LE LION VERT, 2022
The night was dragging on. It was all thrilling, mind you, but it hadn’t been as I expected. I wanted to make connections, maybe find a patron. I had come here with fantasies of a court appointment and being welcomed into the refined arms of a decadent aristocracy. Of wealth and hedonism. Elegant sorceries. I had at least expected to seize a few promising leads in that direction.
That’s not how I felt it went at all. Instead, I was mocked by a rather busty centenarian and her ginger flunky. I made myself look a fool before a Marechal de Guerre. The only semi-positive connection I had made was with a very unpopular and poor necromancer. Oh, by the way, the man I came to the party with accidentally killed one of the wenches, and we had to bring her back from the dead. Could this night get any worse?
“Where’s that ginger bint?” asked Philipe.
“You mean Mademoiselle Deveraux?”
“Yeah, the one that was outside the door before. The leggy redhead.”
“I suppose she’d be with the Peregrines. She’s the daughter of Charles-Francois.”
“You don’t say. A bit more statuesque than you’d expect from the codger. What do you think? She didn’t seem to like that Umbra, no?”
“Decidedly not. There seems to have been a bit of a falling out between the two. On account of Mademoiselle Umbra having been adopted by her father.”
“I could make do with that. A bit of sibling rivalry and such.”
If I knew Philipe, this was going to come to no good end. Whatever he was planning, I didn’t want to be a part of it. One problem was that I didn’t know how to get home from another dimension.
I’m very good with the magic of things, making them, repairing them, but it’s not like I could just poof myself back to our rooms at the university or even back to the forest.
The other problem I had was that I couldn’t afford at the moment to blast my relationship with Philipe. I was somewhat tethered to the bastard for the moment, so I felt I had to go along with his schemes.
Philipe and I meandered our way back to Fulvia, where the Peregrines had congregated. She turned to look at me over her shoulder and smiled, which threw me back into my head. Perhaps it was a knowing smile? Maybe Fany had said something to her about what had happened upstairs.
Philipe tossed himself into the seat next to Fany. We had found her readjusting her outfit in front of a tall looking-glass she had conjured.
“Oh, the bastard and his donkey, could this night get any worse?”
“Could. Or could get better for you,” said Philipe.
“Uggh.”
“You and that Umbra, not besties?”
“You’re wasting my time, bastard.”
“I’m just thinking you didn’t overhear the whole thing is all.”
“I heard enough. Necrophilia isn’t really my kettle, so how about you disapparate? Into the Sun.”
“I just figured you’d be interested in a way to pull one over on the short stack, but I guess not.” Philipe stood up. “Well, my donkey friend, there are windmills about.”
“Yippee, will there be carrots and sugar cubes?” I asked, and we turned to walk away.
“Wait. Speak. Be quick about it. I’ve had a dreadful night, and when I have a dreadful night, I make sure that everyone else does too. Unless you have someone I can focus on?”
I stood there as Philipe explained his sordid little plan. He explained his deal with Thea. Fany was clever; once she heard the terms of Philipe and Thea’s agreement, she backed away slowly into a flock of revellers and disappeared from our view.
“You can’t mean to do this,” I said.
“Why, damn that ugly little waif.”
“She helped you, saved your bollocks as it were.”
“For pay, she made the deal, and if the deal stands, I’ll honour it, but if I can turn the tables on that sour little snake, I will. You’re supposed to be my friend Boz.”
“I am, of course —“
“Don’t you breathe a word of this, promise?”
I didn’t want to promise that, but I was on the spot. As the night dragged on, I found I liked Philipe less and less. We really didn’t have much in common. Or maybe we had too much in common; I couldn’t decide. But I wasn’t about to betray my connection with Philipe for a new one with Thea that was up in the air.
“I promise.” I thought Thea could handle herself, and it really wasn’t my job to protect her. Though part of me wondered if breaking my promise to Philipe and telling her about his plan might win me points. I resolved against it. Who wants to be friends with someone who betrays their friends? Only a fool.
“Nikolai,” said Thea from behind me; I turned to see her looking up at me with her emotionless face. The top of her head barely reached my chin.
“Mademoiselle Umbra,” I said, “how may I be of service?”
“Thea, you can call me Thea.”
“Of course, Thea.” I bowed my head, “my friends call me Boz.”
“You said something about getting blown out with Samson. I thought you’d like another chance?”
I raised my eyebrows. “That would — I would — of course, yes!” I followed after Thea.
“Just don’t have an opinion on war.”
“I will try to avoid it. I suppose that was my mistake the last time.”
