Chapter 22: Attraction
“How long has she been down there?” Vincent asked.
I looked at the grandfather clock beside us, “forty-five minutes, give or take.”
“That feels less than good.” Vincent said.
As we sat shuffling in our chairs Aunt Cecile shuffled out of the gray room and into the smoking room. Quincy bounded up and sat before her, but she ignored the little dog.
“Kids, we have problems.” Aunt Cecile said.
“What kind of problems?” I asked.
“They’ve been smuggling in sabers and muskets. And soldiers.”
“They?” Vincent asked.
“Hyperboreans.”
“You’re sure they’re Hyperboreans?” I asked.
“I speak Borean kiddo. So yeah, they look like Hyperboreans. They speak the Borean tongue amongst themselves. They wear serpent scale armor. They have a Pillar Tree embossed on the guards of their sabers. Oh, and they stink of seal oil.”
Amy huddled against me, “I’m sorry, Lady Cecile, what does this mean?”
“It means somebody in the upper reaches of power in our house is conspiring with the enemy. You were investigating this with your lady countess, weren’t you?”
I nodded.
“Good.” Cecile said, “Go to her. Use her manor as a base of operations. Stay there if you can make a decent excuse. Stay even if you can’t. Bring this into the light kiddo. I’ll put an ear to the ground and tell you what I find out. Now get out of here.”
Amy sized me up, “Can you walk Lady Ren?”
I stepped away from her gingerly and shifted my weight. Moving was difficult, but I could hobble. “A little,” I told her.
“May I get your cane?” I nodded and Amy darted off.
“You had a cane?” Vincent asked.
“I have a cane.”
I had forgotten that I had one as well. It does show up in the game. But only occasionally. The sedan chair is much more common. Its maker had cut a peacock design into the cane. They had carved it from wyvern horn ivory and inlaid it with silver.
Vincent looked me up and down, “Don’t you look dramatic. Ivory peacock cane. Ivory cigarette holder. You cut quite a figure. I’m sure you will stun Fiona with your beauty and drama. And the dress is lovely as well."
I smiled, “Thank you. It’s an empire dress. Though I’ve heard them called Jane Austen dresses, but that’s wrong. They’re easier to manage than some of my wardrobe. Which is useful when this weakness is particularly troublesome.”
"Who is Jane Austen?" Vincent asked.
“Don’t flirt with the boy, if you don’t want him,” Cecile said, “Now take my carriage and get out of here. Your pretty little thing and I will stay here.”
* * *
“This would all be so much simpler with a smartphone,” I muttered to myself. The carriage clattered along dirt roads towards Myrddhin City. I hadn’t understood how uncomfortable the ride in a carriage was before now. A lack of modern suspension and shock absorbers were leaving me feeling shaken to pieces. I bounced against crushed velvet padding sewn into the walls as we jangled along. The carriage stank of tobacco. And the clatter of Iron shod wooden wheels echoed inside the carriage. Quincy hung his head out the window of the carriage, tongue lolling out.
“How are you managing?” Vincent said.
I sighed, “No worse than the last time you asked. Or the time before that. But I appreciate you asking.”
Vincent smiled and nodded, “I must admit that I feel like I’m guarding you on behalf of Fiona. Of course, I would never forgive myself if I let her new lady come to harm, even from the rough ride of a carriage.”
I sighed again and nodded, “I’m not completely helpless. Just mostly helpless. This is so frustrating.”
I took another drag on my alchemical cigarette. The cigarettes tasted of wormwood and anise. Sweet but complex, with a hint of something underneath. They were pleasant.
“I’m not bothering you with the smoke, am I?”
“No,” He said, “It smells of licorice and tarragon. Much more pleasant than regular tobacco.”
“I thought of wormwood and anise myself. It must have a more complex smell than I thought. What do you think Fiona will say about all this?”
“I’m in awe of Fiona, you know that. We arrived to court your cousin Lynn. And we get rejected for Wulfric, that pig in wolf’s clothing. And it’s immediately clear that Lynn wants the Duke Leon, and not because of his title. It’s clear, at least to me, that she’s attracted to him and not his holdings. So even if she doesn’t sacrifice herself to Wulfric, Fiona and I still lose. And then Fiona turns around and sweeps you off your feet in an instant. She charms you. She defends you. She saves your life, twice if I’ve heard right. She’s magnificent, isn’t she?”
