Book 7: Chapter 11 |
Herouxville
New Capital
Palace of the Duchess du Bellay
THE DUCHESS DU BELLAY was positively radiating joy that day. And there were several reasons for that. First and foremost, she had organized a reception, and every single person she invited had practically fallen over themselves in their hurry to confirm their attendance. Even people who always used to find excuses not to attend, so as not to have to visit her home. Even some people who used to simply ignore her invitations altogether. To be fair to them, of course, Ferdinand de Gramont’s treason hadn’t just affected him personally — it had adverse effects on his entire family, including his brother and sister. Sure, she and Heinrich had taken the right side at the right time, but the family’s reputation had been badly stained.
Many of the higher houses had ceased contact with the de Gramonts altogether after the sordid affair. This hit the Duchess particularly hard.
Slowly, however, the situation had begun to change. All because of Ferdinand’s previously-unknown and previously-uninteresting bastard, whom Heinrich had kicked out of the capital.
Her nephew had managed not only to survive, but also to achieve a series of successes that were frankly almost mind-boggling. If someone had told the Duchess a year ago that Ferdinand’s illegitimate son would soon become a Margrave and a combat mage — one of the most powerful ones in Mainland, no less — she’d have thought it was some kind of cruel joke.
Even all that, however, didn’t seem to be the limit... Jeanne du Bellay didn’t expect her beloved nephew to stop there. She couldn’t even imagine how far he might manage to go.
Every bit of news coming into Herouxville from Bergonia seemed to contradict the last news.
Rumor even had it that the Dukes de Bauffremont and de Gondy were so afraid of the new kid on the block that they had concluded a temporary alliance and rushed off with a huge army, just to prevent Marshal de Clairmont from taking all the glory for himself.
The triumphant Vestonian march through Bergonia raised excitement to such a fever pitch that when news finally arrived of the army’s disastrous defeat, it was initially dismissed as false. At first, many people simply couldn’t believe it. After all, the Magistracy in Herouxville had already held meetings about how the City should welcome its heroes back from their victorious campaign. They even set aside a budget for ceremonies and celebrations.
But then the news was confirmed... De Clairmont’s army was shattered, and its remnants were surrounded somewhere in the south or the east of Bergonia. Which, of course, was where the Ducal army was headed, under the command of Prince Philippe.
Nobody had a very high opinion of the King’s eldest son as a leader of men. All their hopes were pinned on the two Dukes. Grim rumors began to make the rounds in the capital — rumors that the Golden Lion was more powerful than ever before, and that even if the Ducal army ended up defeating him in battle (which didn’t seem likely), it still wouldn’t be good news for Vestonia. Many people spoke openly of a coming invasion during those days. If not from the south, then certainly from the north.
On more than one occasion, the Duchess du Bellay heard some of Prince Louis’ former adherents seriously discussing whether it might still be possible to exchange their new red colors for their good-old green ones.
A gloomy silence had fallen over Herouxville... But only until one of the Duke de Bauffremont’s riders charged into the City with news of a spectacular victory. A Vestonian infantry force had smashed a huge army of Atalian cavalry.
The rabble had been so terrified of the coming invasion that many of them took this news as a long-awaited sign from the gods. The nobility, however, were a good deal more skeptical.
Most of them had come to the conclusion that the Duke de Bauffremont was simply trying to keep up morale in the capital, so as to avoid mass unrest and nobles fleeing their posts. And to be fair, how else would they have interpreted the news at that point? Who had ever heard of a group of common infantrymen defeating a unit of noble cavalry? Plus, the infantrymen were under the command of the inexperienced Viscount de Leval.
Only a few days after the news arrived in the capital, however, another rumor began to spread like a prairie fire. This rumor alleged that the Viscount de Leval had not, in fact, had anything to do with the victory at all.
In reality, the infantry force had been under the command of the young Margrave de Valier at the time. It need hardly be said that after this rumor made the rounds, the Duchess du Bellay’s palace became the most popular one in the City almost overnight. Jeanne herself was slightly shocked that her nephew, who had gone off to war with no more than a few dozen soldiers, had somehow managed to gather an entire army under his command.