“Try and keep things to your strong points. Unless you’re an elite-level war strategist, or your idea of a refreshing workout is hacking people to pieces with a broad sword, don’t bother trying to have anything in common with him. It’ll just piss him off.”
“I wouldn’t want that.”
Thea and I approached the table of the Red Lions again. When Samson des Merveilles saw her, his face lit up. He pushed his chair out and opened his arms wide. He looked like an armoured Santa Claus, and Thea jumped into his large lap like a precocious child with a very long list of demands.
“Snakelette, that’s a good lass. We missed you.”
All of the Red Lions seemed to know her. There were cheers, greetings, and a genuine show of celebration at her arrival. I hadn’t seen anyone else respond to her like this.
“How’s Cecily?” she asked.
Samson grinned. “A bit worse for wear, lass. See for yourself.” He reached behind Thea and pulled out his sword; it was the largest Kopis I had ever seen. Once it was halfway out of its scabbard, Samson moved his hand to the middle of the blade, pulled it all the way out, and set it on the table as gently as one would handle a baby.
Thea slid off his knee and looked over the sword. “What did you do to her? Did you beat someone over the head?”
“Something like that.”
“Awe Ceci, don’t worry,” said Thea as she feathered her fingers over the hilt, “Papi, this is Boz; I think you met him earlier?”
Samson looked at me. His eyes were kinder than I remembered. “Aye, the halfling. Didya magic him a spine then, little snakelette?”
“Don’t be mean; he’s a talented artisan. Magical items, wands, like that.”
I was deeply warmed she would say so. She barely knew me. And I was currently helping to screw her over with Philipe. What if she found out? Surely by the end of the night, she’d realise, or at least suspect. No matter how good this goes, and quite outside of my control, this too would detonate spectacularly in my face. I just knew it.
“Is that so, Master Boz?” asked Samson.
“Yes, Sir, I was apprenticed to my aunt, Ivana Estella.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of Estella Wands; my mother had one. Fine work. Do you know much about swords?”
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“Using them, no, but how they are designed, I have some knowledge. The metallurgy at least, and engraving, insetting.”
Samson leaned forward, his elbow on his knee. “What about special swords?”
“I guess it would depend on what kind of special; you mean enchanted?”
Samson laughed. “Aye, you could say that; Cecily’s no normal sword. She’s alive.”
“Like a sentient spell, or — a daimonia?”
“Aye, a soul, as much a soul as me or you, better than I think.”
“I’ve never encountered one; they’re exceedingly rare. Arthur had one I know, Excalibur.”
Samson waved his hand at the sword, and Thea stepped aside.
“Boz, this is Cecily,” said Thea.
I walked on the rims of hooves up to see it. It was a very nice sword, in a way. A large Kopis, which is a Greek sword that curves down instead of up. She had a bronze handle with garnet stones inlaid. Her ladled hilt and knuckle guard had a Greek-style border. The ladle looped back into a pommel that had seen some wear. It was chipped and missing several stones.
“She is very beautiful,” I said. The sword seemed to hum in response to the compliment.
“The Gentleman Satyr, even with swords,” said Thea.
Samson laughed, “What say you, Master Boz? Could you fix it?”
“I believe so, but I haven’t any garnet currently.”
Samson clapped me on the back. “I can see you’re a young man; I doubt you have much. If you say you can do the job, then you will earn your wage.”
“You can come to see my new place, Papi,” said Thea, “Boz is thinking of rooming with me.”
“Is that so? Business partners, then?”
“You could say that,” she said.
I wanted to die. This was the ninth ring of hell. The ring for betrayers. The ring for two-faced traitors. The place where people who smiled into your face while their friend was stabbing you in the back were supposed to spend eternity. Well, the ones who got caught anyway. Strictly speaking stabbing someone in the back is the safest way to do it. But I didn’t want to stab Thea in the back. Not because I have a problem with dorsal incisions on principle, mind you. It just didn’t serve me in any way. In fact, it did the exact opposite.
I wondered if she was a clever sadist, knew what I had done, and organised this whole set-up to torture me. To snatch my hopes of patronage from my grasping and traitorous hands. Or maybe she wasn’t. Maybe she was just being friendly to me, and I was the villain. If I had orchestrated the whole thing, I would be proud. I had not, I was merely reacting to the machinations of someone else. I was a flunky — that hurt. I was a bastard’s flunky — that hurt more.
As we walked away from the table, my shoulders slumped. I was not very good at hiding how I felt, which was wretched. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen, but I had some ideas. It was almost sunrise; it would be soon. Then she would know it was me. And then Papi would take Cecily and probably make me his next workout routine. Being dismembered is a singularly undignified way to go out, second only perhaps to being impaled in an eastern European fiefdom.