A shiver ran up my body at his description of Fiona, “She is magnificent,” I agreed.
He tapped his finger to his temple again, “I won’t pry, but it’s interesting to me that in this carriage we have a connection. We have both been Fiona’s lover. Me, her former lover. And you, her current lover.”
“I’m sorry,” I answered, “This must be hard for you.”
“Not in the slightest. That was years ago, and we’ve remained good friends. You know she’s been humming to herself lately. That’s a very good sign. She’s happy. I hope you are as well.”
I blushed and nodded, “I am. She’s overwhelming in the best way possible.”
“Of course I understand,” he said.
"I did want to ask you what I can do to court Fiona. Any tips I can use?"
"Be direct. Be upfront. Be honest." Vincent said, "She had trouble with subtext. Don't hint. She values clarity and finds most social interaction too messy. Your slap must be why she wanted to court you. You were direct and upfront in the extreme. You probably aroused her when you slapped Wulfric."
I laughed, "So I can impress her by slapping creeps?"
"I mean, yes. She also loves an excuse to be badass. She won't admit it, but she loves showing off."
"Okay that is useful. What about gifts and things like that?"
"She prefers giving gifts to receiving gifts," Vincent said. "But she likes flowers. They are symbolic. But they are symbolic in a way she can look up. But be sure that you look up what the flowers you give her mean. Because she will look them up and assume you mean whatever her book says they mean."
"Any favorite flowers?"
"She loves black roses, but don't get them for her. Not good meanings. She loves poppies, particularly blue poppies. And blue poppies symbolize potential and possibilities. So, they are good courting gifts." He paused, “Ah, look. Myrddhin City.”
We crested a hill that marked the end of Octavo City, and I could see Myrddhin City spread out below us. The city sat on a peninsula at the south end of the Bay of Saints. The defensive wall did not encircle Myrddhin City. Instead, it cut a brutal zig-zag around the perimeter of the inner city. The wall and the fortifications owed their existence to August Vauban. The great Yssian military engineer had designed the old city fortifications. The city was all steep roofs and upward angles from this distance, like a bag of pulled teeth. Vincent and I chatted for the rest of the trip. We fell silent only when the walls of Myrddhin House fell into view.
Outside the gates of the manor, the carriage jolted and skipped into the air. It came down, and I could feel the axle snap. The right rear wheel broke free. Vincent and I collapsed into the rear right corner. The carriage tipped towards the missing wheel.
“We’ve hit something,” Vincent said.
I heard the howl of a wolf ahead of us.
“Something hit us,” I responded.
“Of course.” Vincent nodded and pulled a massive knife from a belt sheath I hadn’t noticed before now. He opened the door and stepped out. He looked at me, “Stay here.”
And with that he closed the carriage door and stepped out into view. Three men stepped from the crowd. I shuddered. I’ve never been a fighter. I didn’t take martial arts or self-defense courses back in my old life on Earth. I had always meant to take a course, eventually. But now that opportunity had passed. I tried not to cower as Vincent approached the men. But I was scared. I had never seen Vincent fight, and I had no idea if this was something he could handle. And I had to rely upon him to protect me.
Vincent nodded to them and called, “I hope you owe no debts to the Lords of Fire. Because they are going to be able to collect on any debt you have very shortly.”
The men charged and, as they did so, they changed. Limbs stretched. The faces lengthened. Their clothing melted into emerging fur. And three werewolves bore down on Vincent. I had been scared. Now I was terrified. Werewolves were a known commodity here, and I trusted Vincent to know how to deal with them. But there were still three immortals. They were still very hard to permanently injure. And they were still charging at my friend.
"Should we get this done then?" Vicent whispered as he held his position. He transferred the knife to his left hand and then he drew a pepperbox pistol from his frock coat. And, when the lead wolf was within twenty meters, Vincent aimed the pistol for the wolf’s head and fired.
