, but one of the deliverymen threw the cover back over the side of the cage before he could do so.

“You see, Your Lordship,” said Charles with a smile. “Even you were unable to resist its influence.”

“I see.” The Duke rustled the edge of his sleeve and frowned as he glanced inside.

The little beast flattened its ears against its head and let out a sharp hiss. It fell silent, however, when one of the deliverymen kicked the toe of his boot against the side of the cage.

“His Highness ought to become its first owner!” Gustav exclaimed as a smile spread across his obsequious face. His excitement made him draw out his words even more than before.

The Duke was beaming. He could already imagine Philippe’s reaction to such a wonderful, cute, and unique little creature.

“Send the beast to the menagerie overseer, and warn him carefully about everything,” said the Duke de Bauffremont. His commanding demeanor was back with a vengeance. “You may draw your gold from my treasury.”

“Your Grace...” Gustav’s voice was lower this time. “There’s something else...”

Clause guessed what was happening immediately, and he stepped in closer to his beast-catcher.

“Show me,” he commanded.

Old Gustav nodded to Charles, who pulled a fat little bag out from behind his belt. He untied its strings and held it out so that the Duke could see what was inside. Claude’s eyes widened.

“They’re enormous,” he gasped.

“Found in a new spot,” replied Gustav, who was clearly pleased to see his best client’s reaction. “Selected specially for you, Your Grace. All of them whole.”

With that, he offered the bag to the Duke. Claude weighed it in his hand, then nodded in a respectful silence.

“I’m pleased,” he said. “My treasury will pay you a bonus for your efforts. I will always purchase goods of this quality, in whatever quantity you bring them.”

“We thank you, Your Grace.” Both beast-catchers had happy smiles on their faces.

The men bowed their heads, then turned and hurried out of the hall, holding the cage by both ends. When the door closed behind them, the Duke de Bauffremont rubbed his hands together and let out a grunt of relieved satisfaction.

His nephew would undoubtedly appreciate the gift. Claude could already see the disappointment on the faces of the de Gondys, who would soon learn that Philippe had forgotten about everything else in the world and locked himself in his menagerie with his new toy for a few months.

After weighing the heavy bag in his hands one more time, a pensive smile spread across the Duke de Bauffremont’s face.

* * *

Somewhere in the suburbs of Herouxville...

The small tavern on the outskirts of Herouxville seemed as unremarkable as the dozens of others with which it shared a suburb: a faded sign, low ceilings, hallways that stank of tobacco smoke and sour beer...

The main hall was empty that night. There were just a few regulars, sitting at tables near the window and sipping the local swill from their usual wooden mugs. The door was closed tight, and a broad-shouldered beast of a man was keeping a lazy watch over the peace and quiet in the room.

But at a rectangular table, in the farthest, darkest corner of the hall, there were two people who weren’t usually there. Their faces were concealed in the murky darkness, the only light in the corner being provided by the moonlight streaking in through a narrow slit in the window.

“As far as I understand it, our order is complete?” The first figure said, carefully adjusting a massive golden ring with a big ruby that sat on his index finger. His voice was calm and even, devoid of emotion, but one could still pick up on the fact that this person was used to giving orders.

“Yes,” replied the second figure, who was drawing out his words in an unusual manner. “Your package has been delivered.”

For just a moment, a feeble beam of moonlight caught the face of the first figure, whose ice-cold eyes were riveted carefully on his companion.

“And you’re completely certain that it will achieve the desired result?” He asked. A barely-perceptible note of doubt could be heard in his tone, which was otherwise just as calm and steady as before.

The second figure nodded, stretching out his shoulders. He glanced back at the closed door, as if making sure for the hundredth time that nobody could possibly be eavesdropping.

“Completely,” he said, adjusting the greasy cuff of his waistcoat as he spoke. “Please don’t worry. Death will be instantaneous.”

“Do you remember our most important condition?” The first figure asked. “Everything needs to look like a tragic accident.”

“As it will,” replied the second figure with total confidence.

“Who else knows of this business?”

“Just me and my companion,” said the second man. “But he knows how to keep his silence.”

“Then we have nothing further to discuss,” replied the first figure. He laid a bulging sack down onto the tabletop, where it disappeared almost immediately into the second figure’s cloak.

“It’s a pleasure doing business with you, my lord,” said the second figure, still drawling out his words. “If you find yourself in need of our services again, you know where to find us.”

“Indubitably,” replied the first man. He stood up from the table and headed for the exit. He covered his face with a wide-brimmed hat as he walked.

The second man didn’t hurry after him; instead, he finished the contents of his mug, then stood up and headed slowly for the exit. Once outside, he took a deep breath of the cool, crisp night air. Sure, the local alleys reeked of shit and hogwash, but for this particular smiling man, the air was some of the sweetest and most refreshing he had ever breathed in his life.

Once he had moved a decent distance away from the tavern, a massive silhouette appeared out from behind a dark corner.

“How’d it go, Gustav?” The darkness inquired.

“Better than ever,” the man smiled to the broad-shouldered silhouette. “Charles, I think it’s time we got out of the...”

He never finished. Instead, he stared on with bulging eyes as another shadow appeared from behind his massive companion. A dagger flashed in the moonlight, and Charles’ enormous frame began to crumple to the ground.

Gustav was about to whip out a knife from his own belt, but suddenly he felt a sharp, burning pain in his heart. The world shuddered, and Gustav started to feel everything collapse in on him.

The last thing he saw before the darkness swallowed him was a golden ring with a big ruby on it, clenched tightly against the hilt of a dagger.