“Papi?” I regretted asking it. It was very informal and friendly to pry into her personal relationships. But then, we were friends, weren’t we? She seemed to think so. Or maybe it was a quid pro quo. As far as she knew, I’d introduced her to Philipe, and she had worked out a bargain with him that would be highly beneficial. Maybe she saw it as paying me back. Only she didn’t know that I had been there when Philipe planned to screw her over, and I had promised not to reveal it.
“Samson,” she said, “I’ve known him since I was ten when Charles-Francois adopted me.”
“I see; well, I deeply appreciate you reconnecting me with him and helping me find work.”
“Sure, what are friends for?”
I wanted to pray the Gods would kill me then and there. If I told her now, it might save the situation. But then, I would forever be someone indiscreet. To me, that was a worse sin. I had to find some way to tell her without telling her.
“Did you see where Fany went, I mean after she ran off in the hall upstairs?” I asked. I needed to be careful. Plausible deniability. I had to manage this by only discussing things we both already knew.
“No, but I’m sure she’s plotting something.”
I looked around, wondering if Philipe was watching me. I tried to find him or Fany in the crowd but didn’t see them.
“I worry about how much she knows,” I said.
“Why?”
“I don’t know, but she really doesn’t like you. Is there any way she could interfere with your deal, like banish Maeva’s soul?” I knew she couldn’t, that would be an offensive spell, and those weren’t possible in the Green Lion. Mainly to prevent brawls between sorcerers from drunkenly triggering armageddon. This was a very small dimension. No one had a problem with old-fashioned glassing though.
“Oh,” said Thea, “I hadn’t thought of that. Where is Maeva?”
Thea and I searched the crowd and didn’t find her. We made our way towards the kitchen. It was massive, with rows of preparation tables, and large fireplaces with great wooden beams for mantles. It was very hot and poorly ventilated. There was a cloud of smoke that had risen to the ceiling.
It burned my eyes as we skulked around, looking for Maeva. There were small half-moon windows at the top of the far wall, and outside, it was still night. So long as Maeva was alive when the Inn reset at sunrise, then Thea’s bargain would hold.
She and I snuck along one of the large trestle tables used for preparation.
“She can’t banish her soul,” said Thea, “you can’t cast killing curses in the Green Lion, or any curses really for that matter.”
We got to the end of the table and looked around. There was the sound of rustling echoing in the room, but I couldn’t place it.
“Then what could she do?” I asked.
Thea was about to respond when we heard the crash of pots and pans. Thea and I broke into a run in the direction of the sound. She skidded to a halt in front of the door to a small side room. My hooves are not exactly like rubber soles. I skidded, but not to a halt. More like I skidded into laying on my side at Thea’s sneakers. I looked through her spindle legs to see a pair of suede boots. It was Fany Deveraux.
Fany had Maeva’s hair bunched into her fist; her other hand held a cimeter. A fleshing knife for butchering large cuts of meat. They both spun to face us. Thea put her hands up.
“Woah, slow down, bird brain.”
“Hur, so funny.” Fany brought the knife closer to Maeva’s throat. The Drow was panicked. Her eyes were wide. Her hands were shaking. This really wasn’t her night. I felt horrible for her and hated myself even more. I had involved her by helping Philipe. More reason for me to hate my powers; all they did was cause suffering. I knew I shouldn’t care, but I did. I wanted to be harder than I was.
“I mean it, Fany, put the knife down. Your problem is with me, not her.”
“Oh, look at you, Ms Hostage Negotiator, offer me something.” Fany opened a tiny cut on Maeva’s jawline.
“What do you want?”
“For you to go away, leave France; I don’t care where you go. I don’t want ever to see you again.”
“You want me to exile myself?”
Fany opened another small cut on Maeva’s neck. The poor Drow twisted and only made it worse. Fany jerked Maeva back into place. “Try to run, and I’ll give you a permanent smile, you silly twat.”
Thea put her hands down and stood up straight.
“I’ve got a better deal. Let her go unhurt, and I won’t peel you like an apple.”
“Hah! You talk big, but Fulvia and the Duc would never allow that. It’d start a war.”
“Not if I declare vendetta.”
“For a keno slave? Who is she to you? ”
“No one. But if you spill her blood, I’ll make the Seal of Vendetta against you. On principle.”
“I’m not afraid of you Snakelette.” Fany opened Maeva’s neck to the bone, and her blood sprayed out in a small fountain down the front of her chest. When Fany released her grip on Maeva’s hair, the Drow collapsed to her knees and fell forward into an ever-expanding pool of blood.
Thea looked up to the half-moon window. It was still dark. The deal she’d made with Philipe was broken, and that would mean she’d owe him the same debt. He could demand her labour, her love, and her secret anytime he wanted.