The wolf’s face exploded in a red mist. The two other werewolves leapt to opposite sides. Vincent dropped the pistol and pulled a silver potion from his coat. He popped the cork. Then he poured out the liquid across his knife before the werewolves had time to register what he was doing. Vincent then threw the potion bottle, shattering it on the skull of the werewolf to his right. He then turned and attacked the one on the left. As man and werewolf fought, I watched the third werewolf. He pulled the last of the shattered glass from his face and turned towards the carriage.
“Not good,” I muttered.
I gasped as the werewolf ran at the carriage, driving an enormous shoulder into the carriage door. Wood splintered, but the door held. Quincy stood, legs spread on my lap barking in a frenzy at the werewolf. The werewolf reared up and drove its shoulder into the door a second time. Quincy fell to the floor of the carriage and I fell on my side.
I shook my head and pulled myself back to sitting. I was terrified, but somehow my mouth still worked. “It wasn’t locked. But that won’t help you now that you’ve twisted the door frame.”
The werewolf seemed to take my criticism to heart. The monster didn't throw his shoulder into the door a third time. Instead, the werewolf hammered a fist through the glass of the carriage window. Shard flew everywhere, and I screamed in surprise and fear. My attacker grabbed the door by the inner window frame. Blood spurted at glass shards cut his hands. But the werewolf ignored this and tore the door from its frame and threw it behind him.
Quincy moved to put his tiny body between myself and the werewolf. I grabbed him up and scrambled away to the front right corner, as best I could manage in my current state. The werewolf burst into the carriage. Quincy squirmed in my arms and continued barking with wild abandon. The werewolf’s body was too large for the door frame. So, he smashed through. Blood, splinters, and glass shards flew around us, and he tried to pull his body through the frame. He couldn’t quite reach me with his mouth, but as soon as he remembered that he had arms, I was in trouble. The werewolf pulled back and took several steps backward. He was going to try to ram through with a running start, I realized. With a snarl, the werewolf lunged forward and plowed into the carriage. The door frame held, but the werewolf managed to push far enough in that its jaws could reach me now.
Before he could tear a limb off, I let go of Quincy and thrust my lit cigarette into the werewolf’s left eye. He fell back yowling in obvious pain. The werewolf whipped his head to and fro, his hand clamped over the eye. Then the werewolf stopped shaking his head and removed his hand. The eye had completely healed.
“Yes, fire isn’t made of silver. Tell me something I don’t already know.”
The werewolf dropped to all fours, and then spoke in a guttural snarl of a voice: “I was supposed to capture you. But I don’t care anymore. Instead, I’m going to eat you.”
Quincy had positioned himself between us again, and was growling at the werewolf.
I heard the report of a rifle. The gunshot echoed off the walls of the urban landscape. A moment later, a silvered musket ball blew a hole the size of an apple through the werewolf’s head. The monster’s body scrambled like a dying cockroach for a moment.
Once the werewolf had stopped moving, I exited the carriage. Vincent had beheaded his werewolves. I looked in the direction of the shot. On a second story balcony of Myrddhin House I saw Fiona with a musket held across her shoulder.
I smiled and sighed, “This could have been traumatic.” I leaned on my cane. “Instead, it's going to a cherished memory. Funny how life is sometimes.”
Vincent nodded, “She has that effect on people.”
“Did she ever save you?” I asked with a grin.
“She fought a duel to defend my honor once. She gave a guy matching chin scars on either side of his face.”
“Aren’t scars a good thing in dueling,” I asked.
“Yes. But these scars didn’t work that way. One look and you know that somebody had scarred him on purpose. He’d been beaten so badly; he couldn’t prevent his opponent from toying with him.”
“Oh, yeah, I can see how that would be less than impressive.”
“Ren! It is a joy to see you again. I trust you are unhurt,” I turned to see Fiona hurrying towards us, musket still in hand. She wore a Byzantium purple velvet smoking jacket. The jacket lay open over top black trousers and hessian boots. She also wore a poet's shirt that hung open to the bottom of her sternum. She wore a collection of half a dozen silver chain necklaces, which sparkled against her skin. The ruffles on the shirt hid little of her neckline.