The Duchess du Bellay realized, of course, that her palace’s newfound popularity might vanish just as quickly as it had appeared, so she didn’t waste a single moment of it — there were receptions and balls at her palace practically every single day.
Thankfully, her worries and cautious assumptions turned out to be unfounded. Every piece of news that came in from the battlefields from then on brought word of Max’s new victories, and as a result her house’s prestige continued to rise and rise. This was especially the case when, just a few days before, the news arrived that the Master of the Order of the Scarlet Shield, Alberto di Lanzi (nicknamed the Gray Reaper for his cruelty) had met his death beneath the Margrave de Valier’s sword, and that Max’s forces had gone on to liberate the Sapphire Guild’s Citadel from the enemy and thereby rescue His Majesty’s Fifth Legion.
All this news was later confirmed by other nobles, who had received messages from their own sources via carrier pigeons.
All things considered, then, the Duchess du Bellay had reason to be radiating joy. Completely unexpectedly, her nephew — who was already beloved by the common folk of Vestonia — had acquired an entire army for himself. He had become a force to be reckoned with. By everyone. Even the King himself, whose power was already on shaky ground due to his illness.
“Madame!” A quavering, elderly male voice tore the Duchess out of her pleasant daydreams. “You look simply magnificent! Time obviously has no power over you at all!”
Jeanne turned and, with a radiant smile, she greeted her visitor with a bow of her head.
“There you are, you withered old toad. One foot in the grave already,” she thought maliciously as she stared straight into the Count de Rondi’s age-worn eyes.
House de Rondi was ancient, and had once been powerful, but it had recently fallen on hard times. Despite that, however, its patriarch, the Count de Rondi, had agreed to accept the Duchess’ invitation. Prior to that very morning, all her attempts to strengthen ties with the ancient house had come up against a cold, alienating wall of indifference and disdain. Everyone knew that the Count de Rondi was a man of honor. Jeanne understood just how significant it was that the dried-up old man had swallowed his pride and agreed to visit her home. And to bring his children and grandchildren with him, no less.
The Duchess’ keen, penetrating stare flitted around the faces of the de Rondi family, and finally stopped on a young, black-haired Viscountess’ cute little face. The old Count’s granddaughter.
The young woman froze in an expression of deep deference, with a shy smile on her face and her eyes fixed firmly on the floor in front of her.
Jeanne’s eyes narrowed slightly; in her mind, she couldn’t hold back a smirk of satisfaction.
“Well, well, my girl... You and your family are going to have to try your very hardest from here on. Ha! So recently, your old grandpa wouldn’t give us the time of day, and now he’s trying to set you up with the Bastard!”
Out loud, of course, the Duchess took a different tone:
“I thank you, my dear Count! Such kind words are music to my ears, coming as they do from such a noble cavalier as yourself. All the more so in light of what my dearly departed mother once told me about you.”
The Duchess turned her mirthful gaze onto the Count de Rondi’s family; then, lowering her voice theatrically, she continued:
“Did you know, my dears, that your beloved grandfather was something of a heartbreaker in his youth? Especially when he served as Ambassador to the former King of Astland. We all heard the rumors that the young Count de Rondi had attracted the eye of Queen Sophia herself — the mother of the last King of Astland.”
The Count’s family began to smile, and his grandsons livened up noticeably. Apparently, they had never heard anything about this side of their grandfather before.
“Come now, Your Grace,” the Count said with a wave of his hands. “You’ll make an old man blush.”
While the Duchess proceeded to answer a hail of questions from the Count’s grandchildren about their grandfather’s storied past, the old Count himself turned to look off to the side. He was obviously deep in thought.
Jeanne de Bellay watched him out of the corner of her eye and snickered to herself. The old Casanova. Sure, he had one foot in the grave, but he still had the same one-track mind as before.
The Count’s attention was focused on a young, blond woman with turquoise-colored eyes. She was wearing an elegant dress in the colors of the Margrave de Valier. Her long, elegant neck was ringed by a magnificent emerald necklace, and a pair of graceful earrings glimmered in her ears.