Thea bent forward and ran a finger in the blood of Maeva.
“Sangue per sangue, peccato per peccato, morte per morte,” said Thea. She spat on the ground at Fany’s feet. Blood for blood. Sin for sin. Death for Death. The Seal of Vendetta is a powerful law from the Elder Gods. It was the Law of Retaliation. One of them would have to kill the other, and no one could stand in their way.
Thea and Fany were facing off. They couldn’t do any offensive magic in the Green Lion; the rules were still in effect, but Thea had taken out her switchblade. Fany’s knife may have been bigger, but anyone could see who knew their way around knives better. Fany was holding her knife out in front, trying to be menacing. Thea had her blade tucked tight to her hip, almost hidden from view.
Thea moved in short even steps with both feet, her left hand out in front, taunting Fany, trying to entice her to slash at it. Fany was circling like a model on a catwalk, crossing her ankles, floating on her heels. Which is to say about as stable as a two-legged tripod. I was no fighter by any means, but I could tell this wouldn’t go as well as Fany thought it would.
Fany took the bait and slashed. It was a slash that was half-hearted, meant to scare or intimidate. Thea was faster than a cobra. She pulled her left hand back, and it traded places with her right hand, which snaked out in a flash from her hip and jerked back into place. The blade was stained with blood.
It had happened so fast it took Fany a moment to drop the cimeter. The blood didn’t squirt out of her wrist, it billowed out. Fany grabbed her forearm, just below the cut to stop the flow.
The kitchen doors burst open. Hildag and Fulvia rushed in. Every time I saw that woman my heart would leap in my chest. The look on her face was pure determination. They saw the pool of blood. The body of Maeva. “What is going on in her?” Fulvia looked from Thea to Fany. “Speak, now.”
Hildag’s eyes were aflame again. “Who did this?” Her voice was deep and gravelly again, like it had been in the hallway.
Fany lowered her head, still holding her forearm. “I did it your grace.”
“Fany, why?”
“The waif made a deal with the bastard and brought this slave back to life. I did it to ruin her deal.”
Fulvia turned to Thea. “Snakelette?”
“It’s true, your grace.”
“Banned. Banned for life!” Hildag shouted. Her voice shook the pots and pans hanging above the prep tables. Fany looked at Hildag. “You can’t ban me over — ”
Fulvia raised her hand. “Out. Now.”
Fany shimmied past them and left. Thea pointed her bloodied blade at Fany. “This isn’t over.”
Hildag was furious. But she wasn’t furious with us. The sun was rising, and as it did, the pool of blood seemed to reverse, like it was being sucked back into Maeva.
“Thea, you have to stop fighting with Fany. You’re sisters.”
“She’s not my sister.” Thea held up her knife.
“You didn’t, no — tell me you didn’t,” said Fulvia.
“I will have vendetta.”
Fulvia looked at me. “Nikolai, you stood by and let her do this?”
How was this my fault? I wasn’t about to say that to Fulvia, though. She didn’t seem in the mood for excuses. I probably shouldn’t have asked how things could get worse. If you ask that, they always get worse. Also, she remembered my name?
“I forbid it. You will not fight with Fany.”
“You cannot interfere, your grace,” said Thea.
“You will respect my wishes, and so will Fany until I can speak to the Duc.”
“Valmont will understand; it’s vendetta.”
“You will wait until after the soirée then, as a favour to me?”
“Yes, your grace, but after that, I am going to kill her. Slowly.”
Thea stormed from the room like a tornado. Fulvia sighed and lowered her head, shaking it from side to side. I felt sorry for her, I could see that she loved Thea and Fany, and this must be what it’s like to see your children hating each other. Fulvia gave the impression of someone who liked things to be happy. Underneath that, she had the weariness of someone who needs things to be happy. Someone on the edge of chaos, and not sure what she would do if things slipped over.
“I am sorry for my part, your grace,” I said.
“What can any of us do, little boy?”
I crinkled my lips. I didn’t like being called a little boy, especially by Fulvia.
“Am I just a little boy to you, then?”
Fulvia perked up, a sly smile on her face. “And if you are? What will you do about it.”
“I apologise for giving you that impression.”
Fulvia laughed—that thick contralto music. Fulvia could laugh at you without insulting you. It was so warm it swaddled you.
“Oh, yes — that is your problem, Nikolai, so so apologetic. Do you want something? Be strong enough to take it, be daring enough to risk dying for it. Nothing is out of reach to he who would dare.”
“And no one?”
Fulvia smiled so wide I thought her head might split in half. “There’s hope for you yet, boy.”