As she stopped in front of me, I spoke, “Thank you Fiona. This is three times now that you saved my life. I can't imagine ever repaying that.”
Fiona didn’t say anything. Instead, she took my hand, and brushed it with her lips a second time. I shivered at the touch again.
I whispered, “Maybe I can imagine a way to repay you.”
Fiona blushed as she straightened up, “I am relieved that you are safe and unhurt. I see you are walking, mostly unaided.”
I waved the cigarette, “The herbs seem to be most potent only for a short time. So, I have chosen to develop a terrible habit until I recover.”
Fiona nodded, and then looked at Quincy as he peed on the werewolf’s corpse. “At the very least, the smell is pleasant. I detect licorice and cloves, do I not? I trust that you found Quincy to be acceptable. The traditional gift is a wolfhound. Sometimes the dog is a coursing style hunting dog. But I felt you would not have use for such a dog. A small dog, which can sleep in your bedchambers, and warn you of danger, seemed a prudent option.”
“And he’s adorable,” I added.
She dropped to a crouch and gave Quincy’s head a pat. “I had hoped that you would find him so. I assume that your Amy has discovered something.”
“Actually, it was Vincent and my great aunt Cecile. But yes. Hyperborea is smuggling weapons and men into the Ys. They are hiding them in my family’s catacombs beneath Castle Octavian.
Fiona nodded, “An invasion then.”
“There are other options that Aunt Cecile mentioned. But they’re all bad.”
“They are indeed,” Fiona said. And then she held out a crooked elbow to me, “If you would like to do so, you would honor me if you would lean on my arm, Ren.”
I smiled and took her arm, “I would do that even if I wasn’t still weak.”
Fiona led us to the Myrddhin House drawing room. The room was periwinkle blue with ultramarine accents. Somebody had painted the cabinetry ultramarine as well. The painter then overlaid gold leaf in floral patterns. Fiona had ordered the room cleared of other people. We sat to discuss and plot a possible course of action. Quincy curled up at my feet and fell asleep almost instantly.
“So,” Vincent said, “What do we know?”
“We know that Hyperborea is sneaking weapons and manpower into Ys. That’s guaranteed.” I said.
“Of course.” Vincent nodded, “What else?”
“We know people are trying to kill Ren, and Ren specifically,” Fiona said. “The first werewolf targeted her. As did this third group. I didn’t give the second group time to do so, but I am confident that they would have done the same.”
“We know whoever is organizing this is doing it from my father’s study,” I added. " And we know Prince Wulfric is a werewolf, from one of my previous visions.”
“Does that factor in, do you think?” Fiona asked.
I nodded, “My visions don’t show me irrelevancies. My visions can be metaphorical and strange, but they are always true and always relevant. If nothing else, it's relevant to Lynn’s safety. And this is all related to Wulfric’s proposal to her.”
“The connection of this conspiracy to your cousin is speculation.”
“But it’s one heck of a coincidence if there is no connection." I said.
“Indeed,” Fiona said, “And what can we infer?”
“Wait,” Vincent said, “Is Wulfric an inherited werewolf or an infected one? Because if he’s an inherited werewolf that would mean the royal family are werewolves. It would be in their blood.”
“Interesting, but not relevant,” Fiona said. “Wulfric is the only member of the royal family here. We know he is a werewolf. That is enough. What else?”
“Guaranteed Hyperborea is preparing for some sort of military action within Ys,” I said.
“We can, of course, assume that Ren’s father is the person coordinating things,” Vincent said.
“And we can infer that somebody is targeting me due to a precognitive gift. They attacked before I knew anything. And they have focused on me, despite my having taken no action beyond investigation.”
“Indeed,” Fiona leaned back in the loveseat. I took the opportunity to lean forward and place my head against her chest. She looked down and placed a hand upon my head, and began to stroke my hair, “Now, what do we not know?”
“We don’t know who else in House Octavian is involved," Vincent said. "We can infer the involvement of other people due to the scale of the operation, but we don’t know who.”
“Which means everyone in House Octavian, save Ren and Amy, are suspects.” Fiona said.