The Duchess couldn’t help admiring the young woman’s ramrod-straight posture, her subtle grace and poise. Indeed, she couldn’t help sighing to herself... Her nephew truly had exceptional taste. The young woman, who had only agreed to come to the reception after much convincing from Valerie and the Duchess herself, had caused a furore with her appearance.
In some ways, it was a real shame... If it hadn’t been for her background, she and Max might have made an excellent couple. Alas, besides her beauty and her excellent education, the girl didn’t have anything — not a penny to her name. Jeanne’s nephew was going to need an alliance with a rich and powerful house.
Meanwhile, the Count’s relatives finally left him and the Duchess alone, whereupon Jeanne quietly asked:
“I see that young woman has struck your fancy?”
The Count jumped slightly, then blinked a few times. He was clearly a little embarrassed at having fallen into a stupor.
“A true gem,” he replied excitedly. “Who is she? What house does she come from?”
“You’ll scarcely believe it, my dear Count,” the Duchess shook her head. “This young woman isn’t even of noble blood at all. Her parents are from merchant stock. She’s a distant relative of my nephew, as well as of Pascal Legrand.”
“From the Golden Hundred?” The old man asked with obvious interest.
“Exactly,” the Duchess nodded. “Sadly, she’s not worthy of your attention. They may be relatives, but she has no claim whatsoever on any of Legrand’s wealth. She’s here staying with her cousin — my nephew, the Margrave de Valier. He’s also her legal guardian.”
“I see,” the Count replied pensively. “You’re absolutely right, Your Grace. It’s hard to believe that this child is not of noble stock. She clearly knows how to conduct herself even in the most exalted company.”
“Oh!” The Duchess replied. “Verena is a very talented young woman. She’s well-educated and intelligent. I have no doubt she’ll make a wonderful wife for some baron someday. My nephew is well-off, and will certainly be able to provide a respectable dowry for her.”
The Duchess was improvising. She and Max had never discussed anything of the sort. Jeanne was taking a gamble at her own risk. The idea of finding a high-placed husband for Verena had occurred to her when Valerie confided in her and shared her thoughts about who the young woman REALLY loved. It seemed that Verena was head over heels in love with Max. Although she tried very hard to keep her feelings concealed. At some point, the Duchess knew, this could become a problem and get in the way of her plans. Sure, her nephew had never once mentioned the idea of getting married, but that was exactly what the older women of the house were there for: to decide vital questions like this.
“Did you say Verena?” For just a moment, the old Count got noticeably excited, but he quickly regained his composure.
“Yes, that’s her name,” the Duchess nodded, managing to pretend that she hadn’t noticed the oddness of the Count’s behavior in the slightest. “Verena Marchand.”
“Well, Your Grace,” the old man concluded as his mind emerged back out from beneath a flood of thought. “I thank you for the diverting story.”
Then, with a snicker, he added:
“And also for reminding me of my younger days, especially with the grandchildren present. They’ll be asking me so many questions, I daresay I’ll have trouble making it back into the palace. It’s nice to have them paying attention to the old man again. Heh heh...”
With a courteous bow, they bade one another farewell. The Duchess headed for the exit. A footman had informed her that her brother and his family had arrived. He had requested to attend the reception, and she knew she couldn’t refuse him.
Meanwhile, the old Count de Rondi hobbled slowly off to one of the armchairs in the far corner of the hall. There, he sat down and proceeded to doze off for a while.
Seeing that the old Count was sleeping peacefully, with his cane still gripped lightly in his hands, everybody left him alone. As a result, none of them noticed him get up about three hours later and leave the reception hall to follow the young, blond-haired woman as she slipped outside for a breath of fresh air in the Duchess’ garden.
* * *
Herouxville
New Capital
Palace of the Duchess du Bellay
Heinrich de Gramont was sitting on his own in one of the garden’s gazebos, glowering at the windows of his sister’s palace, through which he could see glittering figures flitting past him as they danced. From time to time, he would take a sip from his brandy glass with a heavy sigh.
Somewhere inside, his children and their mother were dancing. Two weeks before, they had gathered their collective strength and forced him to ask Jeanne to invite them all to one of her receptions — after all, thanks to that bastard Renard, these receptions had become the most popular events in the city’s social life.
His sister had agreed with unexpected readiness and sent him official invitations, along with a short letter in which she explained that had agreed for the sake of the children.
Heinrich suspected that he had fallen victim to a plot between Jeanne and his own wife, but nevertheless he did everything he could to allow his family to bask in the light of high society once again. After all, this reception was their first opportunity to do so since the night of their disgrace.
The songs about “Henri the Shrimp” had passed from the popular stage some time before, but Heinrich was still worried about appearing at balls and receptions. Prior to coming, he had steeled himself in preparation to meet a wall of mocking glances. To his surprise, however (and to the immense joy of his family), all anyone could talk about was news from the Bergonian front.
He himself, of course, had been receiving news from the war almost daily; after all, thanks to the Duke de Bauffremont’s favor, both of his sons were at the front as part of His Highness Prince Philippe’s entourage.
The amount of work and (more importantly) money that this “favor” had cost Heinrich made the very thought of the Duke a little bit repulsive. And none of it would have been possible without Pascal Legrand’s help. Thankfully, the merchant’s pocketbook seemed to be bottomless.
Heinrich was very, very lucky to have acquired an ally like Legrand. They may have come from entirely different worlds, but they were connected by a shared hatred of that bastard Renard, who had turned out to be a very tricky opponent indeed.
Even while far away at the front, he was somehow managing to fend off both of their efforts against him. Any spies that they tried to slip into the Fox Den would simply disappear after a short time. Max’s soldiers and servants seemed impervious to bribery.
An attempt to organize a nighttime “robbery” also failed. Those mercenaries who survived the attempt and managed to escape simply stammered out a fantastic story about the castle being guarded by evil spirits.
They had a very similar experience in the merchants’ district, where Max had bought up a bunch of old buildings and launched into a grandiose rebuilding project. Planting spies there proved to be impossible too. Somehow, Max’s representative managed to identify every spy they sent to “work” in the district, and they were simply fired without any explanation.
Attacks and arson also proved fruitless. The people who were sent to carry out this dirty work came back in a daze and reported that they simply, quite literally, couldn’t strike so much as a spark. The area seemed to have been enchanted.
Nevertheless, they did manage to get one thing accomplished. Through some of his clients, Pascal Legrand filed several complaints with the Magistracy, in which respectable members of the community voiced concerns about a wide variety of non-standard construction practices in the merchant’s district and demanded that the authorities address these serious violations of the city’s laws.
Officers from the Magistracy had taken bribes and promised to send a fact-finding commission to the district.
In addition, Pascal managed to cut off the delivery of building materials and turn some of the delivery men against Max. But Max’s manager on the scene turned out to be a very dextrous opponent. He simply found new deliverymen.
A few days before the reception, Heinrich had met with a judge who promised a thorough investigation of Maximilian Renard’s illegal appropriation of the Fox Den. In the process, the lawyer Legrand had hired for the task advised Heinrich not to mention that Chevalier Renard and the Margrave de Valier were one and the same person.
Despite their considerable efforts, however, all their attempts to work against the Bastard seemed to be no more than minor irritants. Especially against the background of what was happening in Bergonia.
The news kept getting worse and worse. Heinrich’s wayward brother’s bastard had somehow managed to collect a whole army under his banner.
Heinrich prayed daily to all the gods, begging them to turn their faces from Renard and cause him to find death on the battlefield. It was terrifying even to imagine what would happen if the Bastard managed to return to the capital, especially if he came with his own personal army. For the first time, Heinrich came to the realization that he was powerless against this monster.
Suddenly, however, the Count de Gramont’s morose train of thought was interrupted by the appearance of a blond-haired young woman, who stopped next to a fountain just a few yards away from the gazebo where Heinrich was sitting.
She looked around, but didn’t notice the Count sitting there in the darkness.
Heinrich recognized her. She was Max’s cousin — the one Pascal Legrand had never heard of, whose very existence they were still trying unsuccessfully to confirm. Whether or not they actually were relatives, though, the Count was completely certain that this young woman was sharing the Bastard’s bed.