“And Aunt Cecile,” I said.
Fiona shook her head, “She may have been playing the part to earn your trust.”
“Okay, that’s possible,” I conceded.
“Of course, we don’t know what they plan to target or what their endgame is,” Vincent added.
“We don’t know how Wulfric’s proposal factors into this,” I paused and looked at Fiona, “Assuming it does factor in that is.”
Fiona nodded, “We also do not know who among them has the precognitive gift.”
“Do we need to know that though?” I asked, “They’ve already had the visions.”
“They could have more,” Fiona said. “And if we can capture or kill the precognitive, our opponents would lose the ability to see what we are going to do.”
I had a thought, and I cringed at the realization, “That’s what they’re doing with me, isn’t it. They’re targeting the seer to blind the opposition.”
“That is a reasonable assumption. They may also have seen you do something critical to stopping them. But you are critical, or they would not be targeting you.”
“You’re still going to protect me?” I asked, looking at Fiona and nuzzling against her.
“Always,” Fiona said and squeezed my shoulders.
We stared at each other. I don’t know how long we did. A cough startled me from my reverie.
“I should go. I have something to do. A thing that needs doing. So, I’ll leave you two alone. You know, I’ll let you plan our next moves.”
Vincent backed out of the drawing room and disappeared.
“He’s sweet,” I said, “Considerate too. I can see why you courted him.”
Fiona sighed, “He told you then? I still care about him a great deal. You know his sister holds me responsible for our failed courtship? She says that I led him on.”
"Didn't the courtship end because your mother died?"
"Yes, and father was not of House Myrddhin. Thus, he was lower on the line of succession. His sister did not care. Vincent is now twenty-nine and still unmarried. And he has no military career to excuse the situation."
"That seems unfair." I said.
"Many of the rules of nobility are. Regarding Vincent. If you and I marry, and he has not, I will seek him out. I would love to enjoy his company again. Is that acceptable to you?"
I considered that. The idea of traditional straight sex was unpleasant in my mind. But Vincent was, as far as I could tell, a decent and honorable man. Better somebody upstanding than a gigolo. I would prefer somebody I knew to somebody else I couldn’t assess ahead of time. I nodded.
“I can’t give you what you need from a man. And I would rather you get that from somebody we know is safe.”
“What I get from Vincent is different than you might expect. He will not be able to provide an heir. But I thank you for that.”
I scrunched my face. What did she mean by that? I waited, but she didn’t elaborate. So I changed the subject. “So, what are our next moves?” I asked.
Fiona smiled and slid a hand to the back of my head and bent her head towards mine.
“I was thinking about this move.”
She reached across me, and eased my body around to face her. And then she lifted me to her waiting lips with one arm.
We kissed and a rush of emotions exploded through me. Ecstasy cascaded like a waterfall, torrents of pleasure crashing over me. I shuddered and my back arched. My mind emptied for a perfect moment, and in the silence of that moment there was nothing but the two of us locked in a kiss. Her lips were full and soft. The scent of rose petals washed over me. Her strength intoxicated me. Her femininity beguiled me. Fiona felt like a glorious drug, and I was now completely addicted.
And then Amy’s face crashed into my mind. And my arousal became complicated with guilt. Was it moral to do this to Amy, to Fiona, even with their approval? Was I manipulating them by doing this? Should I end things with one of them? Or both of them?
I felt Fiona’s hand against my thigh, and the electricity of the touch drove the doubts away. I lost myself in her wiles. And I was happy there. Fiona moved her head and began to kiss my neck. I lay helpless, trapped by the waves of pleasure spasming through me. What was this? I shook with pleasure, then it felt as if I was going over the waterfall. I fell, my stomach dropped, but somehow it felt ecstatic. I crashed into the water below and found myself submerged in pleasure. I tried to hold on to something and found myself gripping Fiona’s smoking jacket for dear life. But in my mind, there was no handhold. Nothing I could use to brace myself against the pleasure. My mind washed away in the sensations charging across my skin and deep within my core. There was no more Ren. There was only pleasure.
Read more in "Daughters of the Digital Empire," Available soon!
.png)
Comments
Post a Comment