Once she had made sure she was alone, the young woman let out a muffled sigh and buried her face in her hands. Heinrich saw her petite shoulders start to shudder. He frowned. Renard’s woman seemed to be crying.
After a few minutes, another person appeared beside the fountain. The Count shook his head with a wry smile. Heinrich had recognized the slowly-approaching figure immediately. It was the Count de Rondi. How, Heinrich wondered, did he even have the strength anymore? Especially in the event that he actually SUCCEEDED in wooing such a young woman?
An instant later, however, something happened that the Count de Gramont wasn’t expecting at all. The Count de Rondi began to speak, and what he said wiped the smirk off Heinrich’s face immediately.
“Has someone offended you, Your Highness?” The old man asked in Astlandic as he greeted the young woman with a low bow. This made her jump and let out a muffled shriek as she jumped back in shock.
“Oh, dear... Please forgive a foolish old man, Your Highness,” de Rondi hastily apologized. “I see I’ve frightened you.”
“W-w-who are you?” The young woman replied in Astlandic. “With whom do I have the honor of speaking?”
Heinrich’s jaw hit the floor. He had heard, of course, that the girl had a good education, but he had never imagined it could be THIS good. Her Astlandic was flawless. More importantly, though... Why hadn’t she responded to the Count by correcting his mistake immediately?! Unless...
“Oh,” the Count de Rondi waved his hands hastily through the air and bowed again: “Please pardon my rudeness, Your Highness. I’m the Count de Rondi. At your service...”
As if reading Heinrich’s mind, the young woman hurried to reply to the Count’s bow with one of her own:
“There’s nothing to apologize for, Your Lordship. Besides, I fear you’re mistaken... I’m not a Princess. You need not address me with such formality. I’m merely the daughter of a poor merchant. Verena Marchand. At your service...”
She was breathing heavily, and her voice was shaking.
“There’s no need to be afraid, Your Highness,” the old man shook his head. “We’re alone here, and I wish you no ill. I mourn the death of your family along with you... And yet at the same time, I’m genuinely happy. After all — you’re alive!”
“Your Lordship, I...” The young woman tried to object, but she already sounded deflated.
“You do well to conceal your name,” the old man continued. “You have many enemies at the court of our King. Coming to this reception was a very bold move indeed...”
“But how did you recognize me?” She whispered quietly. Goosebumps raced across Heinrich’s skin as she spoke. He even stopped breathing, so as not to miss a single word.
“Oh, child!” The Count de Rondi said sadly. “You look uncannily like your grandmother, Queen Sophia. I remember when your father named you after her. Sophia-Verena, unless I’m mistaken? When I saw you today, my first thought was that I must have died, and gone to meet her in another life...”
“I saw her portraits in my youth,” the young woman nodded.
“That very resemblance holds great danger for you, Your Highness,” said the Count quietly. “There are still many old men in Herouxville who remember the First Beauty of Astland. How did you come to be living in the Margrave de Valier’s household? Is he keeping you here by force? Does he know who you are?”
“Quite the contrary. He saved me,” she quickly replied. “Yes, he knows. And he’s sworn to protect me. I trust him.”
“Well, if what they say about this Margrave is to be believed, he may well be the only person in this country who’s actually capable of doing that...” said the Count de Rondi as he drifted off into his own thoughts for a moment.
Then he looked around, held out his elbow, and added:
“We ought to return, before our absence is noticed... Please...”
With a quick nod, Sophia hopped up and laid her arm on the Count’s elbow. They continued talking quietly about something as they walked, but Heinrich couldn’t make out what they were saying.
That said, he had heard more than enough already. A satisfied smile spread across his face. Heinrich cast a quick, grateful glance up at the starry night sky. Finally, the gods seemed to have heard his prayers. He knew what he had to do next. He could already imagine the grimace of fury on the Duke de Bauffremont’s face when he learned that his enemy’s daughter was living right under his nose. And that the hated Bastard who was hiding the Princess had sworn to protect her.
The Count downed what remained of his brandy in one big swig, then rubbed his hands together gleefully and headed back to the palace. It was time to drink. After all, he had just found the perfect weapon for destroying the monster. He would just have to sic another monster on him — one who was even more powerful and terrifying...
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